Lapin à la Moutarde

Rabbit painted thickly with Dijon and braised with white wine, bacon, and cream

Origin: Burgundy, France

From the journey of Mustard.

This is the dish that shows what Dijon mustard is actually for, which is not to be tasted as mustard at all. Rabbit is very lean, very mild, and dries out readily, and the French answer to all three problems is the same ingredient. The joints are painted with a thick coat of Dijon before they go anywhere near heat: the mustard holds moisture against the surface, its acid tenderises slightly, and during a long slow braise the volatile pungency cooks off almost entirely, leaving behind depth and a faint bitterness that lifts the cream sauce it ends up in. Somebody eating it who was not told would not necessarily identify mustard as an ingredient, which is precisely the point. That cooking-off is worth understanding, because it is the same chemistry as everywhere else in this entry running in reverse. The heat of mustard comes from a volatile compound generated when the crushed seed meets water, and volatile compounds leave when heated. Simmer mustard and the sinus-clearing part disappears within minutes. This is why a mustard sauce that is meant to taste of mustard has more stirred in at the end, off the heat, and why the mustard that goes in at the start is doing a different job entirely. The dish belongs to Burgundy, where both the rabbit and the mustard are local, and to the whole of French domestic cooking beyond it. It is a Sunday dish rather than a restaurant one, cooked in a single heavy pot, and it is one of the small number of recipes that every French home cook is assumed to be able to produce. A second spoonful of mustard goes in at the very end. That one is there to be noticed.

Ingredients

Meat

  • 1 whole rabbit, about 1.4 kg, jointed into 6 pieces, or 8 chicken thighs
  • 5 tbsp Dijon mustard, for coating
  • 1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
  • 2 tbsp plain flour, for dusting

Braise

  • 2 tbsp olive oil
  • 30 g unsalted butter
  • 150 g smoked bacon lardons
  • 2 whole shallots, finely chopped
  • 2 cloves garlic, chopped
  • 250 ml dry white wine, ideally a Burgundy Aligoté
  • 250 ml chicken stock
  • 3 sprigs thyme
  • 1 whole bay leaf

To Finish

  • 150 ml double cream
  • 2 tbsp Dijon mustard, to finish
  • 2 tbsp flat-leaf parsley or tarragon, chopped

Method

  1. Pat the rabbit joints dry and grind black pepper over them. Paint every surface thickly with the 5 tbsp of Dijon, as though icing them, and leave for thirty minutes at room temperature. Add no salt.
  2. Dust the coated joints very lightly with flour, patting off the excess.
  3. Heat the oil and butter in a heavy casserole and brown the joints in two batches over a medium heat, three minutes a side, until golden. Set aside.
  4. Add the lardons to the same pot and cook until their fat runs and they colour, then add the shallots and cook for five minutes until soft. Add the garlic for a final minute.
  5. Pour in the wine, bring to the boil, and scrape the base of the pot clean with a wooden spoon. Let it reduce by half, about five minutes.
  6. Return the rabbit and any juices to the pot, add the stock, thyme, and bay leaf, bring to a bare simmer, cover, and cook over a low heat for 45 to 55 minutes, until the meat comes away from the bone easily.
  7. Lift the meat out onto a warm dish. Boil the sauce hard for five minutes to reduce it, then stir in the cream and simmer for three minutes more.
  8. Take the pot off the heat, whisk in the remaining 2 tbsp of Dijon, and taste for salt.
  9. Return the rabbit to the sauce, scatter with parsley or tarragon, and serve with tagliatelle, boiled potatoes, or bread.

Notes

Chicken thighs work extremely well and are the usual domestic substitute; pork loin chops and guinea fowl also take the same treatment. Reduce the braise to 35 minutes for chicken. Do not salt the meat. Between the mustard, the lardons, and the stock, the dish will be salty enough, and this is a recipe that regularly comes out over-seasoned in the hands of people who season by habit. The two-stage mustard is the technique to take away from this. Mustard cooked long is depth; mustard added off the heat is flavour. Almost every good French mustard sauce does both. A wholegrain mustard stirred in at the end alongside the smooth one gives texture and looks well. Tarragon rather than parsley makes it more distinctly Burgundian.

The Gastrographer

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