A rabbit repast is best enhanced by a fine complementary wine

Rabbits are plentiful in Australia and should be eaten, ideally with a wine that brings out the best of the pest.

Which wines go best with a feast of rabbit?

If you have small children who are in the habit of reading the weekly wine pages then I suggest you hide the following from them. It may sound cruel but here it is: I’ve caught the Easter bunny. With his job done for the year, he had grown complacent and I managed to nab him on his way out of Melbourne. He’s watching me now from his hutch as I write this and I can tell he knows what I’m thinking: what am I going to drink with him?

Set aside your sentimentality for a moment and consider that in a country that is home to more than 200 million of the little creatures, we’re really not eating enough rabbit. Anyone who has lived on a farm will tell you what a pest they are, and if you can get past the notion of bright eyes, bushy tails and soft ears you will find how versatile the meat can be. The Spanish use it in paella, the English put it in pies and in the south of India it can be found curried and barbecued. In Kentucky they treat it like chicken, seasoned and fried. But however you like your lagomorph, there’s a wine match to suit.

When going up against rabbit, slow and steady wins the race. It’s a lean meat, and unless you’re eating it in a farmhouse terrine or a galantine, bulked up with fat or a farce, wines with overly aggressive tannin or assertive acid will render the meat insipid.

If you are planning to braise your bunny in white wine to serve with fresh pasta, I recommend you check out the verdicchio grape, a native to the central Italian region of Marche. For me, winemaker Lucio Canestrari stands out. His Il Coroncino Il Bacco 2015 ($35) is all green apple, bruised pear and quince, with a sprinkling of garden herbs and a subtle oiliness. Pure, hand-harvested fruit and no oak bring out the more delicate flavours of the meat. Try throwing some green olives in your braise and the saltiness will really make the wine sing.

Like pork, rabbit works marvellously with sweet-fruited wines. The supple tannins and light spiciness of wines such as grenache and gamay give the gaminess an edge. C hateau Thivin, Cuvee La Chapelle, Cote de Brouilly 2014 ($60). The Geoffray family has been working the volcanic slope of Mont Brouilly in Beaujolais since the 15th century, crafting wines with a fine balance of concentration and finesse. The wine is juicy with white cherry and strawberry yet musky with aromas of mountain herbs. Pretty acid trickles from the roof of the mouth and I like to think I can smell ancient warm rock in the wine but, then, perhaps I’m just being romantic.

If that wascally wabbit is going into a stew, play to the strengths of your sauce. A traditional cacciatore (tomatoes, black olive, bay leaf) would work with a savory sangiovese or even a peppery syrah with a dab of meatiness — think South Australia or Crozes-Hermitage in France.

Whole roasted rabbit may seem daunting, but if you are up to it then I’d recommend splurging on a top bottle of rich white. A Rhone blend with a little age and nuttiness would be divine. Domaine de l’Oratoire St Martin is based in Cairanne in the south of Rhone and is run by brothers Frederic and Francois Alary, members of the 10th generation of the family to tend the vines here. The Cairanne Haut-Coustias Blanc 2013 ($70) is a beguiling blend of hand-harvested old vine marsanne, roussanne, white grenache and clairette. Tart notes of lemon juice and pith meld with white blossom and frangipane on the nose. At first sip, the richness of the wine may seem a little intense — think clarified butter and honey. However, it calms into an even flow of texture across the back palate, leaving a subtle tongue-coating oiliness.

In the end, I decided to let the Easter bunny go. For as fond as I am of rabbit, I’m also very fond of chocolate. As he gave me a last, indignant look before hopping off into the woods my thoughts turned to the chilled champagne in the fridge and the unicorn I’d been fattening up in my yard.