Historically, offal was nobody’s first choice. An animal’s entrails and internal organs were eaten out of necessity, when choicer cuts were neither available nor affordable, and minimising waste was of priority. But it’s one of Auckland chef Dariush Lolaiy’s favourite ingredients. “The economising is a happy bonus,” he says. “I’d pay more for offal if I had to.”
Lolaiy and his wife Rebecca Smidt took over Cazador restaurant on Dominion Road from his parents in early 2012 after a stint overseas. Now the couple are out to change the public perception of offal, partly out of the love for it and partly out of necessity. They’re conscious of the fact that current rates of global meat production and consumption are unsustainable, and nose-to-tail eating is one means of relieving the pressure on mainstays like chicken and beef.
There’s a double standard about meat, says Lolaiy, which our disregard of offal throws into sharp relief. “If you had a whole chicken, you wouldn’t throw away the breast but keep the leg. Doing that with offal is just as flabbergasting to me.”
Cazador’s menu changes every couple of weeks, but among the dishes it’s showcased in the past have been pig face salad, lamb’s tongue fries, puffed beef tendon, heart, lung and liver. Game meats like venison, guinea fowl, duck, pheasant, goat and rabbit make regular appearances, often hunted by Lolaiy’s father Tony. The couple make total use of his finds, from fillet cuts right down to the bones for stock.
“We’re lucky enough to have a supplier that we’ve had a relationship with for 28 years,” jokes Lolaiy. “He looks out for us first and foremost, which is nice, because it’s hard to find integrity in this industry.”
The couple prize knowing the origins of the meat they serve, partly out of awareness of the intensive, so-called ‘landless’ livestock farming practices behind the vast majority of meat produced in the United Kingdom and United States. In New Zealand, it seems easier to source meat from small-scale, ethical producers or even direct from the hunter, says Smidt. “When you step out into the bigger economies, it gets a bit grimy, and you really start questioning what you’re eating. It’s made us even more determined to keep an eye on what our suppliers are up to.”
Their preference for local suppliers – a lot of their meat comes from ethnic butchers in Sandringham – means that exotic game like kangaroo, emu, crocodile and bison (the latter of which in particular has gained a reputation as a sustainable, healthy “Red Meat Alternative” overseas) are off the menu.
“If we were in Australia, we’d definitely use kangaroo, but I don’t want to import it here because it seems a bit over the top,” says Lolaiy. “I don’t need to bring meat in when we’ve got variety here. But I’ve had crocodile three times and it’s never been good so I’m not going to put it on the menu.”
He’s also wary of exotic meat’s potential to seem gimmicky. “I think that kind of sends the wrong message, almost like we’re hunting for trophies. The novelty factor kind of cheapens what we do.”
Smidt remarks, a tad ruefully, that offal has recently ascended to trendiness, to the point where their local suppliers are starting to run out. “A big restaurant group puts an offal dish on the menu, and suddenly there’s no more for Cazador.” (Cazador, both she and Lolaiy are at pains to point out, is not at all trendy – if not because of their painstaking commitment to offal and game, certainly because of its textured plaster walls.)
It might be in fashion, but it’s still an acquired taste. Smidt, who works front of house at Cazador, says diners are typically leery of offal because they’ve eaten it cooked poorly before (liver is often over-cooked and served dry, she says), or because of its associations with Fear Factor-type reality TV shows. The first step in changing their mind is getting them to order an offal dish.
Rebecca Smidt and Dariush Lolaiy of Cazador Photo: Jordan Dodson / The Wireless
“We’ve set up our menu with a little blurb to say ‘You’ve come all the way down Dominion Rd – forget about having the stuff you’d normally eat, and just try something different’,” she says. “I think people are starting to embrace that, but they’re still a little bit squeamish about some things.” (Lolaiy remarks on the unpopularity of a goat shank dish: “When somebody at the table did order it, the entire table was jealous, like, ‘Why didn’t you tell us it was like lamb shanks?’”)
But those who do have their first taste of offal at Cazador tend to be pleasantly surprised, says Smidt. “There’s usually one person at the table who’s the adventurous one, who’s roped all their poor mates into coming along, and they kind of lead the charge,” she says. “We don’t see much of it coming back, that’s for sure.”
A bit of peer pressure helps ease people out of their comfort zone, agrees Lolaiy; he’s even put an offal course on set menus for dinner parties of up to 40 guests. “Sure enough, especially with the pack mentality, they all try it and, surprising to some, they enjoy it.”
Breaking hearts at Cazador Photo: Jordan Dodson / The Wireless
The trick is to present the unfamiliar ingredient, in this case offal, in as familiar a context as possible. “Dariush might treat lung as if it was a normal ingredient, so it’s beautifully marinated, lightly pan-fried, then served with a fresh green salad and toasted sourdough, or something like that – like you might do with bacon,” says Smidt. “We try to make it accessible, but we don’t disguise it.”
Some chefs soak livers in milk first to lessen the intensity of the flavour, but Lolaiy prefers to “let those parts sing”, and simply temper it with other elements of the dish. “You could probably come in with a preconception that game food and offal are going to be stodgy, hearty, wintry and all that, but we love balanced, delicate food,” he says. “It’s an ongoing thing, to campaign for fresher flavours and show that dishes don’t have to be 80 per cent meat.”
His suggestion is to diversify your diet, starting with easy substitutions in familiar recipes, like swapping lamb for goat and beef for venison. “Or start using rabbit, which farmers have a problem with,” he suggests. “You’re doing them a favour by getting rid of a pest, you’re doing yourself a favour by having a bit of variety in your life, and you’re doing chickens a favour by taking some of the pressure off them.”On the whole, Lolaiy thinks New Zealanders eat too much meat, too often. Though he and Smidt observe odd mealtimes, as is par for the course for hospitality workers, he estimates they eat meat only a couple of times a week. “It’s all about moderation,” he says. “If you’re talking about sustainability, definitely we’re eating too much.”
Smidt points out that what we do or don’t see as everyday food depends on what’s available, and in that regard, suppliers play a key role. “Supermarkets have really narrowed down the selection of what’s available, not just in terms of the cuts of meat, but from which animals they come from,” she says. “If you can choose between lamb, beef, chicken and fish, that’s it, of course people have stopped cooking with rabbit and duck and guinea fowl. You can’t go into a supermarket and buy heart, because it’s just not there.”
She hopes that eating out at Cazador opens diners’ eyes to the possibilities. “When you’ve got a busy family and you’ve got to make dinner every day, of course you’re just going to grab what’s affordable and easy to prepare, but actually, it’s not that hard to prepare rabbit legs, or roast a duck instead of a chicken.”
“That’s where we get a kick out of it,” says Lolaiy. “We get to introduce people to, and remind them that there are, other things to eat. I think it’s our responsibility, as people in the industry, to show them that it’s not scary, that it’s not hard to cook with – just to put it in their minds as an option.”
And, Smidt points out, there’s often only a few years’ difference between an ‘exotic’ food becoming mainstream. “Who would have dreamed of putting hummus on a platter a few years ago? ‘How exotic’.”
