Meat

I have a somewhat complicated relationship with meat.

I always loved the taste of it as a child. My mother’s mince yum yum (fried mince, onions and garlic, well seasoned with tomato ketchup and an enormous splash of Worcester sauce, served with rice) was, and still is, one of my favourite meals.

But I was extremely sensitive and sentimental about animals and as soon as my teenage rebellion was in full swing I became vegetarian, much to the exasperation of my stepfather, who saw it as
a. confirmation of my communist tendencies and
b. the insidious influence of my father’s girlfriend, who did not eat meat herself and served up nut roast instead.

I soon moved to France, where vegetarianism was not very common. Indeed, most of the French people I met could not even grasp the basic concept. Animals were functional; they supplied affection, fur, home security and meat and that was that.

Somehow (mainly thanks to my fabulous surrogate Lebanese grandmother-of the-time who made me fantastic taboule every day), I managed to survive happily in France for another ten years or so without eating meat. Then, I moved back to England.

One day I found myself in a first class seat on a plane to Frankfurt. In the seat next to me was a middle-aged man, quite obviously of German descent, who had a noble air about him (he turned out to be a baron - it was the tweed and leather lederhosen that gave him away). He started talking to me as soon as the champagne was being served. I think he wished to establish that I was seated in the correct part of the plane.

He told me that he was on his way back from a visit to a Scottish estate where he had been hunting, shooting and fishing. He seemed oblivious to my rising hackles and proceeded to eulogise about the excitement involved in deer stalking and the fascinating and cunning mental games that exist between the hunter and hunted. The main thing that struck me was that he seemed to have genuine respect for the animals he hunted. I thought of my favourite hunter, Hemingway, and it all started to make sense. Despite my best intentions, I started to become seriously aroused, not in an overtly sexual way, but certainly in a carnivorous way. I suddenly fancied meat very much indeed.

This was very good timing as the people I had been sent to meet in Germany didn’t seem to have a relationship with vegetables at all. The only one that shared the table with 225 varieties of sausage and cured meat was, of course, the potato.

So, I took the plunge and tasted meat for the first time in about 14 years. I spent the next 3 days eating every single variety of animal that I could lay my hands on. I was in meat heaven! I realised how bored I had been with food and how many new taste sensations were now open to me.

Since then there has been no going back. I feel, ironically, more connected to nature now that I understand the relationship between man and meat.

As we're now in the game season and if you like your flesh lean and tasty, here’s a recipe courtesy of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall – I’ve just made it for supper and it’s very nice indeed.

Stewed venison

You can vary this according to the cuts of venison available. Even larger cuts that are still on the bone, such as shanks and neck, are good, not least as the bones will enrich the liquor as the stew cooks, so you probably won't need any extra stock. Another nice variation is to use chunks of spicy chorizo instead of pancetta, and/or little venison meatballs made from the burger mix (see recipe below) - in both cases, fry gently and add for the last 45 minutes of cooking. Serves six.

1 tbsp oil (or dripping)
250g salted pork belly or pancetta, cut into chunky cubes
1.5kg venison neck and shoulder meat, cut into large chunks
2 onions, peeled and finely sliced
2-3 large carrots, peeled and cut into big chunks
2 sticks celery, sliced
2 bay leaves
1 sprig thyme
150ml red wine
500ml-plus beef or game stock
Salt and black pepper

Heat the oil in a large, heavy frying pan. Add the pork and fry gently until it is lightly browned and the fat runs. Transfer the pork to a casserole, but leave the pan and bacon-flavoured oil on the heat. Now brown the venison, in batches, transferring it to the casserole as soon as it is lightly coloured.

Add the onions to the pan and sweat until soft but not brown. Transfer to the casserole, then add the carrots, celery, bay leaves and thyme to the pan. Deglaze the pan with wine - allow it to bubble for a minute, to evaporate some of the alcohol. Pour over the meat, along with the stock and a little water if needed: the meat should be covered by a good couple of centimetres. Season sparingly with pepper, but not salt (the bacon will be quite salty).

Bring to a simmer and cook, uncovered, at a very low, tremulous simmer for one-and-a-half to two hours (up to three if you've used neck or shanks on the bone), until the meat is very tender. (You can also cook it, covered, in a slow oven - about 140C/275F/gas mark 1.)

When the meat is cooked, taste the stew and adjust the seasoning. The juice will be thin, but well-flavoured. Serve with a dollop of good, buttery mash and steamed seasonal greens.