My favourite recipe

THE pheasant may not be worth the expense of rearing from the sportsman’s point of view,’ thunders P. Morton Shand in A Book of Food. ‘But it is worth almost any sacrifice from that of an epicure.’ Shand published his trenchant tome (‘This is frankly a book of prejudices, for all food is a question of likes and dislikes’) nearly a century ago, but how times have changed.

Because, although the keen shot, standing deep in some Devon or Yorkshire valley, may marvel at birds soaring stratospherically overhead, they’re rather less thrilled by the eating. A dowdy dowager aunt, if you like, to the more glamorous grouse, teal or woodcock. Too lean, they say, too dry and—unless you favour the