A horse is a horse of course, of course! Nothing speaks to me quite like the recent discovery of cheval at the local Saturday markets. While I’m called to new taste sensations, they don’t generally evoke a jingle or twinge of hesitation in their purchase. Not like horse. Years ago I spent my first white Christmas in France with friends whose mother made delicious lapin in white wine and cream sauce. Unbeknown to me it might have been a different first experience, as I recently discovered Madam Fouquet could also buy horse meat at the markets if she arrived early enough. I was delighted to find this chapter of traditional cuisine still thriving in a generational stall in the heart of Green Provence. Delighted and challenged. The stall is a permanent feature in the midst of a 6 day carpark, that on the seventh day becomes a maze of seasonal temptations stacked perilously on fruit boxes. Magically everything disappears at the end of the day, except the longstanding tiled boucherie chevaline.

The family’s son was proud and enthusiastic about our carnivorous curiosity, it seems horse meat became a menu item through economic necessity (Napoleon preferred his spiced with gunpowder) but more recently is a specialty item with a contested future. I have tasted kangaroo despite being a fan of Skippy, so why my hesitation with horse? Maybe it’s because Skip didn’t have quite the romance of Black Beauty or Hi-Yo Silver, and there are certain childhood memories that should perhaps remain intact. After all, what would Mr Ed say?