Mountaineer, boulderer, hunter, restaurateur (The Pot Kiln, Berkshire), and co-owner of the Harwood Arms, Fulham, Mike Robinson also runs game workshops at his cookery school.
Amid once-flighted specimens at a Yattendon farm, Robinson explains his intentions. ‘I was a vicious little bastard as a boy. I wanted to shoot everything with an air rifle, including a squirrel. But my father taught me, “if you kill it, you deal with it.”’
According to Robinson, annual UK game sales have risen from £6.5m 10 years-ago to £100m today. ‘There are 200,000 people employed in relation to game and shooting. What we’re doing at our game and wild food school is to show the industry’s sustainability.’
Aided by wine personality Joe Wadsack, Robinson lands a fallow deer on the terrazzo of his immaculate, British-built induction kitchen. It was stalked for an hour and is the eleventh beast he shot in a week. ‘Deer are the UK’s largest wild animals, with similar intelligence to a good dog. When you stalk a pack of 20 you’re faced with the challenge of 40 eyes and 40 ears.’
Believing in humane methods, Robinson uses bullets that kill within four seconds – ‘better than an abattoir where a deer’s parents may be killed ahead of it. I see mine don’t suffer because their hearts, fed to my dog as a reward, are still loose.’
This deer is soon replaced by one already skinned. ‘Here’s one we skinned earlier’ jokes Robinson as he deftly butchers, removing hooves then head, with a crack. ‘That’s a sound you don’t want to hear skiing!’
The carcass is scentless. ‘I don’t believe in smelly game. You only hang beef to get the moisture out. Venison’s lean already and won’t get leaner.’
Robinson advocates venison’s healthiness and good taste. ‘It’s probably the meat we were put on earth to eat, with zero cholesterol. And it freezes easily.’
Robinson relishes his craft, unlike his first kitchen role in Chamonix, where he peeled a sack of 100 garlic bulbs. He prefers to French butcher, following natural seams, leading to ‘a moist and efficient use of meat’.
Cuts will later appear in Robinson’s nearby pub, the rustic Pot Kiln, complete with outside gents, where main courses deliberately never exceed £18. ‘I don’t factor in my time because I love it, unlike poachers, who take a truck of illegally caught deer to the continent where some restaurateurs don’t ask questions.
Robinson seals cuts in the pan, then transfers them to the oven, for all-round heat. Meanwhile our group follows instructions on skinning rabbits. ‘The rabbit population is growing which is fantastic, especially considering the public are more adventurous about what they eat, thank the Lord. Unlike French white fluffy rabbits, ours work out.’ Under his tutelage, I pull a whole rabbit’s skin away, like sliding off a big sock.
‘Historically they were sold in butchers with teeth still on,’ says Robinson, ‘otherwise there’s no difference in appearance between them and a cat!’
Returning to the venison, Robinson explains the meat should ultimately rest as long as it’s cooked. ‘Then the blood doesn’t run.’
As I wait to taste the succulent, lightly-salted, ruddy meat, Robinson talks of food hero, Henry Harris, mind behind Knightsbridge brasserie, Racine. He also gives an unexpected tip on steak tartare. ‘Prepared at the table by a gent in old-school bow tie, Stringfellows, Covent Garden does the best. Just ignore the floor show...’
Mike Robinson's Game and Wild Food Cookery School
