Frankly an offal-related cocktail seemed one of the hardest to conceptualise, and short of coming up with some kind of vessel that may or may not have been an OH&S issue, there seemed few genuine solutions outside of twee ones. Blood is linked with spices in many traditional dishes, so using it as a seasoning seemed not a bad idea. Unable to source the dried blood powder used in Finnish cooking it was hit upon to dry a good quality morcilla sausage and make a spiced blood powder from that. Of course the vehicle would have to be tomato juice, and none better than the in-season hefty ox-heart tomato. Combined with a generous slug of vodka and a tiny bit of Campari the freeform cocktail took inspiration also from a nearby bay tree and flavoured the mix generously with that and fresh lime juice. Kinda Sicillian, very savoury, not really for the light-weight cocktail drinkers as there was more than a bit of metallic bitterness present.

A distant mother was the inspiration for the amuse bouche: and what better inspiration? Amber's tasty, tiny cubes of kidney in the trad devilled-style a-top a perfectly boiled egg was nothing to sniff at, and in fact, made several converts to kidney, which is no small feat as this is the organ that is so often worried about (oh but it's the ammonia... no, well, if it's fresh there should be no piss-take).

Entree took inspiration from the pieces we all tend to chuck away after gnawing: dem bones. Are we soft in this modern era that we don't take to a hefty bone with our jaw set, to crack in search of the nut-like goodness within? This was certainly a standout dish. The unctuousness of the bone marrow was only enhanced by a vegemite-like demi-glace. In haute praise, this dish was responsible for several cut tongues as our own, living tongues flicked into the bones to tease out the last fatty morsels as our rather less attractive chimp ancestors did a thousand years ago.

There ain't nothing cuter than pricked pigs ears in a meadow, but there ain't nothing more friggin' dangerous than deep-frying the buggers. Fergus Henderson notes in his wonderful book that they 'may spit a little'. Like hell. What he should have written is that you will need to affect the stance of a matador to survive. Your kitchen ceiling will not. This particular salad of perky pointers was inspired by the French (who do so appreciate the perky pointers of both the head and the toe), and as such was an absolutely refreshing collection of pert sorrel tips and other greens ripped from the garden bed outside, made bad with deep-fried goodness and a whisper of stinky raclette-like cheese.

The main was a work in progress over several days. One issue was finding fresh trip in this santised city where it's not always to hand. Of course, up in the mountains it was there alright but to get the full unctuousness of this dish it had to begin transformation well before the final touches.
This was a main of many offal. Or, at least two: tripe and blood sausage. It was also another dish this evening that was linked to blood, again because of tradition. This was a dish beloved of the cook, whose family had cooked for generations. This was bloodline.

Various fabulous, traditional ideas were floated for the dessert course. The chocolate and liver mille feuille will be parked for another time! In the end, however, it was obvious: suet. To be frank, I hadn't expected to be able to pick some up at the last minute in Katoomba, but I shouldn't have worried. I forget Katoomba has a large elderly, old-fashioned population, one, that like me mum, grew up on kidneys on toast and tripe with onions. So, armed with a package of fresh suet it was only down to 'what suet pudding to make'. The simplicity of the Sussex Pond pudding won me over. Make suet pastry, line, fill with A LOT of butter and brown suger, oh, and a couple of lemons. Boil for A LONG time. So a young assistant was enlisted to chop up the suet (she didn't even balk at that!) and away we went. Fresh, in season muscatels were the only garnish required, it was figured, because once turned out and the knife plunged in to the pud, it would spew forth copious lemony, sweet sauce. It was rich, oh yes, but a lovely reminder of simple, hearty desserts and the role they play in keeping warm!