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November 6, 2007

Offaly Brave

When I made reservations at Incanto, the Next Iron Chef contender Chris Cosentino’s San Francisco restaurant, I had heard only of Cosentino’s skill, which kept him in great company during the intense tests to weed out the great chefs from the greatest chefs. I knew that he finished a challenge of speed, which included de-boning a chicken, filleting a whole salmon, and shucking six oysters and six clams all in under 15 minutes. But I hadn’t yet heard that he dared to serve tripe for dessert. Had I done my research, I would have known about his reputation for offal cookery. Afterall, his website is called Offal Good.

Instead, I arrived at the restaurant, two innocent friends in tow for what we thought would be a simple Italian-American market based meal. What we found was calves brain, liver ravioli, and tuna heart.

For a chef, there is a certain amount of honor in being able to eat from nose to tail. Chefs in New York have long tested the limits with cocks comb (at Casa Mono) and liver toast (The Spotted Pig). I ate it all with unabashed enthusiasm, until recently, when I unofficially joined the growing network of Friends of Vegetarians (you know-- we date, hang, or dine with vegetarians so much that we adopt certain aversions by osmosis).

At Incanto, our server cheerfully guided us through the menu and finished her presentation exactly where I feared she might.

“The Calves Brain is exceptionally good, but let’s see how you do, because the chef has a couple of extremely special dishes he wants to send out to you,” she said.

I was intrigued, but fighting an inner battle. Just days before I had answered a staff questionnaire that ended with the question “What food won’t you touch?” My answer came easily—brains. I had made that mistake only once, at La Tour d’Argent, the famed Michelin three-star restaurant in Paris, and paid for it dearly. It was a truly rare experience for my parents and I, and everything was exceptional— every amuse bouche better than the next. But I had eaten my fair share of lovely food all over France, so when it came time to order, I pushed myself to try something new. Calves brains. IF anyone could make calves brains delicious, surely it was a Michelin three-star chef, I reasoned. No one flinched at my choice, as if it were unremarkable to eat brains for lunch on a summer afternoon, and I felt secretly proud to have established myself among a respectable class of extreme eaters.

It turns out that brains, even at a three-star restaurant, have a great deal of, to put it delicately, texture. Some might call it slimy. I’ll just call it interesting, and not for me. My pride quickly turned into guilt. How foolish to take such an expensive risk! I ate only one bite, my father a second, and then that brain sat there mocking me, a reminder that sometimes it’s okay to just eat what you really love.

Back at Incanto, I had no idea what my companions would make of a mouthful of brains, so I felt we had made a narrow escape. I knew Rob to be adventurous, but Devon had firmly proclaimed herself a cautious eater. She had already passed on the miniature gift from the kitchen, slice of hard cooked egg with piece of sardine fillet, because it smelled “too fishy.”

But when a chef sends you a plate of something he has created just for you, you smile and accept graciously, even it smells fishy, or feels slimy, or in this case, has the distinctive shape of rabbit ears. We were gifted with a plate of Crispy Rabbit Ears with Carrot Aioli and another piled high with Hudson Valley Foie Gras, Pig’s Trotter and Applewood-Smoked Bacon.

Devon was otherwise engaged with her Guwuerztraminer and a delicious plate of radicchio, shaved pecorino and bitter honey when our server described the dishes. By the time she looked up, our server was gone. Rob and I smiled at each other, wondering how long it would take her to catch on.

“What’s this?” Devon asked.

“Fried Rabbit," we said in unison.

“It's delicious,” Rob said, leaving no room for argument “like chips and dip.” Devon bought it.

I ate with feigned gusto, but kept my thoughts to myself. While I certainly get the enthusiasm for frying all sorts of parts into crisp cracklin-like chips, there was a certain cartilaginous quality that was just a bit too reminiscent of the pork knuckle soup I’d had in Indonesia, or the chicken feet I ate on a dare in Chinatown. Still, there was no denying, as far as rabbit’s ears go, these must be as good as it gets. Fried golden crisp and matched with a full-flavored carrot aioli, the dish was too clever not to take delight in.

"Just exactly what part of the rabbit is this?" Devon asked.

"Ears," I said in a hushed tone.

Silence followed.

The other plate was outrageously delicious. Seared foie gras and sweet gelatinous pig’s trotter (pig’s feet) melted into each other, offset by the smoky sweetness of the bacon. Rob and I ate so enthusiastically that Devon began to feel she might miss out. Again, she asked for a description.

“Foie gras and braised pork,” I said.

Technically, the pig’s trotter was braised pork, so I felt vindicated in my omission of the minor detail that the pork in question was actually foot.

After a few cautious bites, she declared it delicious.

“Congratulations, you just ate pig’s feet,” I said with a hearty slap on the back.

She polished off the bacon, gingerly eating around anything she didn’t recognize. She left the flavorful Spaghetini with Tuna Heart to Rob and me as I waxed poetic about a time when clever cooks found ways to use just about any part of the animal. It reminded me that for most of us, our meat comes in neat packages on supermarket shelves. For my parents, who grew up on a farm, meat was an all day affair, involving butchering, smoking, freezing and rendering the fat over a fire for days to make lard. These days we’re happy to get protein in a package that excludes responsibility to an animal that once had a heart, a liver, feet, or even ears.

In Cosentino’s case, I think it is as much about the shock value as is about a good meal (witness the photo of him holding innards on his Web site), but I applaud his subtle sustainability--- not wasting the gifts that each part of the food chain has to offer. And it works. In the end, even Devon declared it her best meal to date in San Francisco.

Over desserts and coffee, Devon asked, “What is the weirdest thing you ever ate?”

“Rabbit’s Ears!”

Rob agreed.

“But,” Devon stammered, “you acted as if rabbits’ ears were an everyday thing to eat!”

For some people, in some time, it probably was. I reminded her that weirdness is relative. Still I wondered what the strangest thing Cosentino ever ate was.

When he joined us later, he told us it was sea cucumber, but in the same breath name horse among his favorite meats.

“I’ll eat anything,” He said. “I want to die eating food---it’s what I do, it’s what I live, it’s what I breathe.”

Last Sunday night on the Next Iron Chef, Cosentino and the other two finalists flew to Paris to make dinner for 20 guests at the home of the American Ambassador to France. Among the guests was the owner of La Tour D’Argent, home of the brains. The judges, including Michael Ruhlman decided his fate—and Cosentino’s bravery cost him his title. I was sorry to see him go. I would have loved to see what he could accomplish in Kitchen Stadium. Judges, fans, bloggers, and even Iron Chef contender Michael Symon (who is still in the running) have lots to say about his performance, but watch for yourself. It’s an awfully good time.

Sarah Copeland, Offal Good Eater, Food Network Kitchens

P.S. For more on brains, check out Cosentino's blog.

Posted by Food Network at 7:23 PM | Comments (1)