'Two Camberwell residents combine their creative forces through a shared a love for nature’s most authentic and essential produce, sourcing and enjoying good food & wine in its most integral forms.
Butcher, self-taught chef and professional ‘scavenger’ Flossy Phillips aka FLOFFAL curates dishes to re-invigorate and re-introduce the bits in and around our food and how it’s found, through a pursued passion for offal and the life’s edible ‘off-cuts’.
A five-course supper, with carefully curated wine pairings by Veraison Wines as unique as the ingredients themselves.'
On Tuesday 13th June, a coming together of genuinely committed and caring efforts manifested in the inaugural Floffal Supper Club. It's rather surreal to be writing and re-telling this. Within less than a year there has been such a great, organic (though, of course, incredibly trialing and deliberate) growth. My overall approach for building Floffal has always been to pursue curiosity and conversation first, before any anticipation or projected idea of 'success', and really that's how this event and collaboration all came about.
Despite having lived in Camberwell for nearly two years, it had taken me almost that long until I ventured into Veraison Wines, a place which now genuinely feels akin to a sanctuary in terms of company and, of course, consumption in the form of some really incredible, original wines. On this first encounter, I was seated next to a wall of plentiful shelving filled with bottles, and subsequently greeted by an embodiment of warmth and genuine spirit. This is Will. As soon as words began exchanging, a clear realisation sparked: this person talks about wine the way that I talk about offal. I immediately wanted to hear and learn more, and a week later to the day of my first visit, I walked straight back in and recounted that exact fact - we talk about what we do (what we love) in the same way; we speak the same language, and as in any scenario where that very innate, human response to something shared and something understood is touched upon, there is a genuine need to explore and pursue it further. Next came being properly introduced to two of the most authentic, generous, dependable, vivacious and just lovely women, Patrycja and Alex, who from the very beginning gave nothing but support and nurturing towards what I was doing, and as to how we could combine forces and create something really special (which we really did). After discussing what could be done, how, and to what end, we all agreed it was an idea full of potential and opportunity for us all.
Then begins an onslaught of research, ideas and memories of previous meals (the highs and the lows), and also a whole path of discovery. From the beginning, I remained adamantly open and unknowing about how things would go or end up being executed. This probably helped me a lot in the grand scheme of things. The precise lack of experience for something as specific as an ‘independent supper club’ meant I had no option but to draw on other relating experiences in order to manifest some amount of self-belief and attempt to quell as many of the fears and anxieties I had about it. Over a number of weeks, I caught myself using the same phrase again and again when people were asking me about the event and about my work to do with it; “I don’t know what I’m doing”. That is the truth, really. I’m aware it seems at worst, negative and apathetic. But I realise in fact it’s reflective of the stage I am at now, where because I don’t know, I learn and I do as much as I possibly can in order to manifest the experiences that gain some sense of knowledge and understanding what it is I am doing. The vulnerability of the unknown is as thrilling as it is foreboding, although both of these things remain precise motivators.
I’ve always wanted to explore more around that twinkling concept of pairing wine with food - in my case, offal. The distinct flavours, cooking methods and textures, and the considerable variation within each of these aspects of it, pose to initially as ‘challenging’. Yet, in our shared opinions at least, this provides exciting and further-reaching scope for selecting pairings. Additionally, for the wines and winemakers themselves, it leans consideration towards equally unique and ‘alternative’ characters or narratives to pair with those such characteristics designated to offal. Another point to this is rather more ‘business-like’, though no less relevant: wine pairings with food do just feel more fancy. Luxurious tasting menus in luxurious places are so often coincided with the triply-threatening luxury of a wine pairing. Evoking indulgence, sophistication and, let’s be honest, ‘wealth’, ‘education’ and ’culture’, it has its established place, purpose and art. I have always been fascinated by this. To apply it, then, to something like offal, a commonly considered peasant-food, ‘extra’ or ‘off-cut’ portion of the main event (i.e. a prime cut of meat), along with garnishes of ‘odd-bits’ and scavenged raw ingredients, is another both challenging and rewarding effort. It recounts again back to a cornerstone of Floffal - the humanising-through-creativity effects of sourcing food in a more resourceful, adventurous and humble approach.
A note on the tastings and pairings, which really were an event in themselves. Dipping my toes for the first time into the physical cooking environment - easily overlooked when you’re so used to cooking, rummaging and cavorting around in your own home - was such a novel and initially nerve-racking thing. Maybe just because it was the first instalment of the reality of what I’d agreed to do. I also ended up feeding, and therefore being somewhat at the mercy, of more and newly acquainted mouths than I’d expected. It was an unassuming baptism of fire in terms of not only cooking well, but presenting stylistically, these dishes which were for the most part new and juvenile imaginations of what I thought I could and would be able to and enjoy preparing in enough quantity to feed a room of friends and, hopefully, strangers.
Into the menu itself:
Troffal, which is well-documented by now on here, was already another immediate dish to feature. A gentle, rather inconspicuous introduction to offal, given that it really doesn’t look like ‘organs’ in it’s presentation (although I’d love to reach a point and audience to which I could present whole roasted fish heads without hesitation… time will tell). It’s a light but rich fishy morsel, paired with the enlivening glass of Perpetuelle that we included in the ticket price.
The chicken liver was, in all honesty, a bit of a ‘fix’ to what had initially been a determined chicken hearts dish, using pickled rhubarb from the stalks I’d so proudly bin-dived maybe just a week before the tasting was arranged. I really did try to make it work, spending approximately 3 hours trying to devise an attractive presentation and an achievable balance of flavours, textures, and colours. For whatever reason that day, nothing was working. It reminded me (rather painfully at the time) that, certainly for this inaugural supper club, practicing my own humility was the best reference point. The next day, only a matter of days before the pairings were going to be organised, I found some carrots in the bins. I’d managed to buy a bunch of ginger for £1 the day before this. Carrot and ginger; thank goodness. Then, considering the most straight-forward and, dare I say, ‘polite’ version of chicken offal for the most part - livers - it all came together. The pumpkin seeds were added for texture, but subsequently came colour and a subtle nutty flavour to pair with the rich and smoky chicken, and of course can be prepped in advance. The end result really was something I felt pride in, perhaps mostly because it was such clear evidence of being liberated and given grace through adversity.
The pig's tongue dish now returns to both nostalgia and efficacy, the former being due to the fact it was something I came up with during my first informal but very deliberately 'Floffal' dinner party with friends back in January. It is also something that lends itself to forward-planning prep, and can be served and consumed happily at room temperature. The scope of preparation and actual capacity for it, between home and the wine bar, was from the very beginning going to require a significant amount of adaptation. It's one of those scenarios that poses on the one hand, distinct limitations to what is workable and achievable, and correspondingly on the other hand, fuels new and arguably more dynamic ideas that stem precisely from the need to adapt and overcome those certain constraints.
Seasonality was a key aspect of the menu, certainly, as is the nature and in the nature of foraging. Within this, of course, strategising what I would be able to reliably find in the reduced section and in and around my domestic scavenging at the time (AKA, the bins). Mint is in abundance within each of these areas, and having scavenged so much a while ago in a rush of excitement at the discovery of it in mounds in the bin, I’d made my own traditional mint sauce, another in-advance option, and a great lever to making the decision to include the ever-delightful lamb’s heart as a focal ‘main dish’ within the menu. I had my precious wild garlic pesto frozen, the with raw buds and flowers pickled - more readily available and well-loved contributors that would give me great comfort. Adhering to the season, then, called for broad beans, courgettes and spring onions which could be dressing and muddled in and around the mint and wild garlic. It was a happy embodiment of what I’d wanted to initiate through Floffal - re-homogenising the offal products as ‘just another cut’. Perhaps one of the best testimonials of the night was a lady remarking:
“if I hadn’t known I was eating offal I wouldn’t have known, it was delicious.”
I know that says something once again about initial reactions and opinions of offal altogether, but that’s for yet another time and yet another conversation. What it represents for me is that sense of humility and achieving reconciliation, leading to outright appreciation, of offal as an ingredient and as representing a ‘protein’ or leading ‘meat’ element in an accomplished plate of food. That’s all any of us as cooks and chefs want to achieve.
Pudding presents yet another arrival-through-adversity. I’d wanted to go straight to chocolate - it’s a people-pleaser and it really does lend itself to the earthiness and sweetness in offal. I was, admittedly, pushing my luck foraging nettles this late in their season, but I kept noticing them and my fond memories of a feral lockdown rambling about in marigolds with big black bin-bags getting nettles for soups, pestos, salads, and brownies, initially posed another trusted and trialled recipe. I made a nettles and cardamon syrup, saturating the nettle-braising liquid in sugar and adding crushed cardamon pods. The batch, however, just didn’t deliver. I served it at the initial tasting, but left feeling somewhat unfulfilled. Once more - return to the season and await organic opportunity; elderflower. Something brand new to me when it came to cooking experience, but which ensued a number of days immersed in foraging, making cordial and syrup, and arriving at just another format of the familiar, and the fanciful - pavlova. Three entire meringues were made in total over the 2-3 days leading up to the event. One of which had an oven alarm of 23:55. Pomegranates had been ‘on offer’ in the supermarket, and although I’d thought the mint may have to sub-in a second appearance, a few days before the event, I found tarragon in the bins (well to sealed in packaging), which offers an even more original and organic addition to the garnishes and to the aim of making it more than just ‘a slab of pav’. I foraged the very last fresh, raw elderflowers from their bushes of the season on the day, and thanks to a detour through the churchyard in the same hour, a tender pink rose’s petals provided the final flourish.
On the day itself, the final tickets were sold. We ‘Sold Out’. It all happened in sequence of surges: adrenaline, anxiety, awe, all contained and bubbling away in a very closeted and contains space. In truth, I had no kitchen, barely any surface space for preparation, one electric hob, 25 mouths to feed 5 individual courses, over 100 covers to deliver.
The amount of support, genuine interest, nurture and enjoyment that I could see and feel, and was able to receive, from everyone there still stalls me in my tracks when I come to think of it. It is an overwhelming feeling to be placed in a position where you simply are surrounded by evidence that what you have created has had an effect, and a good one at that, as a ‘completed task’ in itself but also for other people - other minds, eyes, ears, and of course, tummies.
After a gentle nudge of instruction, everybody seated at their necessary communal tables embraced the ‘domestic scavenger approach and in turn brought their own perspectives and passions to the table - literally. This manifested such a significant aspect of what we wanted the night and its ingredients to achieve.
(From left to right: Will, Floffal, Shane (a loyal Veraison regular, friend, and accomplished educator in the wine), Patrycja and Alex, in each other's arms)
This was an exceptionally energising, exhausting, enlivening, external and internal exercise. Something so personal that can yet be shared and activated far beyond just one person, is a wonderful, creatively-charged, ultimately human and deeply humanising thing. It also, with great relief and cockles-warming, lasting effect to now (I grin achingly as I write this), reinforced another fundamental aspect of Floffal, which is being as deeply humbling is it is, simply and utterly, FUN.
Here's to more of it. Which there will be...
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