The Quilt Inn Country Cookbook

Aliske Webb

One Man’s Feast

Several years ago when I was living in England, a friend very kindly took me on

a countryside tour out of London along the Thames of Wolsey, Moore and Beckett, on

a search for olde worlde pubs. There are still some original centuries-old buildings with

five foot doorways, white-washed wattle and daub walls with foot-thick solid oak beams

(

not veneers), and dark smokey interiors. They are pubs of good cheer, crackling

fireplaces, warm beer, and deep ales. Ah, what a time we had.

On that lovely Summer day, we careened merrily along narrow country roads in

his beat up Citroen. Curious that. The English hate the French, except for their cars,

bread and cheeses. As I found out later, the French also hate the English, except for

their woollens. The Channel is much wider than the mere 100 miles across. It’s a

wonder they ever got the “Chunnel” to meet in the middle.

We sang encores of pub songs as I tried to catch glimpses of the countryside

over thick hedgerows and stone walls. All of a sudden, I lurched forward against the

dash as the car came to a screeching halt amid a hail of gravel and dust. Dave backed

up a hundred feet and pulled into a farmyard.

“Look,” he said. “Bunnies Five Pounds. I’ll cook you a delicious rabbit stew for

dinner.” And out he leaped and jogged up the farmhouse steps before I could speak.

I sat there converting Pounds into real money (dollars), wondering how much meat

there was on a rabbit anyway and what that worked out to per pound per Pound.

David was involved in an animated and jovial conversation with a woman on the

porch. I saw them smiling as he reached into his pocket for cash. Suddenly the woman

made a loud exclamation of disgust, turned back into the house and slammed the door

in his face. Dave looked both bemused and peeved.

“

What on Earth happened?” I asked as he climbed back into the car.

“No. Worse,” he laughed. “Apparently she thought I wanted the damn rabbit for

a pet. She was prepared to sell me one. When I asked her if she knew the best way to

skin it, she realized I wanted to eat it and she slammed the door in my face.” He

shrugged as we backed slowly out the driveway.

Published by Bookmice.com

Country Cooking