Pig head and chicken liver goodness

I grew up eating some strange things. Pig intestine, pig tongue, and chicken feet graced many meals. And soups made of sea turtle, fish stomach, bird spit, and shark fin were common at dinner. It wasn’t like I was growing up on the set of Fear Factor or that my parents had a strange way of punishing us. That was what my mom cooked, we ate it, and it was delicious. I didn’t think much about what my mom cooked and how probably most moms didn’t cook those things for their families. It was just what we ate. So, when a plate of stuffed pig’s head is placed in front of me, as was what happened when Jeanne and I met Colin, Eleanor, and Alex at Incanto for dinner, I don’t bat an eyelash.

I had wanted to go to Incanto ever since having brunch at Colin’s weeks ago, where Carlo was talking about the work that goes on there--how they cure their own meats, have whole beast dinners, and use parts of animals that, in most kitchens, would get thrown out immediately. And, I knew that few people would be willing to eat random meat parts with me. But, Jeanne, who was in town for the evening, would, and so would Colin and Eleanor.

We ordered the antipasto plate of house-cured meats (there was no way we couldn’t order that in a place that makes their own charcuterie) and the fava bean and strawberry salad with rucola and pecorino. The waiter also brought out single serving dishes of a tuna salad with tiny white beans in an olive oil dressing and a plate of marinated sardines (how great it is to know one of the chefs). The tuna salad was light, the beans tender, and the olive oil fruity. The sardines weren’t greasily weighed with heavy oil but were delicately fishy. The fava bean and strawberry salad was interesting—I had never had strawberries in a savory dish and the pairing was delightful though not wowing.

And then came the plate of meat, a whole slew of different types that I can’t remember, although I do remember the stuffed pig’s head that Colin had specifically pointed out as being stuffed pig’s head. I feel like my mom must have served us some version of stuffed animal head at some point because the texture of Incanto’s version brought back memories of my mom’s kitchen. The meat had an interesting texture, a cross between bologna and super-gelatinous gelatin. The meat had a mild taste of something I can’t recall and the texture seemed to play a more important role than the flavor. There was a very good pate as part of the spread as well as some delicious versions of cured meat (I didn’t know what types of meat I was eating then, even though the waiter explained it to us). The mustard was fabulous and the roasted garlic was better than any I could have made.

I had a tough time choosing an entrée and decided on the chicken liver ravioli at the last minute. I was expecting just a smudge of chicken liver encased within an adequate amount of pasta, but I was in for a surprise. My hot plate delivered several rectangles of ravioli that looked like they were about to burst with a brownish gray filling. I was intimidated and slightly scared. But I ordered it and I would eat it and I would like it. I used my fork to cut a piece of ravioli in half and chowed down. All I could taste was chicken liver. It was rich and thick and totally kicked my mouth with chicken liver flavor and that slight grainy chicken liver texture. I knew that eating that whole dish would be an endeavor (there must have been the livers of about ten chickens on my plate) but that I would leave with a body full of iron.

Jeanne had the steak with broccoli di ciccio in a bath of warm olive oil, and it was delicious (I ate probably almost all of her broccoli). Colin ordered the signature handkerchief past with a pork ragu, whose flavors and deceiving look of simplicity were comforting. Eleanor’s gnocchi were pillowy soft. And, Alex’s braised pork shoulder, which was the size of my head, with rhubarb and fava beans was tender with a slight tang from the rhubarb.

For dessert we had the bay leaf panna cotta, rhubarb crisp with cardamom ice cream, and a chocolate lavender pudding thing that came in a ramekin (they gave it some fancy name that I can’t recall). The panna cotta was simple and good. It’s smooth, cool creaminess was just sweet enough and melted on my tongue. The rhubarb crisp was just a slight bit tangy. The crust was crumbly crisp and the velvety ice cream had just the faintest hint of spice. The chocolate pudding was rich and thick and decadent.

The meal was great, but the best part of the evening was about to come. As we were on our way to say goodbye to Carlo and to thank him for a wonderful meal, we were offered a tour of the kitchen. We met Chef Chris. He told us about the vent system and then had Carlo show us the rest of the restaurant. We stepped into the walk-in refrigerator where buckets and baskets of food rested. We climbed into a tiny, low-ceilinged attic that was reminiscent of something from Alice in Wonderland to see what they used as storage space. And, we were shown the glory of the restaurant--a carefully monitored refrigerator filled with meats of all sorts hanging to dry. And, on our way out, I met one of the chefs who would be returning to his native Thailand in a few months and who said his friends who live there currently would take care of me during my stay in Bangkok--a generous offer that I don’t know if I’d feel comfortable in taking up.

I left Incanto stuffed with chicken liver and rather happy about it. I told them I would return soon to try their braised ox tails--I just need to find someone who’s up for some adventuresome eating.