Some of the best advice I’ve ever heard came from a kink-positive sex educator: “Don’t yuck someone else’s yum.”
The movement toward nose-to-tail cooking swept the culinary world earlier this decade, and nowadays critics barely bat an eyelash when the chef at some hot new boîte trots out the pig trotters.
But when I tear myself away from the monitor and find myself tableside, I still see my fellow diners giving the side-eye to the offcuts. That’s a real shame: turning your nose up at ingredients not commonly found in North American cuisine, including offal, for reasons of squeamishness is tantamount to looking down on Toronto’s vibrant and unique mosaic of flavours.
Blood, for example, might squick some out as an ingredient, but the earthy flavours it produces make it common on tables from Tibet and the Philippines to Spain and the UK. (Black pudding, anyone?) Tripe can be found swimming in bowls of pho, steamed at dim sum restaurants or slow-cooked into oblivion in nonna-style Italian dishes.
It also strikes me as an odd double standard. Diners here regard the bloated livers of force-fed geese as a delicacy, and our city indulges its acquired taste for raw fish by the boatload, but somehow, squeamishness persists about cuts that aren’t from the fleshiest, most anatomically anonymous parts of the fowl or mammal in question.
If anything, using the odd bits shows a kind of integrity – part of a culinary tradition that takes the cheapest, humblest ingredients available and renders them with time and practice into something extraordinary.
Of course, I’ve taken the path of least resistance and picked up a grilled chicken sandwich a few too many times myself. This week, however, I took the plunge and tried some of Toronto’s most offalicious offerings. Check them out – you just might discover a new favourite.
Sheep head and hooves
Takht-e Tavoos is a postcard-perfect little spot on a quiet strip of College specializing in big Iranian-style breakfasts. Instead of bacon and pancakes, eggs are married with stewed spinach, grilled halloumi, feta or marinated olives, while those looking to fuel up for the day in a major way can avail themselves of a small roster of stews and porridges.
Highlighted on the menu is the “true Persian delicacy” kalleh pacheh, a potage of sheep’s head and hooves, either lamb or veal tongue and cheek meat (depending on availability) and the occasional sheep eye (ditto). The broth is chartreuse-coloured, velvety from dissolved fat -a first bite is heavily muttony, but squirts of the accompanying lemon and lime wedges and a toss with a broken-up chili cuts the heaviness to create an addictive depth.
The hoof dissolves into liquefied collagen, the banana-shaped tongue into tender shreds. Before I know it, I’ve sopped up nearly all the broth with the accompanying flatbread and fallen into a glorious mid-afternoon soup coma.
I’m just disappointed I didn’t get an eyeball.
1120 College, at Dufferin, 647-352-7322, pomegranaterestaurant.ca/tavoos
Duck hearts
At his original Buca restaurant, Rob Gentile turned lamb brain saltimbocca into a must-try dish (proving that you can wrap just about anything in prosciutto and fry it and people will eat it).
He repeats that feat at snackier offshoot Bar Buca, where a favourite small plate is the cuore d’anatra, deep-fried duck hearts. They show up on a tiny dish, golden-fried like donut holes, only a touch smaller. The whole pile is lashed with a coral-orange ‘nduja vinaigrette and dusted with a black powder made from incinerated rosemary branches that’s more there for effect than flavour. The aroma is not unlike fried prosciutto, thanks to a cure before deep-frying pop one in your mouth and you’ll chew for a moment or two before a rich, slightly gamey duck flavour arrives.
Verdict: eating a half-dozen duck hearts in one sitting is an easy and delicious way to feel like a Disney villain.
75 Portland, at Stewart, 416-599-2822, buca.ca
Cow tongue
Banu, an Iranian eatery on Queen West, caused a stir upon opening in 2006 thanks to their grilled dom balan, better known as lamb testicles, which our then-critic, Steven Davey, likened to “mushy meatballs.” They’re still on the grill menu, with the addendum “when available – good balls are hard to come by.”
This proves to be true – when I visit, they’re fresh out. But hey, there’s cow tongue on the list of starters, braised in a tomato, cardamom and cinnamon sauce. Sold!
The meat arrives smelling gorgeously of spices, sliced into triangles and plated in a fetching stack topped with sprigs of Thai basil, along with a side of pickled veggie relish. The texture is like any other piece of fatty beef coaxed into falling apart by a slow braising, with the sauce delicately spiced if a touch under-salted. Truthfully, it’s so much like brisket I’m a tad bored. And then I remember: didn’t I have an incredible fried tongue slider drenched in French’s at Peoples Eatery? If you’re a fan of beef in its other forms, you’ll want to get cow tongue onto yours.
777 Queen West, at Manning, 416-777-2268, banu.ca
Pig uterus
Beef and pork offal are ubiquitous in East and Southeast Asian cuisines, and equally common in Chinatown’s restaurants. But one stands out to me on Celebrity Hot Pot‘s menu: pig uteri. Naturally, I decide, this will be the place where I’ll formally acquaint myself with Chinese hot pot.
“Celebrity” is mostly just a memorable name, the manager tells us – there’s nothing terribly upmarket about the blindingly lit joint. (In fact, it could use a good mopping, but its happy, anthropomorphic star logo reassures me that I have nothing to fear.)
Service is lovely and attentive, with our guy bringing over a bowl of his “secret” concoction from the DIY sauce bar, a chili-soy-sesame-scallion mix that proves the perfect foil to the baby bok choy and shaved pork jowl we simmer in beef-and-chicken broth peppered with aromatics.
Finally, I pick up a little curlicue of beige tissue off a white plastic tray, dunk it for two minutes in the roiling pot and dig in. Surprise: It’s essentially calamari, with a slightly more porcine flavour.
254 Spadina, at Grange, 647-748-3588, celebrityhotpot.com
Beef heart and snails
Escargots are old hat if you’re familiar with French cooking. Heart is a common ingredient in Europe, South America and Asia, historically used as a poor man’s steak substitute. But the two of them together? That’s a combo you’ll only find at the Black Hoof, Toronto’s temple to offcuts. It’s listed precisely as such on the menu – “beef heart and snails, $18” – with no hint as to the preparation.
I’m expecting a big ol’ pile of animal by-products, but I’m instead surprised with a plate heaped high with vinaigrette-dressed greens and scattered with a healthy helping of fresh peas. Underneath, there are little snarls of snail, buttery-gummy with a gently oceanic flavour, and slices of seared heart, indistinguishable from any other rare tenderloin save for an absence of grain and a slight bloody taste that, when paired with a forkful of greens, turns into a more gentle herbal note.
938 Dundas West, at Gore Vale, 416-551-8854, theblackhoof.com
Don’t miss: it’s not offal! More unusual-sounding dishes.
nataliam@nowtoronto.com | @nataliamanzocco
