A few months ago, a friend and I were channel flipping and came upon the classic 1962 “Bugs Bunny” cartoon where a king, who looks and sounds like a young Charles Laughton, keeps demanding, “Where’s my hasenpfeffer?” His chef, played by Yosemite Sam, has no idea what hasenpfeffer is, so he quickly consults a cookbook, where he discovers that the dish’s main ingredient is rabbit, setting up the usual round of shenanigans.

As the cartoon ended, my friend turned to me and said, “You’re the food guy – so what is hasenpfeffer anyway?”

I wasn’t sure. As I suspect is the case with most Americans, my entire knowledge of hasenpfeffer was pretty much limited to the cartoon we’d just watched. But I knew that the cartoon’s title was “Shiskabugs,” so I said, “I think it’s rabbit kebabs.”

Turns out I wasn’t even close. As I’ve since learned, hasenpfeffer (pronounced “HAH-sen-feh-fer”) is a peppery German rabbit stew – “hasen” means hare, and “pfeffer” means pepper. When classically prepared, the meat is marinated for up to two days and the rabbit’s blood is reserved upon slaughter and then used to thicken the stewing sauce just before serving, although there are simpler recipes that omit both of these steps.

Other European cultures have similar dishes. The British version is called jugged hare (sounds like the title of another “Bugs Bunny” episode) because the marination often takes place in a ceramic vessel. And the French have civet de lapin, a dish whose origins date back at least to the 17th century. But true hasenpfeffer is German.

Not that you’d know that from New York’s German restaurants. Granted, Teutonic food isn’t one of the city’s strengths, but you’d think at least one place would have hasenpfeffer on the menu. But when I called to inquire at Rolf’s, Heidelberg, the Silver Swan, Wallse, Zum Schneider, Charlie’s Inn, Niederstein’s, and several other German eateries, all I got was a chorus of “nein.” The closest thing to a positive response came from Killmeyer’s on Staten Island, where a woman told me, “We sometimes have it, as a special. But there’s no schedule to it – it’s just an occasional thing, when the kitchen’s in the mood.”

But I couldn’t leave myself to the whims of a fickle kitchen. By this point, I’d grown sufficiently intrigued to have worked up a powerful hasenpfeffer hankering. Not having Yosemite Sam to cook for me, and with the city’s restaurant scene letting me down, my path was clear: I’d have to make my own.

If this were Europe, the first thing to do would be to choose between using a rabbit (small, mild-flavored, white meat) or a hare (larger, gamier, dark meat). This being America, there’s only rabbit, but there are still some choices involved. If you’re not going to make the blood-thickened sauce, a rabbit from your butcher or supermarket is fine. My local Key Food, for example, carries fresh rabbits from D’Artagnan, the highly respected game purveyor, for $6 a pound.

But if you want to do the classic preparation, blood and all, you have to start with a live rabbit. Fortunately, as if to prove the stereotype that rabbit tastes like chicken, rabbits are available at many of the city’s live poultry shops.

If you’ve never been to one of these markets, don’t worry – neither had I, until I began working on this article. Here’s the first thing I learned: You’ve got to get up pretty early in the morning to get a live rabbit in this town. An afternoon visit to the Yeung Sun Live Poultry Market in Red Hook (183 Columbia St., Brooklyn, 718-625-3648) was met with “rabbit all gone – you try again in morning,” and the situation was the same at several other outlets, except maybe the pidgin English was worse.

At 8 a.m. the following morning, I was back at Yeung Sun. Sure enough, there was a big cage filled with rabbits. I gestured toward them, held up my index finger to indicate that I only wanted one, and managed to communicate that I also wanted the blood. A worker promptly removed a cottontail from the cage and placed it in the bin of a hanging scale, where it weighed in at 6 pounds and looked utterly adorable. I tried not to think about this as I paid ($2.50 a pound, cash only). Meanwhile, Flopsy was whisked out of sight to a back room.

As I learned a minute or two later, there’s surprisingly little blood in a rabbit – just a few ounces’ worth, which was presented to me in a plastic bag, along with Flopsy, now skinned and gutted. I took everything home, where I transferred the blood to a small jar and, following a tip from “The Joy of Cooking,” added a tablespoon of vinegar to keep the blood from curdling.

After popping the jar in the fridge, I turned my attention to the rabbit. They’d offered to cut it up for me at Yeung Sun, but I thought I should do this myself, so I used a boning knife to remove the legs, used a cleaver to cut the saddle into several pieces, and then submerged all the meat in a vinegar-based marinade I’d prepared the day before (see accompanying recipe). It wasn’t so different from cutting up a chicken, with one mildly disconcerting exception: The rabbit was still warm.

But maybe that’s a little too intense for some folks, or just too much hassle. So after letting Flopsy soak for a day and a half, I also bought a supermarket rabbit, which I did not marinate. I cooked both of them the same way (see accompanying recipe), except I only used the blood to thicken the marinated rabbit’s sauce. For the supermarket rabbit, I thickened the sauce with flour.

So, after all that, how does hasenpfeffer taste? As much as I hate to admit this, there’s no getting around it: It tastes like chicken stew. A really, really good chicken stew, mind you, but undeniably chickenesque nonetheless. Maybe the flavor would have been more distinct if I’d used hare, or if I’d put the rabbits up to hang for a few days (a common technique with game). Still, it made for an excellent meal, if not quite a singular one. And it was a fun culinary adventure.

A few other notes: The two rabbits were equally tender. The marinated rabbit tasted a bit sharper, and the blood-thickened sauce was a bit richer. In short: The classic preparation is slightly preferable, but the shortcut version is still a formidable dish. Is it fit for a king? Maybe, maybe not. But it’s definitely good enough to serve to Charles Laughton.

Hasenpfeffer

This recipe comes in two parts: the optional marinade, which is adapted from one found in “The Joy of Cooking,” and the stew itself, which is an amalgam of several different hasenpfeffer recipes. The stew’s sauce can be thickened either with the rabbit’s blood or with flour.

FOR THE MARINADE

1 1/2 cups vegetable oil
1 cup chopped celery
1 cup chopped carrots
1 cup chopped onions
3 cups vinegar
2 cups water
1/2 cup chopped parsley
3 bay leaves
1 tablespoon dried thyme
1 tablespoon dried basil
1 tablespoon whole cloves
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1 tablespoon juniper berries
1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper
6 cloves crushed garlic

FOR THE STEW

1 rabbit, cut into 8 to 10 pieces, about 3 pounds (blood reserved, if you like)
Coarse salt
1/2 cup flour
1/2 pound bacon, chopped
1/2 cup chopped shallots
1 clove garlic, minced
1 cup dry red wine
1 cup water
1 tablespoon instant chicken bouillon
1 tablespoon currant jelly
2 tablespoons freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons paprika
1 bay leaf
1/4 teaspoon dried rosemary
1/8 teaspoon dried thyme
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 square unsweetened chocolate, grated

1 If you want to make the marinade, heat the vegetable oil over medium-high heat in a large saucepan and saute the celery, carrots, and onions until the onions are golden. Add all the remaining marinade ingredients and simmer for one hour. Strain into a bowl and cool in the refrigerator. When the marinade is cool, add the rabbit pieces and keep refrigerated for one to two days.

2 To make the stew, dry the rabbit pieces with paper towels (whether the meat has been marinated or not) and sprinkle with coarse salt. Put the flour in a plastic bag and toss the rabbit pieces, one or two at a time, until all pieces are well-coated. Set the floured rabbit meat aside.

3 In a Dutch oven, cook the bacon over medium-high heat until crisp. Remove the bacon and set aside, then brown the floured rabbit meat on both sides in the hot bacon fat, a few pieces at a time. Re move the browned pieces and set aside until all the rabbit meat is browned, adding a bit of vegetable oil to the pot if the bacon fat begins to dissipate. When all the meat is browned, remove all but 2 tablespoons of fat from the pot (or, if needed, add enough vegetable oil so that there are 2 tablespoons of fat in the pot).

4 Add the shallots and garlic to the pot and cook until tender, about four minutes. Stir in the wine, water, and chicken bouillon and bring to a boil. Stir in the jelly, black pepper, paprika, bay leaf, rosemary, and thyme. Add the browned rabbit meat and cooked bacon, bring the pot to a boil once again, and then reduce heat. Cover and simmer until rabbit is tender, about 90 minutes.

5 Remove the rabbit meat and place on a warmed platter. Stir the lemon juice and grated chocolate into the stewing liquid. If using the rabbit’s blood to thicken the sauce: Place the blood in a small bowl and stir a few spoonfuls of the stewing liquid into it. Then slowly whisk the blood back into the stew pot. If not using the rabbit’s blood: Put 3 tablespoons of water and 2 tablespoons of flour in a small jar or plastic container, close the lid, and shake. Stir the resulting mixture into the stew pot. Ladle thickened sauce over rabbit pieces.

Yield: 3 to 4 servings.