
Bad, bad pic. Again. Sorry.
Those readers who know me will know the tale of my long-standing fight with the local pigeon population – indeed I have seen you cast your eyes heavenwards when I threaten to retell it. However there may be those in my audience (yes! I see you there! Both of you!) who haven’t heard the saga, so here is a brief recap.
It all began a couple of years ago, when I first noticed two pigeons making a habit of perching on my kitchen windowsill. On a couple of occasions they even ventured on to the top of the open sash window, cooing encouragingly to each other. One Monday evening I arrived home from work, looking forward to a lovely relaxing evening with nothing to do except take my clean washing off the airer and fold it up in preparation for my lovely cleaner’s visit the next day. I opened the front door and wandered through to the kitchen to be greeted by a scene of total devastation – broken glass and pigeon shit all over the floor. Slightly in shock, I reeled through to the sitting room and turned on the light, and saw more pigeon shit, another glass smashed on the floor – and finally, two pigeons, perched on top of the airer looking at me.
For the first and hopefully only time in my life, I had a total fit of screaming hysterics, which of course caused the pigeons to panic and start flapping around and dive-bombing me, and me to panic even more. Eventually I managed to chase one of them out of the front door, but the other was not so clever and ended up perched shivering on my desk behind the computer screen. So, still quaking with horror, I phoned the boyfriend to come and rescue me and went and hid in the bathroom until he arrived and evicted the remaining pigeon with manly calm, and we spent the evening cleaning everything up.
So you can imagine that I take a fairly dim view of these winged rats, especially as of late one of them has taken to roosting on the landing light outside my front door. It lies in wait there, and when I walk down the stairs flies terrifyingly over my head with much flapping of wings. When I see it there I have to get the lift downstairs. It’s also crapped on my doormat – a flagrant declaration of open hostility if ever I saw one.

But why, you ask, do I not take drastic action? It is simple: the boyfriend, light of my life and companion of my days, has taken sides in this matter, and the side he is on is not mine. Any attempt to thwart the pigeons, beyond the spikes I had installed on my windowsills, would be met with hard stares and possibly even unceremonious dumping. But I get the last laugh, dear readers. As soon as his back is turned, as it is tonight, I buy, cook and eat pigeon breast from the farmers market. That, I am sure you will agree, serves to demonstrate to the pigeons that if their woodland cousins can be seared and served with a red wine reduction, my kitchen is not a safe place for them to be.
And that is why I bring you this autumnal feast.
Take two pigeon breasts and rub them with smashed juniper berries, garlic and black peppercorns and a little olive oil. Leave them to marinate for the duration of the X Factor before pan-frying them briefly.
I’m serving this with two of the winter vegetables I find rather challenging. I’m making a dauphinoise of potatoes and fennel, and sauteeing savoy cabbage with a little pancetta and butter.
I also came across a recipe for red wine jus that involved caramelising sugar, adding red wine, more thyme and juniper, and reducing until thick. The result was more like red ink than anything you’d want to eat, so I have calmed it down with the addition of chicken stock and dijon mustard, and I’ll be thickening it with a little butter before serving it over the pigeon breasts.
And if that doesn’t teach the feathery bastards, I don’t know what will.