I’m just going to start off by saying the part that I think will be hardest for you to hear. (Trust me, it’s hard for me to type.)
I cooked a bunny on Saturday for dinner.
Now that I’ve said it, I’m going to defend myself and say that it wasn’t a boiled bunny à la Fatal Attraction. (Completely unrelated but super interesting sidenote: On the day that I found out that I didn’t even make first cuts in 7th grade cheerleading tryouts, in other words, THE WORST DAY OF MY ADOLESCENT LIFE, my best friend, her mom, and I went to see Fatal Attraction in the theater. Why we went to see this particular movie I don’t know, it certainly wasn’t a feel-good, pick me up sort of movie–unless you’re talking about the part where Michael Douglas picks up Glenn Close, uh, never mind. I cannot imagine taking an adolescent child to see that movie, but I mostly turned out okay, I’m not scarred for life, though you could make a case against me now that I’ve admitted that I have indeed cooked a bunny.)
So, yes, I cooked a bunny. It’s a long story leading up to the point where Tate brought home a bunny, “took care” of the bunny, and did other things to the bunny to make it into something that resembled normal, grocery store, cook-able meat, but that long story isn’t nearly as interesting as the Fatal Attraction story above. I really kept hoping that Tate would forget all about bringing home a bunny to eat, he’d been talking about it for months and MONTHS and forever.
“People eat rabbit, Jennifer. This isn’t that weird,” Tate tried to convince me. Ooookay.
We were very secretive with the children about the whole cooking a bunny thing. I cooked a recipe from my Anthony Bourdain Les Halles Cookbook (affiliate link!). The recipe is called Lapin Aux Olives, so we just told the kids we were eating “lapin.” See, it turns out that Ella LOVES bunnies, she has a whole family of stuffed animal bunnies that she carries around in a box. She treats these bunnies like real pets and has given them names, Baby Bunny, Baby Bunny, Baby Bunny, and Mommy Bunny. It didn’t seem right to tell the children, “hey kids! We’re eating bunny for dinner tonight!” Talk about scarring a kid for life.
Ella was acting a bit like a FREAKING JERKAZOID that morning, so I had to put Baby Bunny (x3) and Mommy Bunny in time out. I completely forgot about the bunnies and so did Ella until later that evening when she suddenly remembered and asked if she could have them back. She carried her box of bunnies into the living room where in the adjoining kitchen, Tate was taking care of his box of bunnies.
As he did whatever he was doing with his bunnies, Tate overheard Ella talking to her bunnies. “Baby Bunny! You’re alive! You’re alive! I’m so happy you’re alive Baby Bunny! I love you bunnies! I missed you so much!” Ella cheerfully loved on her returned bunnies.
Tate is convinced that I coached Ella to say this and prove my point that eating bunnies is weird, but I most certainly DID NO SUCH THING. And just so you know, the bunny/lapin was actually not bad. Kinda tasted like chicken.