COUPLE of years ago, on a rainy Sunday morning in Norfolk, I was butchering a muntjac doe with my girlfriend’s granny. She’d told me, as we drove to the game larder where it was hanging, that she had never butchered a deer of any sort, but that, in the Second World War, she was much better at gutting rabbits than any of
The making of muntjac tartare
Aug 02, 2023
2 minutes
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