The first
rule of Offal Club was never eat spleen again, again! The second
rule: there is no part of an animal that is inedible except teeth,
sinew and bones. The third rule, if in doubt; ask yourself the
question, `would the Chinese eat it?’
Offal
Club grew out of a Shares and Fine Wine Club, but after the disaster
of investing in technologies and obscure mining stock that tanked, it
was decided that shares were probably best managed by experts; and
not six drunken blokes throwing darts at the Financial Times. Bravado
and the poor fare on offer in Manchester’s restaurants led to the
desire to produce something diametrically different; and you could
not get much more diametrically different than offal, the bits that
even butchers and Bernard Matthews threw away, unless you lived in
China!
The
bravado, piss-taking and wine were always a constant; what was not
was the menu; tripe stuffed with sheep’s brain; compote of pigs
head with wild mushroom and jalapeno relish; Ox heart with black
blood jus; Sheep’s eye in white wine and onion reduction; pancreas
and piccalilli; bone marrow with scrambled eggs and deer brains; and
everyone’s favourite - bollock bhuna. Twelve
years had now passed since the first official Offal Club night;
lamb’s liver pate, followed by steak and kidney cobbler and
chocolate tart for dessert. It seemed so tame now, like something you
might get from a Harvester!
No one
could remember who suggested it; the boundaries between reality and
morality got blurred slightly by six bottles of Chablis and six
bottles of Rioja, but what could be agreed was it was during the digestivos that the immoral proposal was fertilised, even if it did
not start to gestate. Nothing is static and everything evolves or
dies, it was basic evolutionary culinary science, or more
colloquially, what goes around eventually comes around. It was
suggested as a scientific experiment, which was not surprising from
five doctors and a computer analyst. It was at a similar intoxicated
juncture at the next meeting that gestation occurred, even if
rudimentary features had not started to appear on the beast.
All
gathered agreed it was a marvellous idea, although none really
thought it was anything but drunken folly; except Martin. He had
always harboured the inquisition to find out the answer; well the
mind can wander after you have carried out over five thousand
autopsies and the inside of one cadaver is pretty much like the next.
Karl the GP was also inquisitive, but his mind had not wandered far
from the marital problems he was having with his wife of fifteen
years. By the third dining meeting it was an inevitability that the
proposal would surface again.
`But if I
procured the items in question, and cooked them, would that take
away some of dilemma?’ Martin half suggested to auger opinion.
Marcus,
Malcolm, Oliver and Steven snorted laughter at Martin, Karl just
smiled.
`It’s
fuckin’ mental Martin, as well as criminally insane.’
`But
don’t you think it would be interesting to find out? What are the
chances of getting caught?’
`I’m
having no part of it,’ resounded Oliver, and Marcus and Steven
echoed his sentiments.
`Ok, you
bunch of girl guides, we could have pushed forwards the boundaries of
epicurean and culinary scientific research at the same time, and this
is the reason why society moves forwards so painfully slowly.’
`Who’s
cooking next months?’ Enquired Steven when he noticed the time was
nearly two and he had a golf match that was teeing off at ten in the
morning.
`I’ll
do it,’ offered Martin. `I’m going to do pig’s livers in an
Americano sauce, I’ll think of something for a starter and let you
know beforehand.’
It was
agreed the pig’s liver in the Ameraco sauce, accompanied by green
beans, and washed down with a heavy Cote du Rhone was a triumph, and
questions turned to the sourcing of the livers.
`I have
contact at Smithfield’s in London, who is more than glad to send
any more unusual items up, as long as we pay him reasonably well and
he bumps up his profit margins by whacking on a hefty postage and
packaging fee.’
`How
much?’
`The six
livers cost me fifty pounds.’ They all agreed it was a little steep
for liver, but the quality was fantastic.
`Who is
this contact, should we not source more unusual cuts from him?’
`We could
do, he is called Terannce Hall, Terannce is not spelt the same way,
two n’s and only one r.’
`Why is
spelt that way?’ Enquired Oliver.
`I don’t
know, it must be a foreign deviation of Terrance, I suppose,’
offered Martin.
`What
else could he get us, did he say?’
`Anything
that comes into the market, he can get to us, for a price obviously.
He did mention he had some lovely Vietnamese pot bellied pigs in last
time I spoke to him.’
`Sounds
lovely, we could make a terrine, or a fantastic pate, if you get
them, I don’t mind cooking something up,’ Malcolm offered.
`I don’t
mind doing it one more time, then I’ll give it a rest for a while,
you all have kids and I have more time than you lot.’ Martin was
met with protests from the Club Members, but he deflected them
relatively easily, as they all knew that putting on a Club Night
could be days of work. They all agreed he did not have to do it for
at least nine months as recompense.
Indonesian
ginger and spring onion pigs brain soup, followed by devilled
oriental pig’s kidneys, it was the fine balance of offal meat and
spice, and it was almost unanimous that it was probably the best
offal they had ever had, maybe with the exception of sweetmeat Rogan
Josh and bollock bhuna. The perfect matching of the wine for
the courses had also met with much approval. The spiciness of the
soup was complimented by the crisp mineral dryness of the 2006 Hugel
Gewurztraminer Alsace and the vintage Chateau Potensac Medoc 1999
offered a level of acidity, tannins and pluminess to set the kidneys
off faultlessly.
`The wine
must have cost a fortune Marty?’ Suggested Marcus.
`Oh what
doesn’t get drunk can go in my cellar.’ He smiled with a cursive
wave of his arm, and Steven laughed at him, `that means it did cost a
fortune then.’
`It’s
only money chaps.’ He dismissed.
`How
much?’ probed Oliver
`I got a
case of the Gewurztraminer for about three hundred, and six bottles
of the vintage Medoc was about the same.’
`Bloody
hell Marty, that’s far too much,’ protested Marcus, and he was
echoed by everyone except Karl.
`Don’t
you agree Karl?’ Enquired Malcolm when he observed him not
resounding their sentiments.
`Oh, you
can’t take it with you, and when you have food as remarkable as
this, you want exceptional wine to wash it down with.’
It was
then Malcolm saw the almost imperceptible stealthy look Karl gave
Martin, he darted a glance at Martin to try and ascertain what`
the look’ was all about? As Martin took his gaze away from his
swirling wine glass and directed it toward Karl, Malcolm knew they
knew something the rest of them, or at least he, did not.
`What’s
with the look?’ he interrogated Karl.
`What
look?’ he tried to appear puzzled.
You know
`the look’ you just gave Martin, I’ve known you for over
twenty years Karl, I know that furtive almost courtship look when I
see it.’
`Oh… it
was just an almost subconscious look of gratitude for buying such
lovely wine and cooking such great food.’
`No,
no it wasn’t, I know you Karl; that was not a look of gratitude;
that was a look of guilt, a guilty look?’
`Oh leave
him alone Malcy, we’re all pissed.’
`Are you
his girlfriend Martin?’ Oliver interjected, taking the piss.
`Now you
are defending him, deflecting attention away from him, subconsciously
anyway… you know what the secret is? There is a secret? Is it just
me that is not in on it?’ Malcolm started to interrogate Martin and
looked to the faces of the rest of the Club, this was Malcolm’s
party trick, he was the Derren Brown of the group; he could detect
lying from a hundred yards. He turned his attention back to Karl, he
knew him better, he betrayed not only his illegality badly, but his
emotions as well.
`What is
it Karl? What is the clandestine secret you and Martin are keeping
from the rest of us?’
`Yes
share!’ Oliver Butted in, and Steven and Marcus backed him up.
`What are
you keeping secret from us, hey?’
`I am not
keeping anything a secret from you.’
Malcolm
tilted his head and cogitated while keeping his stare on Karl, `Ok,
now I know you are lying, four tell tale signs, one, your body
language has closed up, your arms were on the arms of the chair and
you moved them in, closed your body, classic sign of insecurity.
Secondly, you found it hard to maintain eye contact, when before you
had no problem, thirdly, your orbicularis oculi around both eyes
contracted slightly, lastly, you always look upwards to the left when
you lie, and that’s just what you did.’
Karl
starred at Martin as the rest ganged up on him, and implored him to
tell them something. Martin shook his head slightly to direct him,
then added, `you’re bullying him Malcolm, leave him alone.’
`He’s a
big boy, he can stick up for himself, what is it Karl, tell us?’
Marcus demanded. Karl looked to Martin for assistance once more.
Steven
cut in, `for fuck sake, will you two tell us, so we can move on from
the Spanish Inquisition?’
`There is
nothing to tell,’ Martin tried to draw some closure.
`But
there is, you have taken over from Karl, because you think he will
give something away, something you don’t want us to know?
Something that you are not willing to share easily, with four mates,
some of whom went through medical school with you, and all the
madness that entailed.’
Now they
could all see that Martin was starting to become flustered, the
capillaries in his face were starting to vasodilate and his pale skin
was ruddying. Karl was fast following suit.
`Oli and
Steven, you interrogate Karl, and Marcus we will work on Martin.
Oliver and Steven went and sat on the arm of the chair next to him
and poked him playfully and demand he tell them the truth. Malcolm
straddled Martin on the dining room chair and Marcus towered over
them as moral and physical support; all four were encouraged by the
excessive consumption of alcohol.
`Get the
fuck off Malcolm!’
`Not
until you tell us the truth.’
Martin
was immediately very agitated and tried hard to avoid eye contact.
`Tell
us,’ commanded Marcus from above.
`Just
tell us the fucking truth Martin, it has to be bad, look at your body
language, this is not physical discomfort of homophobia, this is
more, this emotional discomfort, tell us?’
Marcus
disappeared towards the kitchen, while Malcolm raised the volume of
questioning an octave every time, he demanded every time, `tell us
the secret?’ Martin tried to wrestle him off, but Malcolm was
bigger and stronger, and this agitated him further, a man not
accustomed to subordinate roles. It was then the iced cooled water
from wine bucket smacked him in the face, assaulted him, like being
thrown into a cold bath against your will, and he wrestled more
vigorously to make good his escape, while Malcolm shouted even
louder.
`Tell
us,’ Malcolm was shouting nine inches from his face, `get some
more iced water Marcus, hurry up.’
Martin
wrestled harder and Malcolm continued the barrage, the cold water
dislodged what little composure he had left. And he let out a
primeval, `Ahhhrr,’ while violently shacking his head from side to
side like a dog climbing out of a cold sea, fixed his gaze on Malcolm
and yelled,
`It
was human, ok, human!’
Malcolm
stepped back off Martin, while Marcus put his palm over his mouth in
shock.
`Oh my
God, Martin, what have you done, Oh my God!’
Oliver
and Steven moved across, `What is it, what has he done?’
`Oh my
God Martin, fucking hell Martin.’
`I’m
joking, I’m just shitting with you.’
`But
you’re not… are you?’
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