Run, pheasant, run, run, run

The Man clipped the wings of a young cock pheasant last Saturday night and dutifully finished it off quickly (he doesn't shoot, so easier said than done). Got it home and plucked and gutted it immediately. I roasted it (salt and pepper, streaky bacon on the top, with potatoes and parsnips in the tin too) and served it up with buttered curly kale and steamed carrots. It was delicious. I don't particularly love pheasant, but as this was younger and hadn't been hung, the meat was plump and tasty. Roadkill, who'd have thunk?