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| "First Catch Your Hare" from The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy [1747] |
In order to make her recipe for roast hare you must first, Hannah Glasse stipulates in The Art of Cookery, Made Plain and Easy [1747], catch a hare. It is precisely this hands-on approach to ingredients: honest, practical, and spirited that would lead me to pick unequivocally the rustic pantry of Hannah Glasse, situated in eighteenth-century England as the storehouse from which to concoct a veritable feast for my ultimate meal. Long before the indomitable presence of Mrs Beeton, Glasse’s cookbooks revolutionized British cooking by offering advice that assumed a level of proficiency in the kitchen and even in foraging, which, if not exactly lost in modern cooking, has certainly been misplaced until recently. Today, Glasse’s recipes are not simply archaic documents that mark the history of British cuisine; they can encourage the modern cook to reengage with the environment and the hugely exciting and varied ingredients contained within it.
The hare is first to be 'cased' (skinned), a task that requires the cook’s dexterity with the razor sharp knife of the kitchen, as well as a respect for the fact that the raw ingredient was alive only a few moments ago. Then a pastry is to be constructed out of suet and breadcrumbs, parsley, and as much thyme as will lie on a sixpence. Anchovy is to be shredded small and added to the mixture, showing a natural affinity for diverse ingredients that together bring out a new flavour – in much the same manner as the Italians have done with Salsa Verde, which accompanies succulent meats, such as lamb. Once other flavourings and spices have been added, the hare is to be sewn up by the belly, spitted and laid on the fire, which, in Glasse’s words, must be “a good one”. I love these directions, not simply for their quaint simplicity; I genuinely admire Glasse’s skill and cooking methods that function in a kitchen without the aid of modern gadgets. From arranging the fire in order to create a particular level of heat, to nimbly treating her meat, and knowing how the fats and cooking time will work together to ensure the meat is tender and does not dry out, Glasse must rely on understanding the natural processes that are occurring around her.
She provides an array of possible sauces to her dish, such as a simple butter and cream sauce or hearty gravy, yet I would select for my own culinary delight her jelly that has been made previously and had plenty of time to mature in taste and scent. Glasse does not state what she would accompany this dish with, but I hope that she would approve of my choice of her deceptively simple, yet actually labour-intensive oat cakes, the success of which is delicately balanced on the choice of the Hertfordshire white flour and the ale yeast of a pale malt, selected to create flavour and a particular density. In order to prevent her oatcakes from being as dense as wood, she must have an innate understanding of the live ingredient of the yeast and the reactions that will take place, much like a witchdoctor.
I would insist that Hannah Glasse continued the rich and aromatic theme by following the dish with her apricot pudding, which would provide a lovely response to the intensity of the hare, whilst adding a sweetness that is suggestive of golden leaves and closing, autumnal nights. It is not, however, a pudding which hides behind sweetness, letting it do all the work. It is only a little fine sugar which is dusted over the dessert and then sent “to table hot” – as if there could be any other way. Glasse also dedicates a long section of her writing to the excellent task of making ales, various wines and other natural elixirs, so I would probably wash it all merrily down with some home-made currant wine, currants which have specifically been gathered on a fine dry day when the fruit is full and bursting. The berry being both sweet and tart would complement the strong flavours of the rabbit, as well as the soft, gently sweetened pudding. That is, undoubtedly, the ultimate meal.
