While I’m going to lie and claim that my hectic schedule and whirlwind social life are to blame for the silence it’s actually just due to my inherent laziness and inability to do anything more than flap my arms about and complain in hot weather.
Anyway! Many moons ago I had a barbecue to celebrate the fact it had finally stopped raining and 2010 being the year I try to make a real, half-hearted attempt to expand my palate I decided to give quail a bash.
I found a recipe for barbecued quail on Nigella’s website – yep, that one again – which had a lovely sounding marinade. I decided to forgo this as a) I forgot to take a list of ingredients with me to the supermarket and b) I just wanted to see what plain old quail tasted like.
After cooing over the ostrich egg I popped off to find some quail. Nestled in between the chicken and grouse were pairs of little birdies, snuggled together in their dinky plastic trays. I threw a couple in the trolly and trundled off in a happy little daze, glad that everything seemed to be going my way. When I got home and read the packaging I could have kicked myself. My quail had grown up in a shed. In my strange little brain I had decided that they must be free range as it’s posh food. I have no idea how I came to this conclusion but was both scared and comforted by the fact Alex, Charlotte and my mum shared my warped view. Anyway, deep breaths etc.
Promisingly the first step of the quail recipe – spatchcocking the birds – contained the words ‘very easy’. Unfortunately this was a lie.
With a tiny naked bird on the chopping board I advanced with the sharpest kitchen scissors to 'cut along both sides of the backbone'. This was not ‘very easy’. This was very fiddly, very stupid and very annoying. And also very crackly as I snipped through its bones. Eventually I managed to cut its spine out and squished it all down. And then realised MOST OF ITS INSIDES WERE STILL INSIDE!!! After a bit of shrieking I realised I was actually okay with this and poked around with a knife trying to work out what everything was. I still have no idea but wow it sure beat a game of Operation. Unfortunately the next three birds didn’t go so well and in the end I just cut them in half and hoped for the best.
Alex loves food - and by that I don’t mean she’s a chunker - but when I excitedly shoved a quail in her face, beaming manically (me, not the quail) she looked a bit sick and told me she didn’t think she could try it as basically it was weeny and that made it cute and that made her feel bad. I stared at her blankly for around, ooooh, five minutes until she cracked and agreed to taste a bit.
After the throw-away barbecue was (unsafely) lit on top of our rusty, unused, real barbecue (and I’d put out the fire caused by the cardboard packaging) on went the birds. They took around fifteen minutes or so though in all honesty for all I know they were still raw. I’ve got no idea what quail should be like but they seemed pretty done.
After carefully eyeing up the quail Alex manned up and took a bite. And then proceeded to eat three. Charlotte and I watched on in wonder as she packed it away. “I know earlier I said I wouldn’t try rabbit stew if you made it but sod that! I’m going to eat everything from now on, however fluffy.” I’ll take that as a culinary success.
Personally I thought they were lovely. I was expecting them to have a very strong gamey flavour but they were beautifully delicate. While making sure I didn’t crunch down on a bit of tiny bone was a bit of a bore I would definitely do these again, maybe roasting them next time.
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