The Whole Hog With Jacqueline Hogge

PLAGIARISM is not something Iâ€â„¢ve ever been guilty of so when I received a text recently to alert me to a potential case of such a crime, I had to rush out to get a copy of a leading Sunday paper. The text contained a photograph of the cover of one of the supplements in said publication that featured The Whole Hog as its front-page headline. Admittedly thereâ€â„¢s a spelling issue with the last word, but all the same it made me chuckle somewhat, despite the erstwhile insistence of my texter friend who was aghast at the cheek of it all. Having secured a copy of the paper, I didnâ€â„¢t get around to reading the article behind the headline until the other day, when I was aghast to discover the extent of what seems to be a growing taste for nose-to-tail eating. Priding myself on what I assumed to be a sense of adventure when it comes to food, my stomach turned as I read about some English chef whose signature dishes just happen to contain a whole lot of offal. Worse still, this foodie fiend was bringing his radical menu across the Irish Sea where people were lining up to hand over €60 to experience a six-course dinner. Fergus Henderson is a Michelin-starred chef who seems devoted to his craft, which is always a good thing in someone who claims to be a bit of an expert in their field. But his assertion that half a pigâ€â„¢s head for two is the perfect romantic supper didnâ€â„¢t do a lot to inspire an appetite in this diner, thatâ€â„¢s for sure. And then I hate the notion that despite my willingness to try anything once, I could be considered squeamish for not considering the merits of a bone marrow and parsley salad. So I persevered with the article, in the hope that I would be convinced. The cooking process behind a pigâ€â„¢s head pot roast did nothing to whet my appetite when it was described as being like an alligator coming out of a swamp where you see the eyes and ears. The bribe of dessert, Irish cheeses and chocolate ice cream seemed far too bland a concoction to remedy the distress caused by the main dish, I donâ€â„¢t care how tasty a crispy pigâ€â„¢s head may be. But then when I couldnâ€â„¢t be convinced of the merits of liver as a child, I was never going to be one to order the more adventurous aspects of offal. Yet it seems there is a market out there for tripe, crubeens and oxtails. The latter was always considered to be one of the less pleasant winter memories from childhood and that was only the soup version of events. Iâ€â„¢m nothing if not persistent however, so I ploughed on with the extensive article until I noticed a side panel on the page that listed a recipe for â€Å“pea superâ€Â, which one could hopefully assume wouldnâ€â„¢t feature anything too garish. Assumption can be a risky business though and on further reading, the instruction to singe as much hair as possible off the pigâ€â„¢s ears involved in the process, had me turning the page to see if there was any hope for me at all. Paul Flynn, the Irish chef who hosted Fergus in his Waterford restaurant earlier this month, went so far as to claim the trend for such rarified meaty treats was a constant in rural Ireland, as it reminded many people of the food they ate as a child. His argument was going well until he suggested that lesser cuts of meat were all us poor country folk could afford. A fact reinforced by the information that in order to experience this type of dining on a regular basis on home soil, us country bumpkins would have to make the trek to the likes of Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud or Chapter One in Dublin. So the arrogance of haute cuisine extends beyond foie gras it seems, although now I come to think of it I wouldnâ€â„¢t be a big fan of that particular delicacy either. Slightly disturbed by my conservatism in the face of this particular type of cuisine, I was reassured by Fergusâ€â„¢ final comments that while he doesnâ€â„¢t consider his approach to food shocking, he does draw the line at eating penis. More comforting still was his assertion that he takes his diners by the hand as he leads them through what some would consider a rather gruesome gastronomic experience. When I go out for dinner I am not looking for the chef to hold my hand, just tantalise my taste buds and Iâ€â„¢m afraid the nose to tail method of cooking would have me reaching for the bread basket all evening. So while the headline raised a smile, and the supplement has been preserved as a novelty keepsake, Iâ€â„¢ll not be making too much of a fuss over my Whole Hogge moniker being copied. Afterall some say that imitation is the highest form of flattery, even if I would like to think my weekly ramblings are easier on the stomach than the contents of this particular Sunday supplement piece.