Getting back in the black

I remember my first mouthful of rook pie. It was also my last. The Quorn Hunt held an annual rook supper in May. Puppy walkers, earth-stoppers — this was before the Hunting Act — and farmers were thanked for their support by way of invitation to the shindig. Beer flowed, hunting songs were sung and the pub walls shook with cheers as the golden-crusted pie was brought proudly to the table.

“Humans provide many scavenging opportunities”

I found the rook filling too gamey, with an overwhelming hint of soil to the aftertaste. But the pastry was excellent and the pub’s collie, less fussy than me, gratefully accepted my under-the-table meaty offerings.

May is the traditional time to control rooks. The youngsters, known as