Product Description

The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating is a certified "foodie" classic. In it, Fergus Henderson -- whose London restaurant, St. John, is a world-renowned destination for people who love to eat "on the wild side" -- presents the recipes that have marked him out as one of the most innovative, yet traditional, chefs. Here are recipes that hark back to a strong rural tradition of delicious thrift, and that literally represent Henderson's motto, "Nose to Tail Eating" -- be they Pig's Trotter Stuffed with Potato, Rabbit Wrapped in Fennel and Bacon, or his signature dish of Roast Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad. For those of a less carnivorous bent, there are also splendid dishes such as Deviled Crab; Smoked Haddock, Mustard, and Saffron; Green Beans, Shallots, Garlic, and Anchovies; and to keep the sweetest tooth happy, there are gloriously satisfying puddings, notably the St. John Eccles Cakes, and a very nearly perfect Chocolate Ice Cream.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #5467 in Books
• Published on: 2004-03
• Released on: 2004-03-30
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 224 pages

Features

• ISBN13: 9780060585365
• Condition: NEW
• Notes: Brand New from Publisher. No Remainder Mark.
• Click here to view our Condition Guide and Shipping Prices

From Publishers Weekly
An audacious chef whose St. John restaurant in London draws legions of fans, Henderson is a staunch proponent of using virtually the entirety of any plant or animal being served up. Harking back to the days when very little went to waste, he practices what he preaches with such victuals as Rolled Pig's Spleen, Duck's Neck Terrine and Roast Woodcock, which is cooked with innards and head intact, the latter providing a bit of "delicious brains." Henderson recommends the use of a disposable Bic razor for depilating the primary ingredient in Crispy Pig Tails. And then there's Warm Pig's Head, which extreme chef Anthony Bourdain describes in his introduction as "so Goddamn amazing that it borders on religious epiphany." Here, too, are four recipes for lamb's brains, a commodity that Henderson admits is illegal in both the U.S. and England. Home chefs will encounter difficulties in obtaining other ingredients as well. Blood Cake and Fried Eggs calls for a quart of fresh pig's blood, and Soft Roes on Toast requires delicate white sacs of herring semen. Sprinkled among these challenging dishes, however, are more accessible fare: Kid and Fennel, Mussels Grilled on a Barbecue, and Radishes to Accompany Duck or Goose, wherein both the radish and its leaves are added to the bird's jus. Desserts include Treacle Tart and Carragheen Pudding made with red seaweed.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author
Fergus Henderson trained as an architect before becoming a chef, opening the French House Dining Room in 1992 and St. John in 1995, which has won numerous awards and accolades, including Best British and Best Overall London Restaurant at the 2001 Mo#203;t & Chandon Restaurant Awards. The Whole Beast won the 2000 Andre Simon Award.

Customer Reviews

Delicious Indictment of our Wastefulness
I have to start by saying that I can prepare only ten of the thirty-four recipes in the meat section of this cookbook without special ordering, and thirteen are virtually impossible due to unavailability of ingredients. Lamb tongues? Pig tails? Quarts of pig blood? Lamb hearts? Forget it. I live near a large butcher who can't or won't provide any of these items for any price I can pay. They go to the dogfood plants. This is a pity, as anyone lucky enough to have eaten the flavorful extremities and innards of young animals can attest. Our American supermarket meat counters have for years whittled down the selection in favor of the most flavorless cuts: fillet mignon and chicken breast have taken the shelf space once dedicated to the "set of delights, textural and flavorsome, which lie beyond the fillet", to quote author Fergus Henderson. As our cultural memory of the flavors of the parsimonious and creative farmhouse kitchen shrivels, our food is impoverished. Henderson writes a sharp critique of our culture of waste, but only as the byproduct of his central thesis: that there is a world of pleasure out there for those who set aside their suburban sqeamishness and eat the whole beast.

Among the few recipes I can follow without unconscionable substitutions are some real gems. Tripe and Onions, remarkably similar to French, Italian, Spanish, and even Mexican preparations, is delicious. Rabbit and Garlic is a powerfully aromatic feast. Beans and Bacon is a perfect rustic dish, a worthy simplification that could stand for cassoulet. Ox Tongue and Bread, really a carpaccio or hearty salad, is an excellent meal on its own, great with a simple and light red table wine. Each time I've prepared a dish from this book, I've lamented the narrow-minded marketing that makes most of the book inaccessible.

My laments are accompanied by shameless keening when I get to the Birds and Game section. Almost nothing in this section is possible here. A shame, really. Some of these recipes make great reading. But so did Don Quixote, and I'm not any more able to get fresh pigeon [without a good slingshot] than I am able to book a flight to medieval Spain. This highlights the real perversity of this book: af all the many cookbooks in my library, representing such far-flung cuisines as Indian, Turkish, and West African, the most exotic is from my ancestral England, from a chef who speaks something very like my own language, and whose ingredients sound, but for the specific location of their cuts, very familiar. How far we've come without true progress!

Go to the meat counter and test this assertion: our culture values two characteristics above all others in meat: softness and blandness. Now consider what we're missing: the heady pleasures of the most flavorful cuts of meat, skillfully prepared and simply served. Somewhere along the way we've abandoned a great cultural inheritance. It takes an act of will to remember that abundance has cost us dearly.

I wish I had the means to distribute this excellent book like a religious tract. It will take something like religious fervor on the part of a few brave souls to get us back to the roots of our cooking: farm and field.

Great Modert Treatment of Very Old Techniques. Outstanding
Fergus Henderson, the chef author of this book subtitled `nose to tail eating' is a cult hero among foodies and among heroes of foodies such as Tony Bourdain, who writes the introduction to this new edition and Mario Batali, a major advocate himself of using the whole animal.

For several reasons, this book is likely to have little to no value to the average person who cooks and who may refer to a cookbook now and then. The recipes commonly use ingredients that are simply unavailable outside better butcher shops and farmers' markets. The recipes also commonly use techniques that are the antithesis of fast cooking and low fat cooking. There are some recipes that literally require up to two weeks to complete.

The true audience for this book aside from culinary professionals are those who religiously watch Alton Brown's `Good Eats' , read John Thorne's books and newsletter as if they were gospels, and study books by Paul Bertolli, Eric Rippert, Judy Rodgers, and Jeremiah Tower for subtle new techniques to squeeze the last ounce of value from their primo materia.

Just to be sure it is clear to you what this book is all about, it's primary subject is preparing in a cuisine absolutely everything but the oink, as the saying goes, from a pig and other animals. To this end, the author presents us with recipes for pig's head, pigs jowls (Mario Batali's favorite guanciale), pig's ears, pig's tail, livers, hearts, tongues, and the most beloved stomach as used in preparing the old Scottish classic, haggis.

If this were the limit of the author's novelty, there would probably be little interest in the book among chefs. The author pushes this point of view to cover culinary techniques which are either not commonly used by the average chef and which are generally unknown to the average cook. The two best-known methods are brining and preserving in oil as in a comfit. Brining has probably become much better known among American foodies thanks to the efforts of Alton Brown and Shirley Corriher. It is a method of soaking meat in a solution of salt, sugar, and aromatics to impart moisture to the meat. Creating a comfit involves storing meat in fat rendered from the meat and fatty parts of the animal from which the meat was taken. The method is best known as a method for preserving duck legs, but it may be applied to many other meats. The author applies both techniques to a wide variety of foods.

If any part of this book may have use to the average reader who takes cooking seriously, it would probably be the author's lessons on the creation and use of stocks. Unlike chefs at the cutting edge of American haute cuisine such as Judy Rodgers, Henderson's stock techniques are beautifully simple. He does recommend the uncommon method of creating a raft to clarify stocks. I have not seen this method used outside of Culinary Institute of America texts, but the author presents it so simply that one need have no fear that it is too complicated for them. That is not to say it does not take time. This is an example of why the nonprofessional will want to read this book. It is just chocked full of unusual techniques, some as simple as they are unexpected. The author goes against a tidal wave of preference for the Italian flat leafed parsley and chooses to use curly leafed parsley in most recipes including an utterly simple method for flavoring salt with the herb and adding it to a simple sauce.

While the focus of the book is on meat, it does cover the very typical range of dishes with chapters on Stocks, Soups, Salads, Starters, Main Dishes (mostly the odd body parts are here), Birds and Game, Fish and Shellfish, Vegetables, Sauces, Puddings, and Baking. The refreshing iconoclasm extends even to the discussion of routine sauces where the author is clear to all that aioli is NOT mayonnaise with garlic, but a thing onto itself. He probably also breaks a few hearts by mixing olive oil for both mayonnaise and aioli in a food processor.

The book should also be a treasure for armchair foodies who get no closer to a Garland range than a read of reviews in `Cooks Illustrated'. This chef has a way with words. You may almost think of him as a literate Jaime Oliver who suggests you put terrines `in the fridge for 24 hours to allow it to find itself'. I sometimes find it tedious to read even good recipes. There is no such problem with this book.

Highly recommended read for all professionals and foodies. Great source of ideas, even if you never make any of the recipes.

The Ultimate Healthy Diet
Kudos to The Whole Beast by Fergus Henderson. This unusual cookbook is dedicated to recipes on organ meats. The delicious array includes warm pig's head, ox tongue, roast bone marrow, calf's heart, brawn (headcheese), jellied tripe, rolled pig's spleen, duck neck terrine, duck hearts on toast, many recipes for lamb's brain, sweet breads, blood cake (made with 1 quart of pig's blood), pig's cheek and tongue, gratin of tripe, haggis, deviled kidneys, lamb's kidneys and giblet stew. The one notable omission is steak and kidney pie.
The recipes are exotic (or so they seem to us-they were once standard fare for Britons) but also simple. Henderson's signature dish is Roast Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad, which calls for marrowbone, parsley, shallots and capers, with a dressing of lemon juice and olive oil-that's all. The ingredient list for Duck Hearts on Toast is minimal: duck hearts, chicken stock, balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, butter and toast.
Many pages are devoted to preserving meats, including an intriguing recipe for dried salted pig's liver. Others include brine-cured pork belly, corned ox tongue, cured beef or venison, pickled herring and a variety of animal parts preserved in rendered fat.
And the book contains other treasures: many recipes for game birds, rabbit, venison, crab, eel, mussels and salt cod; creative vegetable concoctions, wonderful soups and unusual salads.
Henderson understands the value of stocks, makes pastry crust with suet and uses real butter and cream.
Henderson includes no discussion of the health benefits of the foods he serves, but with the exception of white sugar used in a few dessert recipes, and white bread crumbs in a few soups recipes, The Whole Beast is the quintessential health food cookbook; its principles will confer more beauty, strength and happiness on mankind than the thousands of fatuous lowfat tomes that lecture us about the evils of rich diets and promise the mecca of good health on a diet of skinless chicken breasts and soy smoothies.
Critics contend that Henderson's food is too extreme for Americans. Henderson replies: "My experience is that every time someone comes to the kitchen at St. John to say how much they enjoyed our Pig's Head or Rolled Spleen, they are always American, so I have no doubt that the strong gastronomic spirit of adventure in the United States will carry them through the recipes in this book."
Whether you are a timid eater or a courageous one, this book needs to be in your kitchen, and not kept pristine on the shelf, but reverently used. You'll need to find a real butcher or a farmer to obtain many of the basic ingredients, which is all the better, because as we learn to eat the whole beast, we hasten the revolution that is underway in America: the return to real food produced on real farms.
Review by Sally Fallon