It took me years to realize that Welsh rarebit wasn’t eating about bunnies at all. A little while after I learned the truth, I was up in Oceanside — Mission San Luis Rey — at dusk, and saw that its fields were hopping with rabbits. Beautiful sight, but it got me wondering if anyone in San Diego actually serves rabbit on a plate. Because it seems to me that everybody says rabbit is pretty much the healthiest meat you can eat: the highest percentage of protein, the lowest percentage of fat, and the fewest calories per pound. In places like Italy, Spain, China, and France, rabbit is just about a once-a-week meat choice. But in places like the U.S. and, UK, it seems like there’s a certain yuk factor. Rabbit has broken out of our food chain.
It’s not just the “What’s Up Doc?!” lovable rabbit thing, or even the rabbits-as-cuddly-pets thing. In our minds, we think of them as fellow-creatures, like dogs and cats, mammals not meant for the dinner table. Plus, there’s a cultural hangover, the idea that rabbit is only for when you’re desperate, since rabbit stew kept Americans from starving during the Great Depression. But never mind. Today, I’m determined to give rabbit a fair trial. They say that if you’re catching them in the wild, only hunt them in the months with an “R” in them: September to March, in other words. The cold of the winter months kills parasites in the rabbits’ guts. Me? I’m hunting in the menus.
So here we go. It’s half-twelve and I’m half starved. No brekky yet. But hey, we’re right on time for lunch. And here’s this place I’ve been hearing about, The Rabbit Hole, a kinda workaday pub with bench seating outside, but the main action inside, around a big U-Bar. I plonk myself down in front of a trophy of a jack rabbit with — huh? — horns?
“Norman the Jackalope,” says Josh. Manager. “Part jackrabbit, part antelope.”
And yes, they do have rabbit on the menu, in the form of a “Norman Burger,” natch. Only problem? It costs $17. But they also have two sliders, a “Slider Duet,” for $12.50. First slider’s beef and the other is rabbit, cut with pork. “We do that to take any rabbit gaminess out of the flavor,” says Liz, who’s the barkeep and server. I mean, they have a ton of other good bar stuff, like Impossible vegan tacos, two for $13.50; butter prawn tacos ($9); a Cubano sandwich — pulled pork and smoked ham, plus Swiss cheese — for $15; or blackened salmon…talking $20 there.
I go for the sliders. “Any other nibbles?” asks Liz. Hey, we’re still talking rabbit here, and it does put me in mind of maybe a salad to counter all this protein and carbs. I almost go for The Wedge ($12.50), but then I see the G.O.A.T. Salad, same price. (What’s that stand for? Goats On A Trampoline?) Whatever, it promises lots of goat cheese, which sounds good with rabbit.
While I’m waiting, can’t resist ordering a beer. They have a nice long list of drafts with lots of black beer for the Black Friday season. Love dark beer. Go for the Eppig 6th Anniversary Imperial Schwarzbier, partly because it’s Eppig. Eppig family brewers have been six years here in ’Diego, but they go back 150 years in Brooklyn, New York. They survived Prohibition and hit the refresh button out West, here in San Diego. Mmm. This Schwarzbier is chocolatey, malty. And it pretty much works when the goat cheese salad arrives, because there’s surprising substance to the G.O.A.T., what with its candied walnuts, nice fresh strawberries, and oodles of goat cheese.
But my Schwarzbier really works when the sliders arrive. Their sweetness just kicks up the beer. The crispy, blackened, caramelized onions go perfectly with it too, but Nirvana arrives when I bite into the rabbit-and-pork slider, with its sautéed blond-but-black-burned chunks of the meat mixing with the crispy bun, and underneath, the mango chutney. Wicked.
Oh man. Then I have another thought. I suddenly remember the only other rabbit I ever ate. It was in Qatar — Persian Gulf, where the World Cup is going on just now. My friend Mr. Hamad invited me to go falconing. He was a school teacher who had this kinda wild side, and he owned and trained a fierce-looking falcon. We drove out into the Qatari desert in the late afternoon, as the heat settled and the light faded. Mr. Hamad steered his Range Rover with his free hand, and held his gauntlet hand out the window, while the falcon on his glove scanned the horizon with his superior eyes.
All I remember next is Mr. Hamad releasing the bird into the air. It shot up high, disappeared, then rocketed down to earth, far away. In the silence, we could hear the scream of the rabbit, then nothing. Ten minutes later, we were making a fire. Mr. Hamad skinned the rabbit, and we had one of the most delicious meals of my life. We sat there, huddled by the fire in the cold night, chewing away at the hot, fresh meat as the darkness set in. “This bird,” said Mr. Hamad as he stroked the hooded falcon, “has become my life.”
I’m thinking of that now as I take my final mouthful. I still have the beef slider to finish, but this rabbit is the meat of the moment. Back in the desert, I felt bad for the rabbit, but grateful for the bird. I’ve never had such fresh, tender meat. Or a feeling of such awe.
This rabbit slider runs out too fast. Next time, I’ll have the Norman Burger for the full-on rabbit-pork patty experience. It sure beats Welsh Rarebit.
It took me years to realize that Welsh rarebit wasn’t eating about bunnies at all. A little while after I learned the truth, I was up in Oceanside — Mission San Luis Rey — at dusk, and saw that its fields were hopping with rabbits. Beautiful sight, but it got me wondering if anyone in San Diego actually serves rabbit on a plate. Because it seems to me that everybody says rabbit is pretty much the healthiest meat you can eat: the highest percentage of protein, the lowest percentage of fat, and the fewest calories per pound. In places like Italy, Spain, China, and France, rabbit is just about a once-a-week meat choice. But in places like the U.S. and, UK, it seems like there’s a certain yuk factor. Rabbit has broken out of our food chain.
It’s not just the “What’s Up Doc?!” lovable rabbit thing, or even the rabbits-as-cuddly-pets thing. In our minds, we think of them as fellow-creatures, like dogs and cats, mammals not meant for the dinner table. Plus, there’s a cultural hangover, the idea that rabbit is only for when you’re desperate, since rabbit stew kept Americans from starving during the Great Depression. But never mind. Today, I’m determined to give rabbit a fair trial. They say that if you’re catching them in the wild, only hunt them in the months with an “R” in them: September to March, in other words. The cold of the winter months kills parasites in the rabbits’ guts. Me? I’m hunting in the menus.
So here we go. It’s half-twelve and I’m half starved. No brekky yet. But hey, we’re right on time for lunch. And here’s this place I’ve been hearing about, The Rabbit Hole, a kinda workaday pub with bench seating outside, but the main action inside, around a big U-Bar. I plonk myself down in front of a trophy of a jack rabbit with — huh? — horns?
“Norman the Jackalope,” says Josh. Manager. “Part jackrabbit, part antelope.”
And yes, they do have rabbit on the menu, in the form of a “Norman Burger,” natch. Only problem? It costs $17. But they also have two sliders, a “Slider Duet,” for $12.50. First slider’s beef and the other is rabbit, cut with pork. “We do that to take any rabbit gaminess out of the flavor,” says Liz, who’s the barkeep and server. I mean, they have a ton of other good bar stuff, like Impossible vegan tacos, two for $13.50; butter prawn tacos ($9); a Cubano sandwich — pulled pork and smoked ham, plus Swiss cheese — for $15; or blackened salmon…talking $20 there.
I go for the sliders. “Any other nibbles?” asks Liz. Hey, we’re still talking rabbit here, and it does put me in mind of maybe a salad to counter all this protein and carbs. I almost go for The Wedge ($12.50), but then I see the G.O.A.T. Salad, same price. (What’s that stand for? Goats On A Trampoline?) Whatever, it promises lots of goat cheese, which sounds good with rabbit.
While I’m waiting, can’t resist ordering a beer. They have a nice long list of drafts with lots of black beer for the Black Friday season. Love dark beer. Go for the Eppig 6th Anniversary Imperial Schwarzbier, partly because it’s Eppig. Eppig family brewers have been six years here in ’Diego, but they go back 150 years in Brooklyn, New York. They survived Prohibition and hit the refresh button out West, here in San Diego. Mmm. This Schwarzbier is chocolatey, malty. And it pretty much works when the goat cheese salad arrives, because there’s surprising substance to the G.O.A.T., what with its candied walnuts, nice fresh strawberries, and oodles of goat cheese.
But my Schwarzbier really works when the sliders arrive. Their sweetness just kicks up the beer. The crispy, blackened, caramelized onions go perfectly with it too, but Nirvana arrives when I bite into the rabbit-and-pork slider, with its sautéed blond-but-black-burned chunks of the meat mixing with the crispy bun, and underneath, the mango chutney. Wicked.
Oh man. Then I have another thought. I suddenly remember the only other rabbit I ever ate. It was in Qatar — Persian Gulf, where the World Cup is going on just now. My friend Mr. Hamad invited me to go falconing. He was a school teacher who had this kinda wild side, and he owned and trained a fierce-looking falcon. We drove out into the Qatari desert in the late afternoon, as the heat settled and the light faded. Mr. Hamad steered his Range Rover with his free hand, and held his gauntlet hand out the window, while the falcon on his glove scanned the horizon with his superior eyes.
All I remember next is Mr. Hamad releasing the bird into the air. It shot up high, disappeared, then rocketed down to earth, far away. In the silence, we could hear the scream of the rabbit, then nothing. Ten minutes later, we were making a fire. Mr. Hamad skinned the rabbit, and we had one of the most delicious meals of my life. We sat there, huddled by the fire in the cold night, chewing away at the hot, fresh meat as the darkness set in. “This bird,” said Mr. Hamad as he stroked the hooded falcon, “has become my life.”
I’m thinking of that now as I take my final mouthful. I still have the beef slider to finish, but this rabbit is the meat of the moment. Back in the desert, I felt bad for the rabbit, but grateful for the bird. I’ve never had such fresh, tender meat. Or a feeling of such awe.
This rabbit slider runs out too fast. Next time, I’ll have the Norman Burger for the full-on rabbit-pork patty experience. It sure beats Welsh Rarebit.