Last night, the RSFP served ossobuco. The platters came out piled with hunks of glistening meat and bone. Something about about the primal nature of this meal brought out the sillies in us. We started trying on each others’ glasses. Some began eating with their fingers. There was quizzing on food and sex. And then the marrow sucking began. While this was going on, there was laughter, of course, which caused a fleck of marrow to fly, projectile-style, from one man’s lips to another man’s shirt. (You know who you are, friends….) He wore the badge of grease for the rest of the evening, which ended with grappas, noccinos, and amaros. I wish I had a picture of my friends holding greasy bones up to their puckered lips. And they, I’m sure, are glad I don’t!
The vegetarians may have been horrified, and luckily for them, were not at our table. The combination of disgust at the finger-licking sensuality of this unabashedly carnivorous meal, and the ethical divide would be enough for some harsh condemnation of the bacchanalian scene.
Is it enough to say that we know, because of the dedication of Mona and Chris to finding sustainable, local food, that these animals we ate were raised and killed with care and humanity? Many prefer not to think about this, but when you’re sucking the marrow out of leg bones, the fact of your dinner’s other form as a cute little calf is hard to avoid.
Another way to think about it is as veal shanks braised in stock and white wine and garnished with gremolata—a simple dressing of parsley, garlic, and lemon. Another perspective is health: a quick google search suggests that bone marrow is nutritious and may even help to account for the low incidence of heart disease in offal-loving societies.
It was, then, a most basic and most complex feast. And it was delicious.
Since I don’t have any pictures, I’ll direct you to this video of Mark Bittman and Fergus Henderson roasting bones and then spreading the “jiggly” marrow on toast.
The Roving Locavore 