It’s a really wonderful thing to be embraced and encouraged by anyone in what I’m doing as 'Floffal'. As I have said from the beginning, even just getting people to think about offal as a valid meat ingredient, let alone taste it, makes it real and rewarding. But there is something special and heartening about being asked directly to curate a very independent and specific series of dishes for a group of people you have a connection and care with. Just this came to fruition over one weekend, something of a first ‘private commission’ for Floffal! As a birthday gift across a group of friends, an indulgent offal-based dinner party was the order, along with wine pairings, and as much of a sense of theatre we could muster (hence, the inevitably austere main course).
Having re-scheduled a number of times, we all finally managed to settle on a date in July. 'Scheduling' is, naturally, important in order ensure the menu is curated in harmony with seasonal ingredients of said month and weather. The innately organic nature of offal, I think, calls for accompanying ingredients and combinations of equal 'natural' source.
Menu and meat in hand, I descended into a new kitchen territory with a new series of dishes to adventure into. Such scenarios are much of what what I have brought myself up on in terms of learning how to cook and cater for multiple people (though, of course, that’s a very much ongoing education). Introducing guests to the way I cook and think about food, while also adapting to the environment, kitchen facilities and ‘tastes’ around me. It’s a balance between thinking carefully about your guests and what you’d like them to take away from the experience, while also exercising your own fundamental role and opportunity to command a room and ambience through your role as maker and host. There’s a further nuance, of course, when it comes to friends and acquaintances. Not to mention, offal and the arguable onslaught of it that I provided, can divide opinions and stomachs. I think that’s why I enjoy it so much, and why I think others can find joy, in the way it activates curiosities and can ignite a re-imagining of the concept of offal and what it means. I think any experience or activity through which we can learn or re-learn what we knew before, delivers great reward. This little group knew their offal, had eaten it in far higher-flung establishments, and yet still, engaged in it and expressed their excitement at discovering even more about it through the dishes and the wine pairings, which were curated alongside my beloved friends and fellow 'artists' at Veraison Wines in Camberwell. Thank you, Alex.
This ‘commission’ also happened to be a good opportunity to trial a few dishes for my next upcoming event with Veraison Wines - the ‘Flunch’ - on Sunday 13th August. Friends also lend to being constructive and forgiving guinea pigs.
I very much hope this is just the first of many opportunities and invitations to explore my own cooking, further invest and indulge in my love of offal and how it inspires, and of equal important, to bring others along with me...
Saturday 22nd July 2023:
'Floffal at Home'
The Menu
‘THE BROOT’ - Brain & Beetroot Chutney on Cumin Seed Scone
An exercise in re-framing the ‘brutal’ to being something beautiful. This essentially encompasses ‘Floffal’ and the point of my work - offal is not awful, but awe-inspiring, in so many forms. Brains could contend as the epitome of disgust or ‘limit’ when it comes to eating meat. The number of times I’ve heard people say, ‘I’ll try most things, but I draw the line at brains. Just can’t get my head around it’ (pun intended or otherwise, it’s been said too often)…
The reality is, in texture and taste, it resembles possibly one of the most delicate and complex forms of meat possible. It's not, really, 'meaty' at all. In this way, I’ve sought to create a dish that plays on all of these contrasts (and, admittedly, controversies) when it comes to offal and how to present it in a gentle, genuine light. ‘The Broot’ is a manifestation of this, and one which I am very proud of.
One of British cuisines most familiar and generally considered ‘beautiful’ things is the cream tea. A scone with jam and cream (please, take heed on my Dorset-native approach to this). As is often the case, sometimes visual cues are the first port of call. Then, descriptors and textures - the 'creaminess' of brain, and how it appears and behaves texturally, can be translated into something and then have other accompanying elements follow in line with that cue. Hence, a savoury cream tea, and a fun little venture into subversiveness while also undercutting anything too explicit or overt when involving brains in a dish. A savoury cumin-seed scone, with beetroot chutney (the jam) and fried pig’s brain (the ‘cream’), comprises the affectionately named ‘Broot’. Garnished with dressed raw fennel to stay true to traditional flavour pairings of pork, and harking to seasonality as always, this kicked the evening off with some impact. Remarkably, the main feedback? More brains. In order to balance out the beetroot. And, with a small sized portion of the scone, this deliver delight across every face, lifted to greater heights with sipping of the vivacious, truly 'sparkling' Brut Nature 19-20 by Leiner.
CHICKEN HEARTS, CHILLI & SOY-ROASTED PLUMS
The natural sweetness and tenderness of chicken hearts calls often to spicy heat to balance out and elevate its flavour. Plums are very much in season, and symbolise summer nostalgia for me, growing up with an iconic Victoria plum tree in our Dorset garden that was worshipped by my mother. The plums were stoned and then marinated overnight in ginger, sliced red chilli, soy and garlic, before being roasted the next day with a little squiggle of golden syrup over the top to reignite some of their natural sweetness. The hearts were pan-fried on a very high heat, finished with a little butter to meld in with their juices and help along the crisping of fat - without a plancha or barbecue to hand, I really feel it’s important to get a significant toasting and char on the hearts.
These ingredients are another example of corresponding aesthetic and pairing, and I so enjoyed the visual and tasting palates corresponding - colours and flavours - tying together. This influenced the plating at the end, too. I've so far found chicken hearts a little trickier to plate, but given the number of courses, it was more to do with minimalism and creating something identifiable and delicate that could continue the rhythm of the rest of the meal. The shapes and flow of this dish, in look and in eating, with a languid aniseed garnish of fresh tarragon, ended up being most of the guests' favourite dish, which thrilled me given it had relied mainly on adaptation and instinct on the day. It's inspired so many aspects of future dishes and one in particular for my next upcoming 'Floffal' affair.
The wine pairing we selected for this was a clear favourite, too. A simulatneously delicate and impactful rosé, the 'Rosato, Tenuto di Carleone, 2002' from one of Veraison's fondest producers in Italy.
OX TONGUE, GREEN SAUCE, SMOKED OYSTER, PINE NUTS
At long last, this opportunity arose for me to create something celebratory for a very special ingredient - the majestic whole tongue from the majestic, 7-yr-old bullock that was so kindly given to me by Will and Harriet at LAM Food & Fibre, a regenerative farm in Kent. In many ways, this became the icon of the menu, given the narrative and the incredible aesthetic and scale of the tongue itself. Friends were stunned by it, and pleasingly fascinated by the colours, textures and amazing scale of the thing raw. Seeing them be so enamoured was heart-warming. It’s exactly how I feel every time I am able to source and cook with these essential ingredients from an animal, and to feel the respect and awe of its life before they arrived into my hands and kitchen.
Naturally, my beloved Bellenden bin was called forth to help supply fresh herbs for the green sauce - generous flowing bunches of parsley and basil simply blended with olive oil, lemon zest and juice, capers and seasoning. Deliberately, this was not a pesto - toasted pine nuts do feature, but as a bite in their own right - there is a subtle, sort of creamy aspect to the ox tongue that too glaring a sauce can overpower. Given its structure and actual role as a relentlessly working muscle for the animal - this one, for a duration of 7 whole years of grazing - the whole thing must be submerged and luxuriate in a bay and peppercorn poaching liquor for approximately 4 hours. This is so the muscular fibres can break down and transform into a dense but malleable and delightfully chewable consistency.
The smoked oyster addition hails from my dish curated with The Wright Bros. back in April, which was devilled ox kidney and a fresh oyster. These smokey ones hold such a stance in flavour and pick up on the earthy sweetness in the beef. Brought back from too heavy a depth with the citrus-herbal green sauce, which also then helps bring their distinct 'fishiness' in for fun, it's a plate I am very proud of and one to which I shall be returning without question.
WHOLE ROASTED PIG’S HEAD, ROASTED ROOT VEGETABLES, with FENNEL, APPLE & CHICORY SALAD.
The event in itself that is a Pig’s Head is no stranger to Floffal culinary enterprise - the whole thing, however, is a new venture I undertook over the weekend, following careful pre-planning and logistics. This includes taking a tape measure to the head and noting dimensions of height, width and length, to guarantee it would actually fit in the oven… which it did, and so was safely transported and treated in much the same way as those that had gone before it. The men amongst me - keen on their history - very much enjoyed the ‘medieval’ aesthetic. There is undeniably a fairy-tale sort of air around something so literal and, literally, ‘in your face’, about the head of an animal. It is always met with a reactionary cocktail of wonderment, shock, intrigue, and most likely some underlying sense of disgust, or perhaps discomfort. It is a very ready and real acquaintance with the animal, and with its death (though, of course, these are not killed by being simply beheaded). This is the raw reality and truth of it, though. It is not to stun or invoke guilt in anyone who would rather not think about such aspects of their eating pork, or meat altogether. It is that it can ignite a curiosity and further deeper appreciation of an animal, at whatever level for whoever does engage with it.
The actual cooking of a pig's head is something more of that organic, instinctive approach - it's simply another pork roasting joint on the bone, in practice, but with so much more about it - for one thing, it has ears. And a snout, and cheeks, and a multi-layered jowl, and a tongue, and full skin coverage. It's a work of art. My approach is to aim to continue and enhance that in flavour, texture and taste. Assemble the whole thing on a roasting tray that has had a pre-made bed of all the usual roasting culprits; garlic, shallots, carrots, potatoes, fresh thyme, and I added celeriac in, too, because it was an 'occasion' after all. I left a lot in there whole, or only very roughly chopped, given the cooking time and journey for this meal is a sort of sublime odyssey. Make sure to turn said ‘sticky’ veg throughout the cooking, so that they don’t actually stick and burn as embers in the roasting tray. You can always take them out and reheat separately if concerned.
Score the skin, and ears, which I plumed with many other fresh herbs; sage, rosemary, more thyme. Season with sincere generosity. And have stock at the ready - I used over a litre throughout the cooking process. And any form of white wine you're happy to serve to your piggy. Both of these need to be ready to bathe and re-hydrate the head throughout its cooking. Pour into the base of the tray, into the ears, into the nostrils and mouth, ensuring every element is getting a dousing.
Knowing when it’s ‘ready’ is as instinctual and honest as what I’d hope the whole process is all together with this. But, a clear sign is, ever ever, if a knife can be stuck in through the skin, into the thickest part, without too much force and with a graceful sliding motion. Clear juices with then flow forth, also telling you the meat is no longer raw. You will also notice that the entire ‘face’ has elevated and appears to be slightly floating or bulging away from the skull, exposing the base of it. This is a sign the meat is richly plumped and slightly shrunken by the heat of the oven. Sufficiently assessed, take it all out and rest for at least 10 minutes.
The frankly ceremonious presentation and serving of this to the table is what all the care and compassion is for - it leaves everyone speechless, eyes wide, mouths most likely drooling slightly at the sheer cliff of crackling available. As with all carving of a showpiece roast, knives and angles are important, but the wonder of this is that, with just a few incisions, one can just pull and prize the meal away, cleanly, from the skull. Please enjoy photographic documentation of this exact matter.
Over the hours, the skin transforms into increasingly crisp, toffee-gold hues, rising above and parting from the softening steaming meat and fat. The ears manifest into impressive bulbous, hollow plates of crackling, shaped and curved like abstract autumn leaves.
The salad, not to be forgotten, is more aimed to accompany and relieve from the montage of rich pork and caremelised vegetables (which they essentially are, by the end of cooking). Keep it crunchy, bright, honest, and still treated with the same flourish of herbs and contrasting textures, sweets and sours, and greens to sparkle through your plate of ochres, subtle pinks, gnarly chars, creams and browns.
And, just one final mention to the wine pairing: a rich, full-bodied delight of a red by Philippe Viret, 'Les Colonnades'. Enough depth to match the 'heady' pork while cutting through some of its richness with a bold punch of dark fruits.
Similarly to 'The Broot', there is this paradoxical (and unapologetic) rawness and regality in an animal's head. They do have faces, just like us, and it's all the more important to show them respect and humble ourselves through this affiliation, whichever part of the animal we consume, though so readily with offal.
'THE BLOODY' - Pig’s Blood & Chocolate Cake, soaked in prune & whisky syrup, blackberry jus.
What would you consider a fun, fanciful Friday night activity? Whipping up pig’s blood to ‘resemble stiff peaks, as with egg whites’? No, me neither. Yet, there I was, at 9pm on a July summer’s evening, doing just that. Even before you're whipping up, there's the 'sieving to separate any clots that might have formed'...
Finding some genuinely tasteful and successful means of incorporating offal into a dessert dish has been a quiet but ongoing ambition of mine. I remember reading in my prized 'Odd Bits' book by Jennifer McLagan about a chocolate and blood cake, made only in reference rather than recipe format, alas. (On a side note, there is actually a Chocolate Blood Ice Cream recipe in McLagan's book, adapted from an Italian recipe for more of a creamy custard sort of affair... it's on my list of investigations).
I found a recipe online, finally, spurring me on greatly. The next pressing matter - the blood itself. How and where to source it? Directly from the abattoir is really most advisable. But even this is difficult and requires careful communication and relationships between consumer, butcher and supplier. Even for my butchers, it's a head-scratching issue. Following extensive research, I ventured forth to my next port of call - a little independent Asian supermarket in Peckham, wonderfully humble and local to me. There it was - frozen, yes, but there's no other option for me currently - tucked away amongst other wonderful wavy-looking things. There is a very traditional dish hailing from the Philippines that requires pig's blood to thicken the sauce and add body, and this packaging was labelled with that reference. I genuinely felt a sense of triumph when I found it. This might not fall into everyone's scope of 'victory', but it is mine, and it brightened up my Tuesday a great deal.
For the cooking itself, I ended up cross-referencing and combining two recipes - the chocolate and blood cake one, and an entertainingly contrasting BBC Food's recipe for a homely and polite chocolate cake. I had absolutely no idea or estimation as to how it would turn out - not a position I usually aim for putting myself in - but one which I did relish and reflect on being an important part of Floffal as much as my existing knowledge and experience is in establishing my work.
The overall result was fascinating - challenging, certainly, but on a sense that it offered yet another opportunity to apply instinct and adaptation rather than a prescriptive A to B of a dish.
This entire occasion, set amongst an incredibly full-on time at the butchers and in between multiple different other events and endeavours, both re-affirmed and taught me a lot. And I think that's all one can ask for ultimately.
As I noted before, I really hope this can be the first of many 'commissions' for Floffal, whether pig's head or patisserie. And, as I write this less than a week before my next 'public' event - the 'Flunch' - it gives me a comforting and motivating sense of humility in that this does make people curious enough to demand it, and that the 'brutal' and the 'beautiful' can and perhaps ought to more be open to each other, for the love and sake of offal and the scavenger's skill.
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