I live to eat. I don't mean that in a pseudo?philosophical way. I'm not waxing poetic about primitivism when I say that food is the key to my existence. When you are getting your jollies off on some website, I'm salivating (and, if I'm feeling frisky, masticating) over recipes and restaurant menus. I couldn't give a damn about the rivalry between the Red Sox and the Yankees - talk to me about Alice Waters versus Anthony Bourdain. I spend plenty of time ruminating on eating. (Ten points to whomever got that pun.) In other words, I am a cliche. I am a foodie.
There, now that my confession?cum?introduction is out of the way, let's get to the meat of this week's column: offal. For those of you unfamiliar with this word, allow me to explain. Offal is a term for the internal organs of a butchered animal. We're talking tripe, brain, liver and heart. When I say sweetbreads, I'm talking about the thymus or pancreas, not some dainty dessert at the Danish Pastry House. While traditionally regarded as waste, offal is making a resurgence in modern gastronomy. Just this year, the offal?centric cookbook "Odd Bits" was nominated for a James Beard Foundation Book Award. Those of you who are squeamish, skip this column and head straight to today's "Married to the Sea" comic. The rest of you, grab your barf bags and get ready to learn about one of the most important trends in food.
Now before we go any further, I just want to remind you that this isn't "Fear Factor" or "Bizarre Foods" with Andrew Zimmern. Offal is just as prevalent on food carts on the streets of Singapore as it is at The French Laundry in Napa Valley.
Obviously there are different degrees of approachability when it comes to hoof?to?tail eating. Tongue - that's easy! Testicles are a more acquired taste. Every culture uses some funky ingredients. The Spanish, for example, love their crispy?fried pig ears and tails. Everyone from Russian Jews to rustic Italians uses oxtail for protein?rich stews. Offal extends beyond terrestrial fare. Fish cheeks are considered a delicacy in Japan, while avian entrails (often referred to as giblets) add great flavor to gravies.
When I studied in Europe, the food markets I encountered weren't afraid to remind you that animals came from ... well, animals. You wouldn't have these vacuum?sealed packages of steak. Pigs' heads and feet would rest prominently inside the butcher's display case. Chickens were sold with the heads and feet still attached. The butchery of animals is far more transparent in the rest of the world. Heck, go to Chinatown and peer in the windows to admire the whole ducks glistening in their own fat.
My favorite offal might be pig's head. Yes, dear eaters, pigs have heads. As David Chang of Momofuku?fame mentions when describing his recipe for pig's head torchon: "Farmers do not raise walking pork chops." Pig's head can be served a variety of ways, but the most popular is headcheese, a terrine of jellied meat from the animal's head. Clearly, that's what they should've done with the head in "Lord Of The Flies" (1954).
Tony Maws of Kendall Square's Craigie on Main said recently, "There's more to an animal than just a tenderloin." I'm not trying to get you all to order the gnarliest food on the menu; just keep an open mind. Next time you're dining out, skip the sirloin and go for the braised cheek - it's one of the most flavorful cuts of meat out there. Eating sustainably means using the entire animal - waste not, want not. And when you hit up Anna's Taquer?a, make sure to try your quesadilla with lengua instead of carnitas.
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