Tag Archives: Nose-to-tail

by | March 18, 2013 · 8:58 pm

Turning head cheese horror into souse-rousing success.

Fried head cheese

Working one’s way through a whole (or even half) pig at home can lead down some interesting avenues. Head cheese was starting to look like a dead end.

Last year, when we received our half hog from Bob Hancock, we insisted on as close to primal cuts as possible, including the entire head (which, apparently, the folks buying the other part didn’t mind giving up). We decided to make head cheese, and tried Nathan Foot’s recipe from Primal Cuts. We were told the mix of pig head, pistachio and parsley would be “straightforward, balanced and trancendent.” Instead, it was a dismal failure. The terrine refused to gel into firmness (hardly surprising since it contained no gelatin-yielding pig feet), slouchingly sullying plates with mushy, vinegar-soaked pistachios and enough slimy parsley to resemble this jerk.

This year’s pig head, we decided, should take a more traditional route, so we followed Edna Lewis’ directions for “Head Cheese or Souse” from In Pursuit of Flavor. We wrangled the head, four feet (two from this year’s pig, two from last), water, carrots, celery, sprigs of parsley and other stock-making stuff into our largest, least-used pot. After several hours, we (well, mostly Steve) removed the pig parts, cooled and then stripped meat, gristle and skin, chopping them into bits. We added cider vinegar and sherry to the stock as instructed, then ladled some over the piggy bits in two molds and let them refrigerate for a few days.

Once again, we felt we had failed, this time in a blandly liquid fashion. The terrine not only had not set, but had no taste—the stock so watery it barely tasted of pig. Michelle wanted to give the whole mess to the chickens, but Steve wanted to see if he could salvage the stuff. Dumping the terrines into a pot, he simmered the mix for a few hours, then strained the meat and boiled the liquid down further. He ended up with one terrine. With a little salt, a little mustard and a bit of cornichon it was acceptable, though a little bland.

Head cheese

At least Steve thought so. But even after he’d frozen 2/3 of the terrine, a large chunk sat aging in the refrigerator, with Michelle indicating she had no plans to eat even a bite. Steve also wasn’t really much inclined to eat more, especially since he’d enjoyed a much better version over the weekend at Nashville’s Rolf and Daughters. Things were looking bad for Gourmandistan’s requests for pig heads, something we as nose-to-tail folk were sad to admit.

Then Steve then had a flash of inspiration—a flouring, egging, breading and frying kind of inspiration. Cutting the aspic into small cubes, covering the cubes in crumbs and deep-frying them turned a barely acceptable head cheese into delightfully porky cromesquis that might even make Marc Meneau proud.

Fried head cheese

Just one of these delicate, crispy squares had Michelle declaring she’s now a souse-loving spouse, looking forward to the start of spring when Gourmandistan may feature our souse sensation again in a fresh green salad. Perhaps you’ll never have such a swine head problem to solve. But if you do, this tasty solution will serve you well.

FRIED HEAD CHEESE

Firm (cold) souse or head cheese
Flour
Eggs
Bread crumbs
Salt
Pepper
Paprika
Cayenne
 

Cut head cheese into small (about 1/2″ to 3/4″) cubes.

Place flour in a small bowl.  Beat eggs in another small bowl. In a third small bowl, place bread crumbs, seasoned with salt, pepper, paprika and cayenne.

Dip head cheese cubes first in flour, then in beaten eggs, then in seasoned bread crumbs.

Deep fry cubes in hot (350°) oil until browned.  Drain on a rack or on paper towels.

 

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by | April 19, 2010 · 12:22 am

The Route from Nose to Tail often leads through Pozole.

Several months ago we were offered the opportunity to buy an entire lamb from some folks just down the road, said opportunity arriving with the information that we were free to select the method in which the lamb arrived, packaged and sealed, at our door. Steve, inspired by reading Gourmandistan cookbooks such as Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s River Cottage Meat Book and Stéphane Reynaud’s Pork & Sons, believed he could get better use of the animal by insisting on “primal cuts.” Joyce Keibler, the nice lady who helps raise the lambs, seemed confused, saying most folks just got the usual chops, ground lamb, roasts and stew meat. But Steve insisted he wanted shanks, necks, breasts and other parts—and so the Keiblers’ butcher delivered, along with a hefty sack of viscera (brains, kidneys, heart, etc.) that sadly may wind up as food for a friend’s dog.

What we have discovered, after enjoying a couple of delicious legs and perfectly heavenly loin chops, is that lambs are quite the bony little bleaters, and “primal cuts” like shoulder end up being knobs and juts intertwined with muscle. So for a while now, “stew” and “lamb” have been interchangeable ideas in Gourmandistan. And one of our favorite stews has been pozole.

We’ve enjoyed big bowls of hominy and pork at many a Mexican restaurant, and Michelle had the idea to make a version using lamb instead of pork.  (At the risk of losing a bit of our locavore street-cred, we must admit to a fondness for a particular dried hominy we’ve so far only found at Fox & Obel, an upscale grocery in Chicago. The lye-slaked corn is snowy white, cooks up to tender-yet-firm, almost pasta-like texture, and isn’t anything like the stuff we get around here. Sorry.) Plus, it’s a great way to make the most of neck and small shank slices. Another great way to deal with the odds-and-ends of nose-to-tail is Scotch Broth—but you may not hear more of this brew until the weather turns colder.

LAMB POZOLE

Sauté various bony lamb parts (we used a few shank slices and a neck bone), seasoned with salt and pepper, in a little oil in a Dutch oven or soup pot.  Add an onion, a bay leaf or 2, a few cloves of garlic, some dried Mexican oregano and some fresh parsley.  Then fill the pot with water.  Simmer for a few hours.  You are making a lamb broth.

In the meantime, cook your hominy according to package directions.  You might want to undercook it just a little so it doesn’t become too mushy on reheating.

Also, sauté some diced onion, peppers (we used a mix of Mexican red peppers and a Habanero we had frozen from last Summer) and garlic. If you want, you can add some diced carrot or other vegetables.

When the meat is tender, pull it out with a slotted spoon and set aside.  Strain the broth through a cheesecloth-lined strainer.

Mix the broth, the cooked hominy and the vegetables together.  Pull what meat you can off the bones and add to the mix.  Season.  If not as spicy as you want, add (as we did) some chipotle pepper flakes.

Serve with tortillas and a selection of garnishes including shredded cabbage, chopped onions, radish slices, chopped cilantro and lime wedges.

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