After a recent trip to Atlanta with friend Michelle, I bragged to my sister about the rich meal of offal we enjoyed at Holeman & Finch Public House. Like a child on Christmas morning I listed the dishes in which we indulged:
"There was chicken liver pate with apple cider jelly and steak tartare and rabbit livers and sweetbreads and beef marrow and - "
"Yuck," she said.
What is the philosophy behind eating offal? Why do some of us drool for it while others dry heave at the thought? In the beginning people ate offal because it was wasteful not to. Every part of the animal was used. I suppose as society has evolved and life made easier (both moot points) through the advent of supermarkets and fast food we have allowed ourselves to turn up our noses at feet, cocks combs, and brains as sustenance. That leaves the rare old Asian man to his virility enhancing tiger penises and the foodie to his never ending search for the most awe inspiring offal preparations.
Friend Phoebe Damrosch shares in Service Included: Four-Star Secrets of an Eavesdropping Waiter an evening with fellow waiters from Thomas Keller's Per Se restaurant in Manhattan where the group aims to seek out the best bone marrow in the city. I agree with their conclusion, Blue Ribbon on Sullivan Street serves a superior marrow to both Landmarc and Crispo, although I prefer the dish at Blue Ribbon Bakery on Downing - the sauce slightly more delicate, a background to the silky, mouth melting marrow rather than the star.
offal |ˈôfəl; ˈäfəl| noun the entrails and internal organs of an animal used as food. • refuse or waste material. • decomposing animal flesh.
If offal is to a foodie what skinny jeans are to a hipster, or a Malaysian walkingstick to an entomologist - both necessary and all pride when discovered - then surely many chefs aspire to turn livers and stomach linings into something they can serve, sell, and send away full bellied patrons declaring, "I just had the most incredible meal!" As an amateur cook I took great pride when I recently served a red wine marinated venison roast at a party and a guest commented, "I love that beef roast" to which I confessed it was actually deer. "Wow," she said. "I don't even like venison but I want more of that." Turning people on is what food is all about, sustenance being only the very start.
I belong to the tribes of pleasure and pride. The simplicity of a sauteed sweetbread to perfection, a gift from God anyway you look at it, lies in the natural existence of the cow and her due course. Taking what has been provided, sprinkling a dash of innovation and a pinch of sensory nicety, and creating a meal that assuages both emotionally and physically is art. Pride resides for preparer and eater alike. For creator and discoverer pleasure is inherent.
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