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Consorzio, Turin restaurant review: “Fergus Henderson’s doppelgänger is an Italian woman in Torino”
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Consorzio, Turin restaurant review: "Fergus Henderson's doppelgänger is an Italian woman in Torino"
Consorzio is bold and edifying in modern times, making light work of the unsexy often overlooked cuts. The squeamish can still eat plenty, and eat you should.
Written by Liam Collens // Read more reviews here.
The Highs
The Lows
The Highs
The Lows
Consorzio, Turin restaurant review: "Fergus Henderson's doppelgänger is an Italian woman in Torino"
In a remarkable act of love and benevolence, my then-girlfriend-now-wife enrolled me in a butchery course as a Christmas gift. I would embark on the grizzly business of carving and butchering an entire lamb for a day.
If you ever find love with someone of such scrupulous taste, never let them go.
The Ginger Pig was and is a butcher that farms animals in the UK and opened a series of high-end butchers across London, including one a brisk 10-minute walk away from our ground-floor flat in Stamford Brook (or Chiswick, as we told people). Their sausage rolls are fist-sized hangover placebos of joy wrapped in golden pastry. Our then-dog, Branco, marched home with a shin bone between teeth for an afternoon of diligent marrow snuffling.
I learned a lot about knives and joints butchering a lamb. The high smell of fat on a carcass. The physicality of tearing another beast apart. It is not for the faint of heart, nor should it be.
This course occurred six years after the publication of Fergus Henderson’s seminal texts, Nose to Tail and Beyond Nose to Tail. I have both at home. Fergus’ books resurrected a post-war excitement in offcuts and offal that endures today. He is one of the top three most influential chefs in my lifetime, alongside the Adrià bros and René Redzepi, in my opinion.
Eating the whole animal is nothing new for a guy raised in the Caribbean. We are all too aware that “offcuts” are not only staples; they are the best bits capable of the depth and complexity that a tenderloin will never know.
If you ever find love with someone of such scrupulous taste, never let them go.
The Ginger Pig was and is a butcher that farms animals in the UK and opened a series of high-end butchers across London, including one a brisk 10-minute walk away from our ground-floor flat in Stamford Brook (or Chiswick, as we told people). Their sausage rolls are fist-sized hangover placebos of joy wrapped in golden pastry. Our then-dog, Branco, marched home with a shin bone between teeth for an afternoon of diligent marrow snuffling.
I learned a lot about knives and joints butchering a lamb. The high smell of fat on a carcass. The physicality of tearing another beast apart. It is not for the faint of heart, nor should it be.
This course occurred six years after the publication of Fergus Henderson’s seminal texts, Nose to Tail and Beyond Nose to Tail. I have both at home. Fergus’ books resurrected a post-war excitement in offcuts and offal that endures today. He is one of the top three most influential chefs in my lifetime, alongside the Adrià bros and René Redzepi, in my opinion.
Eating the whole animal is nothing new for a guy raised in the Caribbean. We are all too aware that “offcuts” are not only staples; they are the best bits capable of the depth and complexity that a tenderloin will never know.
Consorzio’s decor seems intentionally rebellious
Consorzio is casual, cool and questionably fashionable even before we walk through the door. It could be a drama school or a punk club. The faded rust paint job is punctured by a door littered with awards stickers, including multiple Michelin Bib Gourmands. A window is blocked by a “Combat” poster of a Keith Haring-style Joan of Arc (with one boob out) wielding a fork and a wine glass (my kinda lady). Empty wine bottles line the window sill.
Consorzio’s interior instantly dispels any notion that it is for special occasions. A poky front room precedes a larger dining space in the back, complete with a small bar. Chalkboards tease a regional wine list by the glass.
The poky room’s industriousness restraint feels marginally warmer than utilitarian with bistro tables clad in a pink picnic stripe and what I’ll charitably call an art installation resembling a Gorgonzola cross section hanging on the wall. The larger back room is equally unfussy like a local union club but with certificates that confirm Consorzio is not only a restaurant but a good one. Here, Chef Valentina Chiaramonte focuses more on the plate and less on decor—unlike, well, name a new opening in Dubai.
Consorzio’s interior instantly dispels any notion that it is for special occasions. A poky front room precedes a larger dining space in the back, complete with a small bar. Chalkboards tease a regional wine list by the glass.
The poky room’s industriousness restraint feels marginally warmer than utilitarian with bistro tables clad in a pink picnic stripe and what I’ll charitably call an art installation resembling a Gorgonzola cross section hanging on the wall. The larger back room is equally unfussy like a local union club but with certificates that confirm Consorzio is not only a restaurant but a good one. Here, Chef Valentina Chiaramonte focuses more on the plate and less on decor—unlike, well, name a new opening in Dubai.
Fergus Henderson would rub his thighs with giddy appreciation for what Chef Valentina Chiaramonte does here.
Consorzio’s whole animal ethos
Consorzio’s menu is the sort of coronary-inducing, cholesterol-cladded good time that appeals to me, but not everyone. It goes down a storm here in Piemonte, a region known for its artery-clogging affection for slow-cooked animal parts. A quick scamper down Consorzio’s 20-item menu pops with fried anchovies, ox bone marrow with cod and Swiss chard or salted tongue with red prune sauce.
The primi piatti and mains feature ravioli with offal, tajarin—an ultra-eggy, fine tagliolini indigenous to Piemonte—with lamb tripe and brown stock and, notably, a Porterhouse Beef Steak and a “head of ox, in broth”.
Consorzio offers two menus including this lunch menu and a fixed-price tasting menu that incorporates dishes from the a la carte menu.
Fergus Henderson would rub his thighs with a giddy appreciation for what Chef Valentina Chiaramonte does here. Consorzio feels cut from the same bolt of tripe with a delightfully Italian accent.
The menu is not all beauty with beasts; vegetarians and the squeamish will find solace. My wife’s sprightly “pickly pear” ceviche is a bright pop of colour on a winter’s day, singing with zip, crunch, and fragrant fresh mint and coriander. Her mountain gnocchi resembles Spatzlan or ttekbokki rolled in a duvet coating of Toma cheese, the warm crunch of local hazelnuts, and gently cooked leeks.
Consorzio Prickly Pear Ceviche Salad and the Mountain Gnocchi or Ravioles with Hazelnuts, Leeks and Toma Cheese.
My dad orders a bowl of agnolotti gobbi vivid yellow from the egg yolks. Ravioli is a broad roof for stuffed pasta, but agnolotti gobbi are the squared puffed, pillow-like parcels best known abroad. These lyse with slow-cooked meat with an elastic fresh pasta lacquered in butter. It’s all washed down with may have been the best Langhe Nebbiolo we drank all week—and we drank many.
My wholemeal tagliatelle in beef heart ragout is one of the tastiest things I ate this year: cheesy, buttery, with a toothsome bounce to the pasta and a rich, hearty (literally) ragu. I send a heart-shaped love letter traced in the sauce back to the kitchen. It’s a masterclass in doing a few things well.
Consorzio stuffed Agnolotti Gobbi filled with braised meat and the Tagliatelle with Ox Heart Ragu.
Consorzio’s desserts are mostly strong, but we do find favourites: my hazelnut cake with zabaglione foam wins with spoon-licking pudding joy; separate chocolate and hazelnut creams dusted with dried capers wins our admiration for creativity, and the panna cotta meets the brief but cannot dislodge Petricore Enoteca’s reign supreme.
Consorzio’s Hazelnut Cake with a Citrus Zabaglione and Chocolate and Hazelnut dusted with dried capers.
Undoubtedly. Also, Turin needs a good long weekend of exploring.
The menu is well-crafted to satisfy most but those who enjoy the gamey, offal offerings will be most rewarded.
Liam is a restaurant critic, food and travel writer based in the Middle East. He owns EatGoSee and contributes to other publications. You can find Liam on Substack, Threads, Instagram, BlueSky or Facebook.
The primi piatti and mains feature ravioli with offal, tajarin—an ultra-eggy, fine tagliolini indigenous to Piemonte—with lamb tripe and brown stock and, notably, a Porterhouse Beef Steak and a “head of ox, in broth”.
Consorzio offers two menus including this lunch menu and a fixed-price tasting menu that incorporates dishes from the a la carte menu.
Fergus Henderson would rub his thighs with a giddy appreciation for what Chef Valentina Chiaramonte does here. Consorzio feels cut from the same bolt of tripe with a delightfully Italian accent.
The menu is not all beauty with beasts; vegetarians and the squeamish will find solace. My wife’s sprightly “pickly pear” ceviche is a bright pop of colour on a winter’s day, singing with zip, crunch, and fragrant fresh mint and coriander. Her mountain gnocchi resembles Spatzlan or ttekbokki rolled in a duvet coating of Toma cheese, the warm crunch of local hazelnuts, and gently cooked leeks.
Consorzio Prickly Pear Ceviche Salad and the Mountain Gnocchi or Ravioles with Hazelnuts, Leeks and Toma Cheese.
My dad orders a bowl of agnolotti gobbi vivid yellow from the egg yolks. Ravioli is a broad roof for stuffed pasta, but agnolotti gobbi are the squared puffed, pillow-like parcels best known abroad. These lyse with slow-cooked meat with an elastic fresh pasta lacquered in butter. It’s all washed down with may have been the best Langhe Nebbiolo we drank all week—and we drank many.
My wholemeal tagliatelle in beef heart ragout is one of the tastiest things I ate this year: cheesy, buttery, with a toothsome bounce to the pasta and a rich, hearty (literally) ragu. I send a heart-shaped love letter traced in the sauce back to the kitchen. It’s a masterclass in doing a few things well.
Consorzio stuffed Agnolotti Gobbi filled with braised meat and the Tagliatelle with Ox Heart Ragu.
Consorzio’s desserts are mostly strong, but we do find favourites: my hazelnut cake with zabaglione foam wins with spoon-licking pudding joy; separate chocolate and hazelnut creams dusted with dried capers wins our admiration for creativity, and the panna cotta meets the brief but cannot dislodge Petricore Enoteca’s reign supreme.
Consorzio’s Hazelnut Cake with a Citrus Zabaglione and Chocolate and Hazelnut dusted with dried capers.
Consorzio, Would I Return?
Undoubtedly. Also, Turin needs a good long weekend of exploring.
Consorzio, Who Should Come?
The menu is well-crafted to satisfy most but those who enjoy the gamey, offal offerings will be most rewarded.
Consorzio, How Much Was It?
Liam is a restaurant critic, food and travel writer based in the Middle East. He owns EatGoSee and contributes to other publications. You can find Liam on Substack, Threads, Instagram, BlueSky or Facebook.
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