In the prologue to the first American edition of Fergus Henderson’s book The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating (the whole beast: eating from nose to tail), chef and gourmet Anthony Bourdain wrote that if he were ever on death row and given the opportunity to try one last dish, it would, without a doubt, be the marrow Roast Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad from London restaurant St. John.
Founded by chef Fergus Henderson and restaurateur Trevor Gulliver, St. John opened its doors in 1994 in the Smithfield district (on Saint John Street – hence the name, we have to keep things simple – near Smithfield Market , in a building that had previously housed the newspaper’s editorial office Marxism Today and a bacon smokehouse) and, since then, it became a temple of pilgrimage for chefs, gourmets, travelers, critics, lovers of good food, defenders of culinary honesty, skeptics of accepted doctrine, dissenters of waste and enemies of pretentiousness.
The way in which Fergus Henderson elevated the virtues of pork and its offal had a captivating effect and demonstrated, in addition to the fact that the English do know how to cook, that in the hands of a talented and patient cook any part of everything we eat can be delicious. The St. John living room is a reflection of its sober and simple kitchen. Tables arranged between four whitewashed walls with an ordinary glass, a plate and two cutlery on a paper tablecloth (on top of the cloth) are enough to announce that you are coming here to enjoy yourself. It is exciting to walk through the doors of the establishment early on any given day and approach the open kitchen where a pork and cod have just arrived fresh as lettuce under the studious gaze and instructions of Fergus and Trevor. The philosophy of Fergus Henderson (60 years old) is summarized in three words: nose to tail, from nose to tail, from head to tail. Simplicity, meticulousness, not wasting leftovers, sitting down to celebrate the social (and moral) act of sharing food, eating to live intensely. Yes, as Julian Barnes said in The perfectionist in the kitchenin the gastric hearts of many of us there remains a rural dream of self-sufficiency based on the image of a small house in a sheltered valley where we can live and eat according to the true cycle of the seasons, producing enough for our needs, St. John , with its non-negotiable guideline nose to tail and its daring encourages serenity of spirit and optimism. It is a spiritual homeland. From this small corner of the world, traditional English cuisine was dignified and a commitment was made to optimize the animal as much as possible and take advantage of offal and other neglected cuts of meat.
Sitting at the table with a coffee (which will soon give way to wine), Trevor takes the lead while Fergus listens, observes (somewhat more sparing in words and reflexes given the medication he takes due to his Parkinson’s disease, which he announced in 2007), nods, is surprised and, from time to time, adds his point of view. “Fergus’s mother was from the north of England, she cooked all the time, and his father had the joy of really intelligent men,” says Trevor, who could make a novel out of the life of his friend. “I took him on trips to great restaurants and enjoyed giving him a culinary education, so generally speaking Fergus has been approaching cooking from a young age. He studied Architecture, and when he left he knew that the other option was cooking. Once there he began to develop his own idea about what and how to cook. When we opened here, he had been at The French House for a while and was starting to think about giving shape to his ideas.”
Fergus and his wife, Margot Henderson, had the good eye and kindness to open the dining room of the mythical pub The French House, emblem of the bohemia of London’s Soho and whose history would be enough to organize a symposium. It was precisely there where Fergus and Trevor met for the first time. A friendship that starts in a place like this can only flow. “Being a restaurateur is not as simple as putting drinks and food on a table,” explains Trevor, “it can be compared to building a house of cards, there are a million interconnected parts and when one failure can threaten the entire deck. In our industry there is camaraderie, we have been fortunate and that is why we affirm that generosity is vital. Looking back I think that our stubbornness has been our strength. I would say that we are an antidote to everything that appears in the media. There is no need to persecute the media. We do not advertise. If we are good enough, people come back. Now you have to succeed in five minutes. They gave us time for Fergus to develop his cuisine, a cuisine that informs his philosophy and that in part explains how we treat our customers.”
At the age of six, Fergus Henderson tried crème brûlée at The Hole in the Wall restaurant in Bath (United Kingdom), and his life turned upside down. “With the first spoonful I knew I wanted to be part of this.” Henderson explains that he became a chef because he liked to eat and that it is nature that makes the menu: “Making two menus every day is responding to the pulse of life. St. John is an English restaurant, we cook to use each piece and take advantage of the seasons, it is common sense to use these delicacies at the right time.”
Trevor Gulliver was born in central London. He is the son of a detective in Scotland Yard’s aviation squad. “I was lucky, he took me to eat in Soho and have tea in the officers’ mess in Docklands.” If Fergus is defined by honesty, Trevor is defined by a sense of humor. Every four words there is a reason to laugh and celebrate. “Growing up, London seemed like the center of the universe to me. I had lunch at places like Blooms in the City, where I ate the rib sandwich, or at Italian cafes like Topo Gigio.” Talking about Italy causes the great Tuscan butcher Dario Cecchini to appear in the conversation and Trevor’s memory lights up: “Yes, we have been to his house many times. “We are like-minded.” Trevor has always believed that in some ways the transition from customer to restaurateur can be dangerous, but at the end of the day food is always a good starting point. At around twelve in the morning, while the restaurant is filled with hungry beings who know what they are coming for, we go to the table. Trevor says that the kitchen team who have finished eating before us know how to make everything from bread (the restaurant has its own bakery) to cauliflower soup or lentils with wild garlic and goat’s curd. It is said that at St. John, Fergus serves the dishes and Trevor the wines, all French. His fine humor and Frenchness refer to Julian Barnes. While he opens a pinot noir They say they are the only restaurant to which the Champagne designation of origin they supply has allowed them to include their famous logo (a humbly stretched out pig, the whole beast) on the label. The atmosphere couldn’t be more familiar. Perhaps it is this collective spirit that is the true legacy. There are restaurants where you see more cooks in the kitchen than diners in the room, where they end up eating without talking in splendid isolation. This is not the case. “The beautiful thing is to receive people,” Trevor insists, “a restaurant is a refuge, a place to feel safe, the comfort food “It’s what makes you feel safe.” Here the dining room resonates and it is comforting to see the happy faces of the mostly local and varied people, of different ages and origins. And that is a success. Upon witnessing this divine informality, anyone erases words like “iconic” or “foundational” or “legendary” from their minds because it is enough to say that St. John is the perfect restaurant for leisurely lunch and dinner.
Simple dishes such as pressed pig’s head or the unbeatable kidneys on toast in their own sauce have made this restaurant a myth as real as it is human. They not only explain the lust of the pig or the celebration of the cut of meat, entrails, viscera or limbs that are often forgotten or discarded, but also a way of thinking, because it would be disrespectful to the animal not to make the most of its entire set of delights, textures and flavors that are beyond the classic steak. “For years I have felt identified with the expression “nose to tail”, Fergus maintains, “I have seen words seep into common usage almost in a biblical way taking on a life of their own to mean something more than I thought. Every time I see the phrase I feel a kind of pride, the words have acquired linguistic nerve and I am happy that they have been received with so much enthusiasm, but sometimes I feel sad when they are not understood. The blood and guts those words evoke are integral elements, but they form only part of the rich tapestry of leaves, muscles, stems, tubers, and organs. For me, nose to tail It means holistic food, a way of understanding the world.”
The appreciation blends well with point number six of the seven that Fergus mentioned in his first book: “Don’t be afraid to cook as your ingredients will know it and misbehave. Enjoy your cooking and the food will behave and will also transmit your pleasure to those who eat it.”
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