a letter of indecision

Dear Rabbit,

I totally thought I was going to fall in like with you. Not only did you play a little hard to get, resulting in a special trip to Victors Meat & Deli that was unexpectedly charming, but you came well recommended, in Tamasin Day-Lewis’s Tarts With Tops On and well-appointed: in a pie. Although to be honest, what caught my eye wasn’t “rabbit pie” as much as “then stuff the prunes with rabbit liver and kidneys.” I’ve always wanted to stuff a prune. On top of that, a very informative 76th issue of Art of Eating piqued my interest. I was sold on your potential awesomeness.

And yet, I’m not sure we really hit it off. We had some good times—what’s not to like about some morbid bunny humor and a makeshift lesson over the pot in small animal anatomy?—and my friends liked you, but I found you kind of… boring. You had an initial taste of the sweetly gamy and enough of an interesting texture, but after a while I found myself more interested by your accoutrements than in the gustatory conversation I could have with you. And here’s the worst part.

You kind of taste like chicken.

There, I said it. I’m a total philistine. Maybe it was the recipe and not you, and maybe we just didn’t really click this time. But I think if I don’t fall for you in a pie, chances are I probably won’t entertain thoughts of you in my kitchen any time soon. Maybe at a restaurant though with expert preparation. So check me undecided. I’m not giving up hope though. Until next time.

best,

joyce.

p.s. rest assured, you’re still the most bizarre thing (alive) that i’ve seen in a nyc subway car though.

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2 Responses to “a letter of indecision”


  1. 1 winyang April 14, 2008 at 11:46 am

    Dear Joyce,

    You may have noticed that the AoE article is entitled “Tastes Like Rabbit.” Frithrah! Are you slow as a yona or something?

    Victor looks like a highly respectable meatcutter, but I find it unlikely that he’s stocking my older, tastier, 3-pound-plus relatives, and not the young ones, who don’t have enough intramuscular fat to really taste like anything. I think you have to special-order.

    Also, I don’t know if you noticed during your anatomy lesson, but unlike the fowl and ungulates of the world, we don’t really come with a lot of fat attached to our carcasses. (Hey, if you ran as much as we did, you wouldn’t be sending Winnie text messages about feeling like Jabba the Butt, would you?) And while I can imagine that the prunes add a little succulence, I would highly recommend that next time, you try cooking my legs in duck fat. Or better yet, try battering and deep-frying.

    I have to say, I’ll never understand what’s so narn about shoving whatever you can find under a buttery, flaky crust. Sounds like hraka to me. Carrots! Now those are flayrah.

    Stay away from my hutch,
    Thumper

    P.S. The subway is much better than those embleer hrududus.

  2. 2 joyce April 14, 2008 at 5:22 pm

    Dear Thumper,

    You’re lucky I’ve been geeking out since 1988 and am down with our homie Richard Adams. He’s part of my totally-animalz crew: Robert C. O’Brien (shoutout to Nicodemus!), Brian Jacques, and E.B. White. Word. They got mad skills. Had to look up some dork, I mean Lapine, on
    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lapine_language
    but I got it. I’ll be sure keep an eye out for your relatives. You had me at deep fry.

    I know you’re busy doing, you know, rabbit things, so thanks for kicking it old school with me.

    peas,
    joyce.


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