Another Note from the Edge (of the Forest of Dean)

It was late autumn and I'd nipped out to the farm shop. On the way back I noticed something in the road that hadn't been there twenty minutes earlier. It was a large cock pheasant. I pulled over and examined it. It was still warm, but one of its wings was pointing the wrong way. Road kill. I'd never eaten road kill before, but I was certain that this bird wasn't going to do me any harm. I slung it into the boot and off I went.

There is a school of thought that says that game has to be “hung” until it is practically rotten. I do not fully agree, but I do think that some meat needs a bit of time for the enzymes to break down the tough bits. I stuck it on a hook in my shed for a couple of days while I wondered what to do with it.

I assumed that it had to be plucked, and amused myself with repeating the old tongue-twister:

I'm not a pheasant plucker, I'm a pheasant plucke’rs son,
I'm only plucking pheasants ‘till the pheasant plucker comes.
I'm not a pheasant plucker, I'm a pheasant plucke’rs mate,
I'm only plucking pheasants 'cos the pheasant plucker’s late.

Say it very fast in a South London accent.

I wasn't sure what to do, so I did some Googling and came across a splendid website: www.shootingtimes.co.uk. This is not a politically correct website. I got the distinct impression that there weren't many Labour, Liberal or Green voters among its readership. I might have been intruding. There is an excellent video of a chap skinning a pheasant. They don't need to be plucked, you can skin them like a rabbit. Compared to rabbits, they are a doddle.

The demo also gave a useful tip for getting the leg tendons out using a pair of pliers. It improves a pheasant’s legs no end. As it now had nice legs, I called my pheasant Kylie. I've added pliers to my collection of kitchen utensils.

So I skinned my pheasant. But I slipped and there was pheasant everywhere. It took me half an hour to clean up the kitchen and all my clothes had to go into the washing machine, after treatment with stuff designed to remove “unpleasant stains”. These were un-pheasant stains. I'll get it right next time.

For some reason, I've kept the tail-feathers, they might come in handy for playing Cowboys and Indians.

One skinned pheasant. Quite a big bird, too. And with provenance. It probably once belonged to a local Lord or even Prince Charles. Far too much for one person for one meal, so I chopped it in half. Straight down the backbone. I had a game of two halves.

I had a debate with myself: Is it morally right to eat pheasant on two consecutive days? Of course it is. I'm top of the food chain. I can do what I like as long as it's legal. There isn't an Eating Pheasant (two days running) Act.

Unusually for me, I developed a plan. Half of the bird would be casseroled and I would use some of the liquid to make sauce for the other half, which would be roasted.

So, I made dinner of casseroled pheasant. I used my usual carrot and onion as a basis. Some button mushrooms and half a red pepper got chopped up and went in the pot. I used a chicken stock cube, some dried herbs and a squirt of tomato puree.

Because it was a “one pot” job, I peeled and cut some potatoes into thick slices and they went in as well. I topped it up with water, gave it all a stir and stuck it in the oven at 200