Geoff Dougherty

---

I can’t believe I ate the whole thing!; A culinary journey from snout to tail rediscovers strong, forgotten flavors

By Geoff Dougherty | Chicago Tribune staff reporter

There’s no denying I felt a bit like Hannibal Lecter when I smiled at the waitress and said: “The kidneys, please. And the bone marrow to start.” The smile lasted through the appetizer. The meaty marrow, scooped out of roasted bones and spread on toast with parsley salad, was like butter infused with the essence of beef. But then the entree arrived, and thus began a game of chicken with a plate full of lamb organs.

My experiment in organ meats began at London’s St. John restaurant, where chef Fergus Henderson puts forth some of the world’s best-regarded food, relying.on strong, simple flavors. The test lies in the fact that many of those flavors are found in stuff that makes one cringe: brains, spleens, feet, tails.

Organ meats and extremities-known collectively as offal-have always had a cult following in the food world. At the French Laundry in California, chef Thomas Keller sings the praises of liver and kidneys. Making something sublime out of castoff cuts of meat, Keller says, is the truest test of a cook’s skill.

And gastronomic stuntmen on food television shows seem to be holding a never-ending contest to see who can eat the most obscure-and potentially nauseating-animal products.

But what about the rest of us, accustomed to nothing more adventuresome than Styrofoam-packed chicken breasts?

The way Henderson grinned maniacally as he talked about organs and how they’re “the most unctuous, lip-sticking parts of the beast” was enough to convince me that I needed to try them.

However. There they sat on the plate. For all of the descriptions of kidney-shaped swimming pools and kidney beans, how many people have actually seen a kidney?

There was no mistaking these, emphatically kidney shaped, bathing in pungent sauce.

Eight kidney halves, impressively large, filled the plate. Tiny veins squiggled across their taut surfaces.

I sighed, vowed to persevere and bit into one. The texture was reminiscent of an especially fresh mushroom, springy and at the same time velvety. The initial taste was nice: rich, meaty and a bit gamey. OK so far.

But then the faintly uric aftertaste nearly did me in. Never before had I been so conscious of what a kidney does (filter impurities from urine) or of the fact that my dinner, until recently, was a living beast.

Lately, few dining experiences offer such reminders.

“America has gone quite far,” said Henderson. “You have all of this pig meat in plastic. It’s flavorless.”

Henderson’s cooking is, in part, a reaction to that. His Middlewhite pigs come from a farmer he knows well. The chef has visited the farm and talks enthusiastically about watching cute little piglets lounging in the sunshine. He seemed quite fine with the idea that they’re slaughtered and then delivered to St. John, where he cures and salts his own meat.

Ever since Alice Waters turned American cuisine on its head in the early 1970s, chefs have subscribed to the idea that eating close to the land is best, and that knowing where your food comes from is a prerequisite to cooking and enjoying it properly.

Staring down that plate of kidneys, though, was cause for reconsideration. “That poor lamb,” I thought, grimacing at the idea of eating another seven kidneys. It seemed wrong.

But I was hungry and didn’t want to give up. So I ate the next one, pausing frequently for sips of wine. And the next.

In the open kitchen, an entire roasted suckling pig lay on its side, eye gazing lifelessly at the ceiling, waiting to be picked up by a waiter. A chef scribbled on the tile wall with a grease pencil, letting the rest of the staff know there was only one order of kidneys left. Apparently my difficulty was a solitary one.

I felt faintly guilty that I’d deprived a bona fide kidney lover of a chance to indulge. But then, gingerly chewing numbers three and four, I began to like them. The ammonia aftertaste didn’t seem quite so off-putting.

I finished, almost.

A few days later, fully recovered from the kidney experience, I had lunch with Henderson. He ordered up an offal feast.

Ox heart: “The heart is the most interesting organ. It really expresses the soul of the organ it comes from.”

Sauteed pig tails: “They’re half-fat and half-flesh. It’s poetry. You have bread, and a crispy bone to gnaw on. It’s always good to have a bone to gnaw on.”

Pig’s head: “The jowls have received the perfect amount of exercise.”

The ox heart was, as Henderson promised, beefy. The thin-sliced meat recalled the grilled skirt steak in fajitas and offered the purest beef flavor I’ve ever tasted.

The pig’s head had been braised for hours. The snout and jowl, tossed with green beans and a light vinaigrette, looked like an innocuous serving of pulled pork, but was far more succulent and flavorful.

There was no mistaking the pig tails for anything else. They were long and skinny, sauteed until the breading crisped perfectly. The meat was tender and flavorful.

Henderson noted that our meal had started at the front of the beast and finished at the tail.

“The flavor is in the extremities. Heads. Trotters. Tails. Kidneys. Spleens. There’s no end of treats,” he said. “And it seems sort of sensible, if you’re going to slaughter a beast, to eat the whole thing.”

Selective eating

In America, the Industrial Revolution did away with that logic, according to culinary historian Barbara Haber.

Although offal figures prominently in classic recipes from France, once Americans moved off the farm, they mostly abandoned nose-to-tail eating in favor of prime cuts.

“When people lived more on the land, there was more slaughtering going on,” Haber said. “People ate what was available.”

Some dishes using variety cuts are also difficult to prepare. When she was growing up, Haber recalled, her family cooked a Jewish dish called kiska: stuffed intestines.

“You turn the intestine inside out and scrape it with a knife before you can even think of eating it,” she said. “Who’s going to do that?”

For those willing, offal holds the promise of distinctive and strong flavors that can’t be found anywhere else, said food scientist Edward Mills, a professor at Pennsylvania State University.

Kidneys, liver and spleen acquire their distinctive flavor from the digestive processes they accomplish, said Mills, a liver enthusiast.

Cuts like tails, jowls and trotters (pig’s feet) acquire their “lip-sticking” qualities because of their connective tissue, which breaks down and becomes gelatinous. Those tissues, which are initially tough, require substantial cooking to render them tender.

“Any time you have to cook something a long time, you have more time for the development of flavor,” Mills said.

Ox heart tastes especially beefy because it beats constantly. The taste of beef comes from compounds left behind when an animal transforms oxygen into energy, Mills said. The heart processes more oxygen than any other muscle in the body.

There’s only one heart, though, in each 2,000-pound steer. That, coupled with changes in the meat business over the years, means offal can be difficult to find.

Processing companies butcher livestock at faraway plants and truck only the most popular cuts to supermarkets.

Neighborhood butchers used to slaughter livestock in the back portions of their shops, so anyone who wanted a tail or kidneys simply had to ask.

“There aren’t many of those around anymore,” Mills said.

There’s a good one, Paulina Market on Lincoln Avenue. But a call there seeking lamb kidneys, ox heart and pig tails yielded only confusion.

“Odd request,” the butcher said, before suggesting Halsted Packing. Alas, Halsted Packing also thought the request was odd—so odd that the woman who answered the phone couldn’t think of anyone who might be willing to sell what I was looking for.

I got a line on some good organs at a Hispanic grocery on the North Side, called and was passed from person to person until the butcher’s son picked up. He said he might be able to help. He would have to check. “Call me back tomorrow at this time,” he said.

It was then that I began to feel trapped in some sort of culinary film noir episode, talking to ‘dis one guy who knows ‘dis other guy who might get me the “goods,” if I were patient, called back tomorrow at a certain time, and were willing to pay with unmarked twenties.

Ultimately the ingredients for an offal-tasting materialized. Gepperth’s Market, an old-style butcher shop on Halsted Street near Armitage Avenue, ordered a four-pound beef heart. They also ordered pig tails and lamb kidney, but the tails did not arrive as planned, and they received veal kidneys rather than lamb.

Members of chowhound.com, an Internet food discussion group, suggested the intersection of Lawrence and Kedzie Avenues, which proved to be an offal-lover’s paradise. At City Noor Market, I located a dozen lamb kidneys. Andy’s Fruit Ranch offered pig’s trotters, pig tails, hog stomach and several varieties of tripe. At La Esperanza market, I stopped at the butcher counter to inquire about a pig head. To my consternation, there was an entire shelf of them neatly wrapped in plastic, eerily staring out from the self-serve meat case.

An offal invitation

And so on a recent Sunday evening, a group of friends sat down to eat and critique a menu that included braised pig’s head over wilted spinach, sauteed lamb kidneys on toast and grilled beef heart with chimichurri sauce.

The cooking went smoothly, considering the unfamiliar ingredients. The kidneys, sauteed in Worcestershire sauce, tasted almost exactly like those at St. John. Grilling the heart was a snap. Henderson had faxed me instructions for preparing the pig head.

We started the meal with the pig’s head, which proved challenging. Some found the crispy skin too tough, and others were put off by the high fat content of the meat. The one guest who had actually watched me hack the meat from the head was just put off, period.

But all was not lost. “The spinach was great,” my friend Dawn said diplomatically.

The judging panel disliked the kidneys because of the aftertaste. Dawn proclaimed it metallic, while another brave participant concluded that they tasted like a barnyard.

The beef kabobs were another story.

“The heart was pretty tasty,” Jim said.

Some found the strong beef taste to be a bit much, while others said they would be likely to order heart if they saw it on a restaurant menu.

In the days after the tasting, word of it had spread. Even distant acquaintances somehow knew that organ meats had been eaten. With the kind of horrified interest usually saved for car wrecks, they asked, “You cooked a pig’s head?”

I had unwittingly stumbled on something that any restaurant would pay good money for: buzz.

But the unenthusiastic reaction to kidneys and jowls left me searching for a way to cook organs so that even the most skeptical eater would love them.

After more conversations with Henderson, I tried another pig’s head. This time it spent six hours braising in a 300-degree oven. The head emerged fork-tender and tasting of the essence of pork.

More answers came in a conversation with Charlie Trotter, a friend of Henderson’s and a fan of St. John. Trotter’s Armitage Avenue restaurant frequently offers kidney and other unusual cuts to great acclaim.

The secret, Trotter said, is pairing them with other foods.

“An entire veal kidney may be overwhelming,” he said. “It’s a little alien to people, even sophisticated diners in this country.”

But garnishing a piece of fish with tiny cubes of braised and sauteed kidneys, he said, yields a different result. “Suddenly, that’s an interesting taste. An exotic taste. And you don’t have to deal with chewing up a kidney, bite after bite. It’s a thing of beauty.”

Meet the whole chef

Chef Fergus Henderson’s cookbook, “The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating” (Ecco, $19.95, softcover) first published in Britain, is due in the U.S. at the beginning of April.

The book offers detailed instructions-and kindhearted encouragement-for those interested in experimenting with fare ranging from haggis to blood cake with fried eggs.

But there also are more familiar entries. Henderson includes his version of pot roast, as well as a pork loin with turnips, garlic and anchovy.

Henderson will be in Chicago in April for several events. He will sign copies of his cookbook from 6:30 to 8 p.m. April 15 at Trotter’s to Go, 1337 W. Fullerton Ave. And he will give a lecture to the Culinary Historians of Chicago at 10 a.m. April 17, at the Chicago Historical Society, 1601 N. Clark St. Free for members; $10 for nonmembers. For reservations, call 815-439-3960, or go to RSVPchc@yahoo.com.

—Geoff Dougherty

Butter-roasted char with sauteed kidneys

Preparation time: 20 minutes

Cooking time: 12 minutes

Yield: 4 servings

Oily fish like char and salmon are often served with a vinaigrette. The acidic ingredients temper the fatty fish and the rich butter. While the uric acid in kidneys can be off-putting on its own, it makes a great foil for the oily char in this recipe adapted from chef Charlie Trotter. This would also work well with similarly fatty fish like bluefish, salmon or mackerel. Order veal or lamb kidneys from a full-service butcher several days in advance.

3 tablespoons butter

4 arctic char fillets, about 1 1/2 pounds

2 tablespoons olive oil

1/2 veal kidney or 4 lamb kidneys, membrane removed, trimmed, diced, see note

2 tablespoons minced parsley

1. Heat oven to 475 degrees. Heat 2 tablespoons of the butter in a roasting pan in the oven until melted, about 3 minutes. Place fillets skin-side down in pan; roast 6 minutes. Turn fillets with spatula; roast 3 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, add the remaining tablespoon of the butter and olive oil to a skillet; melt over medium-high heat. Add kidneys; cook, stirring frequently, until browned, about 2 minutes. Serve fish topped with diced kidney; sprinkle with parsley.

Test kitchen note: You can easily peel off the thin membrane with a knife. Or ask a butcher to remove it for you.

Nutrition information per serving:

557 calories, 61% of calories from fat, 37 g fat, 10 g saturated fat, 207 mg cholesterol, 0.2 g carbohydrates, 53 g protein, 212 mg sodium, 0 g fiber

Onion soup and bone marrow toast

Preparation time: 35 minutes

Cooking time: 11/2 hours

Yield: 8 servings

Adapted from “The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating,” by Fergus Henderson. You may have to special-order veal marrow bones from your butcher. Look for hard cider, often imported from France, at major liquor stores.

1/2 stick (1/4 cup) butter

4 pounds onions, halved, sliced

1 bottle (750 milliliters) hard or sparkling cider

3 1 /2 cups veal stock or chicken broth

Sea salt, freshly ground pepper

2 pounds veal marrow bones

8slices white bread

1/4 cup each: olive oil, chopped parsley

1. Melt butter in a Dutch oven; add onions. Cook, stirring often, over low heat until browned and soft, about 1 hour. Add cider and broth. Heat to a simmer. Cook 30 minutes; season with salt and pepper.

2. Meanwhile, heat oven to 450 degrees. Place veal bones in a roasting pan. Roast until marrow is soft, but not liquid, about 20 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, place the bread slices on a baking sheet. Sprinkle the slices with olive oil. Toast in the oven until lightly browned, about 5 minutes.

4. Scoop the marrow from the bones with a small spoon into a small bowl, holding the bones with a towel. Spread the marrow on the toast; sprinkle with salt. Serve the soup in soup bowls; top each with one bone marrow toast. Top each toast with a spoonful of parsley.

Chicago Tribune March 10, 2004