Bog Myrtle & Peat

We can learn alot from Central and Eastern Europe. When I went to Hungary for a week last year, I was amazed by so much of what I found. The trip was booked in order to have a look at a former communist block country, and as a result, I was expecting to encounter numerous “inspirational” statues of long dead politicians, sinister architecture and the smell of boiled cabbage. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Budapest was a warm, sunny city with a dilapidated mediterranean feel, something like how I would imagine Spain would have been in the 80’s. On the whole, the people were dour and rude, but the Danube and Buda Palace were utterly stunning. However, even more remarkable than their ability to rebuild their cities when destroyed by war was the Hungarians’ ability to cook game.

Even the filthiest and most hideous cafes and restaurants had game on the menu, and it was, without exception, cooked to perfection. Wild duck, venison, wild boar, partridge and hare were common in most places where in Britain we would be used to the routine spread of beef, lamb, pork or chicken. Although contorted by years of Soviet rule, a strong vein of former Austro-Hungarian imperial decadance swept through the dinner service, from fantastic Tokaji wines to blue cheeses and creamy sauces. Even the peasant’s beef goulash was a show stopper. I ate like a king, and given that Hungary is largely cheaper than Scotland, it suited me down to the socks.

As soon as I was back, I began to longingly recall exotic combinations of plum tomatoes, saffron and exquisite medallions of venison. It was only when I skinned the blue hares from Sunday’s falconry trip that I realised there was tremendous potential there. Rifling through cookery books produced an Austrian recipe for “baron of hare”, comprising of fat pork, sour cream, paprika, lemon juice, vinegar and a saddle of hare. The dish was duly produced and served on tagliatelle and absolutely delicious it was too.

Inadvertently, my trip to Hungary gave me a great taste for European game cookery, and I now look forward to a winter of fine dining. The old morality which dictates that shooting folk should eat what they have killed has meant that dozens of people trudge through dull, uninteresting pheasant and rabbit dishes each year for no other reason than to put their consciences at rest. Armed with the experience of how fantastic Hungarian game cookery can be, getting out the knife and fork could well become more fun than opening the gun cabinet.