My chicken go-to-guy told me a tale of his rabbit loves the other week, and as a result my fondness for the Velveteen Rabbit story hopped into the culinary stratosphere. Reliant on game meat, Mr. Murray puts aside time each year to hunt for his family. Whitetail deer, rabbits and other critters are the usual goals, but awhile back his buddies got themselves organized for a trip to the wild west. Hulking bear and corpulent elk filled their heads and puffed their breasts (and luggage) as they set out on the long drive cross-country. In the Badlands of South Dakota, they made camp.
Ears popped up, and Mr. Murray took his shot. First kill in quest for large prizes: a rabbit. Dinner was to be had, though, so after skinning and gutting, that most prolific species cuniculus got sizzled right nice over the campfire. Just so happens the boys had some red wine with them . . . and a-simmering it was set, with the rabbit turned about therein. And as the night settled down on that no-man’s land vista, ghosts of bandits past perhaps creeping amonst the odd curves and layers, a verdict was given: ‘the best rabbit ever.’ 
I once believed that my stuffed animals would come alive at night, embark upon storytelling hours under the bed covers and whisk me into the next sunrise through a friendly version of the looking glass. This has happened, of course, as dreams tend to, when pursued through a lifetime. Through the looking glass, though, is more different than my eight-year-old self could imagine. Mr. Murray’s story reminds me of the numerous ‘ah-hah!’ moments that cooking brings to life. Be it with a dish of macarroni reminiscent of Mom’s, or a phenomenal bite of sushi somewhere in world travels, extraordinary moments are to be had everywhere in life with food. Sometimes that food is about surviving, sometimes about transcendence. But always memorable and always real.
And for old time’s sake, that wonderful passage from The Velveteen Rabbit: “What’s real?” asked the velveteen rabbit one day, when she and the skin horse were lying side by side. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick out handle?” “Real isn’t how you’re made,” said the skin horse. “It is a thing that happens to you when a child loves you for a long, long time, not just play but really loves you—then you become real.” “Does it hurt?” asked the rabbit. “Sometimes,” said the skin horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are real you don’t mind being hurt.” “Does it happen all at once like being wound up, or bit by bit?” “It doesn’t happen all at once, you become—it takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily or have sharp edges or have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are real, most of your hair has been loved off, your eyes drop out, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” By Margery Williams
Recent Comments