Food in season: eating off the land in November

Rohan Anderson cooks outside on cool evenings - young vegetables, rabbits and shiny trout make their way into the pot
Weather has everything to do with my food supply. I have to accept what it delivers, working with and around it. A powerful force, it has a way of making us feel insignificant, of reminding us that we are tiny parts in a larger machine. The more embedded we become in an industrialised world, the less apparent that is. It was some years ago that I recognised that I had, to a certain extent, lost that critical aquaintance with the natural world. To subsist with the fickle whims of nature seemed like a fine notion. And here I am now, a rather contented man. Spring continues to drag its feet. Some days the sun is high and it's delightfully balmy - and then the winds return with gusto, along with the cool temperatures. We light the fires to warm ourselves; taking pleasure in the final clutches of Jack Frost's weakening grasp. Soon it will be bushfire season in this part of Victoria, and lighting a campfire will not be possible. So it seems logical to take advantage of this opportunity while it's here. I cook with fire and coals, as humans have for eons. We have the choice to make life complicated or simple. I lean towards the simple way of living, and when it comes to cooking this approach is even more important. The tools for fireside cooking are practical and hard-wearing; they should last a lifetime. A few cast-iron camp ovens are all I need. There's no Teflon coating to be seen here, just the hard steel that captures the heat of the glowing coals and distributes it evenly, creating the perfect slow-cooked food. A handful of vegetables, early garlic, eggplant, zucchini, onion and pasata make a simple veg stew; add some fresh-cut parsley to a generous serving of couscous and you'll soon see a happy man. Alternatively, I turn to the fields for a feed, picking five small new rabbits for the old cast-iron pot. The smaller rabbits can be a harder target for the rifle but are my preferred choice: the best rabbits are less than six months old, a fair size for a good feed, but joyously tender. They haven't lived long enough to develop that tough, wild form that the old bucks have. I braise them on the hot iron, the olive juice sizzling away, giving out a delightful aroma. With some onions, home-cured green bacon and a sprinkle of pimenton, I leave a hearty dinner to simmer for a few hours. When the meat falls away from the bone, it's ready to eat - and this is when I embrace my carnivore spirit. I'm lost for words, mostly grunting in appreciation of the tender rabbit. There must be something to marry with the richness of the stew, and nothing beats the fluffy inside of a camp-baked potato. The skin made crisp from the heat of the flames, the centre soft and fluffy. It's a fine accompaniment for the excess juices from the rabbit. The campfire sits in view of the three sweet-water dams fed by a spring that seems to flow from autumn to spring. In this water I raise trout. From the hatchery they come as yearlings, about 20cm in size. After a few months they fatten up, feeding on emerging invertebrates as the weather warms, an easy source of food which makes the fish even more plump. They jump at dusk, putting on quite a show - the flash of their silver bellies dancing on the flat water. I head to the house for a rod, with an "egg-sucking leech" tied to its end. Not the nicest name for a pattern, but an effective fly nonetheless. The strike from the trout is fierce - they are, after all, a bona fide predator fish - and I land the fish up to the bank, dinner as fresh as can be. It seems appropriate to cook it as honestly as possible, wrapped in foil with a knob of butter. We feast like kings on simple tucker cooked on a primitive fire. Soon my vegetable garden will be a veritable cornucopia and with fire season in full swing I'll transfer my cooking into the kitchen, but for now, on these cool evenings, I'll continue to make the most of this seasonal shift.Photo: Rohan Anderson: 'On these cool evenings, I'll continue to make the most of this seasonal shift.' Photograph: Kate Berry