Stir-fried with chilli and basil, substiting roo for the chicken in this recipe.
The reason for the three ways being that at the moment, kangaroo mince is only available in 1kg packs, and I don't like the texture of meat that's been frozen raw so I have to cook it before freezing. And I find the notion of preparing a kilo of the same meat in the same way, to be consumed by one person, rather frightening. In my mind I could see my freezer rack stacked high with boxes of bolognaise, and in another frame, could see myself eating it day after day after day, far into the horizon: on rice, on pasta, on toast with chunks of mozarella broken over it -- an illegitimate pizza, wrapped in shortcrust pastry and finished with a crimped semicircular edge, like the confused offspring resulting from a liaison between pastizzi and curry puff. Day in and day out I'd be eating the same thing in only marginally different ways, and it would only be a matter of time before I began to see monotony as a good thing. Horrors.
I was a little disappointed when I tasted it: based on the way the chilli fumes were making my eyes water as I stirred, I had been gleefully expecting a furious, full-bodied kick of spice. Instead, I tasted sweetness first; basil second; and only then did the chilli weakly saunter in, like some clueless partygoer who'd been the first to RSVP but forgot to turn up on the day. I'll just double the chilli the next time, and hopefully then my head will detach itself at first bite. How else is spicy food satisfying than when it makes you feel you might never be able to form a full sentence again?
And why am I even cooking kangaroo?
I guess I'll eventually talk about that. Right now, it's enough that I'm managing both the cooking and the eating.