Thumper and Geodes

Today, I had the opportunity to watch the head chef of carnes butcher a hare. At first, I watched from afar, but as he moved on to the second and third hares, I became a magnet. I drew closer and closer until finally I had creepily positioned myself directly in front of him.

Although the hare was large, there wasn’t a significant amount of meat on its bones. It had been previously skinned, but not beheaded. The flesh was an electrifying red with dark, aubergine-like tones throughout. I expected the seeping blood to eventually turn a repelling brown, but it didn’t. It stayed a vibrant red, staining everything around it.

David worked quickly, but calmly. His strokes were purposeful, none being extraneous. Despite the small crowd of five or six of us that had gathered to watch, there was an air of tranquility and awe that surrounded him.

He extracted delicate bones—the spine, the rib cage, the leg bones—swiftly, in whole, clean, pieces. It was remarkable. Even with the mess of blood pooling in front of him, his white chef’s coat and plastic apron remained pristine. Only his hands were stained pink.

I asked him questions about the hare’s origins. He told me it came from a dry part of Spain and that it had been shot. He threw a nerd size piece of a bullet fragment as evidence.

Half an hour or so later, a female stage from Boston, Tracy, came over and said that David had prepared the full hare dish for the chica New York (this has become a kitchen nickname for me recently) to try. (He had also prepared it for some members of the carnes team). I was tentative and nervous—I haven’t sampled hare before.

The dish is no small feat. The entire hare is pounded thin and stuffed with a mushroom farse containing leeks, carrots, shallots, bread and hare blood. On top of the farse, a foie gras torchon is laid. The three layers are rolled into a log and then wrapped tightly in plastic. After piercing the plastic with multiple holes, the log is placed in a bag with deer stock (yes, deer stock!) and bagged yet again before being cooked sous-vide for 36 hours at exactly 68 degrees Celsius. Once it is cooked, the log is sliced into thick medallions. Each hare plate consists of one medallion, a wedge of a bacon and potato terrine, a sampling of sautéed chanterelles and black trumpets, a sauce made from the reduction of all of the liquid from the sous-vide bag with additional blood put into it, and lastly, a truffle foam, made from a puree of potatoes, stock, white truffle oil, black truffle segments, and cream.

The dish intimidated me. The colors were dark and slightly menacing. I was shocked, though, because I loved it. I expected it to be gamey and bitter—it was anything but. I know this sounds incredibly disrespectful given the complexity of the dish, but it tasted slightly like meatloaf—really good meatloaf.

I also made my way over to the fish station today in time to watch the red mullet being cooked. The filet is prepared in a way that makes the scales stand up. The cook simply pushes the scales against the grain so that they become perpendicular to the skin. It is like a reverse game of dominoes—once you push against the front row of scales, which are parallel to the skin, the rest are forced to stand verticially from the initial force.

Just as the dish is fired, the cook takes the filet, places it flesh side down, skin side up, on a tami, which is suspended over a large pot. He then pours a continuous stream of 250 degree Celsius oil over the top of the fish from a large steel pitcher. The scales, which are edible, crackle and fry, while the flesh of the fish is cooked. The result is a beautiful filet with crystal-like flakes that stand erect at odd angles over its entire surface area. It reminds me of a cracked geode with a crystal interior. The fish is never cooked traditionally on the grill or in a pan—the hot oil provides enough heat to get the job done.

A fun service full of sightseeing!