When I was a kid, we would go rabbit hunting every few weeks or so. Dad’d bundle us in the back of the old ute, and, since it was inevitably a freezing winter night, our mittened hands would hang on like crazy as we bounced about; our bodies bundled in a plethora of rugs, blankets, beanies and boots. Rabbits were clean and plentiful back then, and for the few weeks following the ‘big night out’, we’d have rabbit stew, rabbit pie, rabbit braise… well, rabbit everything. One