I grew up on meat. We were the type of family who lived off of a roast for days. Hams lasted a good week. Our meals were composed around a carnivore's centerpiece. Rice and potatoes were a given and vegetables were of the frozen variety. My mom is a fabulous cook, her true skill somewhat hampered by the thrifty nature of one raised in an extremely efficient, depression era home.
I hated vegetables growing up.
The multi-colored medley cooked in a microwave plastic container, with a
tab of margarine, made me gag. I
couldn't do it. The iceberg lettuce salads, weren't bad, and I lived for those
nights, when as a treat, we added a little blue cheese.
But, I loved my mother's amazing meats. She was passionate about a rare cut, seared
quickly on the outside and cool on the inside.
When making burgers, we always tested the raw blend to make sure it was
seasoned perfectly. That uncooked, iron
flavor is one of my favorite early culinary memories. Having lived in Turkey for two years, my mom
perfected the art of cooking lamb; I loved chewing her crispy seared chops
right from the bone almost as much as dining on her seasoned, butterflied, grilled leg of
lamb.
I have gone back and forth in my life, celebrating the joy of
meat and, for periods of time, abstaining or reducing my intake. I have come to love vegetables. My weekly CSA deliver from Yokna Bottoms Farm brings me mystery and
exquisite joy. I often choose my restaurant
meals based on the vegetable sides, but at the end of the day, there is nothing
more satisfying to me than a juicy rare cut of meat.
For that reason, I have been in deep anticipation over the opening of Porcellino's Craft Butcher in Memphis. The third restaurant in the Andrew Ticer and Michael Hudman empire, Porcellino's, is a butcher shop cum bistro/bar led by head butcher, Aaron Winters. Small french style marble tables sit atop a tiled floor, surrounded by refrigerators of meats, ice creams, and pastas. At one end of the restaurant is a cozy bar, while the opposite hosts the butcher case. In between is a window into the kitchen overlooking a prep table for fresh pasta and pastry making.
While you may buy any number of high-quality looking cuts from
stuffed pork loin to lamb, rib-eyes to hearts and pig ears, we were sadly
without a cooler and therefore were there to try out their lunch menu.
Immediately, I knew we had a problem. Every sandwich was calling to me. I did not have a decisive bone in my
body. We managed to narrow it down to
the "Goomba", an Italian cold-cut sandwich served on soft white
bread. More refined than the Italian sub
I grew up loving in Boston, it easily could have been homemade, right from
Mark's family kitchen. The bread was
spread with deeply flavorful olive salad and topped with cool shredded lettuce
and just the right amount of sopressata, porchetta, and "gabagool". Unlike the subs of my youth, the bread and meats were not competing,
but complementing each other.
The very attentive waiter helped us choose our second sandwich,
suggesting a hot lamb and pork sausage on a light hoagie. The sausage was everything he promised. Rich and juicy, the meat was blended with
parmesan cheese and fresh herbs. Pickled red onions and a cool cucumber raita spread on the soft roll balanced the deep
flavors.
So as not to forget our other food groups, we selected a side
of sauteed summer squash bathed in a basil pesto on a tomato jam sauce with crushed peanuts, that could
easily have taken center stage.
Throughout our experience, I saw other plates returning to the kitchen
with small crusts remaining, and had this horrified gut reaction - I guess as
the granddaughter of a depression era home, I have trouble not cleaning my
plate. I remember sitting for hours as a
child over those terrible, waxen vegetables, wishing I could be excused from
the table. Today I could not help but
view those crusts as perfect vessels for mopping up the remaining tomato jam.
There is something old world and authentic about
Porcellino's. I could easily be on
Federal Hill in Providence, Rhode Island, surrounded by old Italian speaking
men, escaping their houses to tell the same stories over and over to their
buddies who laugh with gusto every time.
It is rare that you can even find a neighborhood butcher these
days. And yet, here in this little
corner of Memphis, off of the busy Poplar Avenue, sits a very modern, hip
throwback. Next time, I will bring the
cooler.
