A Butcher's Secret Worth Sharing: Bringing Faggots Back to the Neath Bar

Faggots have a habit of arriving at the table carrying baggage. For some, they are a childhood memory: a shallow bowl of dark gravy, soft peas and something savoury and coarse beneath it, eaten with bread and butter rather than ceremony. For others, they are a punchline. That is the problem. A dish that once belonged to ordinary Welsh kitchens and valley butcher shops has been half-forgotten, then half-ironised, and now sits in the no-man's-land between heritage and novelty. It deserves better. Neath deserves better. And a pub kitchen with a mind to use the whole animal, support local butchers and put something honest on the midweek menu could do a great deal worse than bring faggots back.

Stop treating them like a dare

The first rule of any faggot revival is simple: do not make them a challenge. Do not put them on a slate with a pipette of something and a knowing wink. Do not call them "the offal option" or invite customers to prove how Welsh they are. Faggots are not a stunt. They are a working dish, built on economy, skill and a sensible use of cuts that might otherwise be minced into anonymity. Served properly, they are rich without being heavy, savoury without being aggressive and deeply comforting without relying on a mountain of cheese or a tower of garnish.

That matters because the pub table is already full of dishes competing to be the main event. Faggots do not need to shout. They need to be cooked well, served plainly and priced fairly. A plate of faggots with peas and gravy, with mash or bread on the side, is not a history lesson. It is dinner. Treat it as such and people will order it twice.

The craft is in the coarse grind

A proper faggot is not a smooth meatball. It has texture. Pork liver brings the mineral depth, heart adds body, belly brings fat and softness, and onion, breadcrumb, sage, pepper and a little salt hold the whole thing together. The mixture should be coarse enough to taste the separate parts, but bound well enough to survive the oven without collapsing. Some butchers add a little caul fat around each one; others rely on the mixture itself. Either way, the aim is a savoury, moist faggot that gives up its juices into the gravy rather than sitting in it like a stone.

The cooking matters as much as the mix. A gentle bake in a rich gravy, with enough time for the flavours to settle, is the difference between a faggot that tastes of liver and herbs and one that tastes of regret. The peas should be soft, not puréed into wallpaper paste, and the gravy should be dark, savoury and thick enough to cling to a fork. This is not complicated food. It is food that rewards attention.

A butcher, not a novelty supplier

Faggots make sense for a pub that wants to use local produce honestly. They are built for the butcher's block rather than the supermarket shelf. In Neath and the surrounding valleys, we are lucky enough to still have butchers who understand these cuts, who can tell you where the pork came from and who know that offal is not waste. A good relationship with one local butcher is worth more here than a long list of suppliers with fancy labels.

That relationship should be visible but not shouted. A short menu note is enough: the butcher, the valley, the fact that the faggots are made to a proper recipe rather than bought in frozen. If The Bluebell were to serve them, the kitchen should agree a specification with the butcher, taste regularly, and keep the recipe consistent. Faggots are not a place for improvising with whatever is left in the fridge. They are a place for respecting a craft that has been passed down through counter conversations and handwritten recipes.

The right pint is a quiet one

A dark pint is the natural partner, but not just any dark pint. A gentle Welsh mild, a smooth porter or a stout with more chocolate than hop bite will flatter the liver and herbs without overwhelming them. The carbonation should cut through the richness; the roast should echo the gravy. A hop-forward pale ale can work if it is soft enough, but a sharp, citrus-heavy beer will make the faggots taste muddy. This is a plate that asks for a pint with a bit of patience.

There is also a case for serving a half alongside a smaller portion, especially at lunchtime. Faggots can be rich, and not everyone wants a full main on a Tuesday. A bar plate with bread and butter, a few peas and a half of dark ale is a proper Neath lunch. It is also a low-risk way to introduce the dish to customers who have never tried it.

How The Bluebell could serve them properly

A practical blueprint would start small. Put faggots on as a weekly special rather than a permanent menu item, and let demand build. Name them plainly: faggots, peas and gravy. No puns, no quotation marks around the word "offal", no apologetic descriptions. Offer a main portion with mash and a smaller bar portion with bread. Price them like a midweek pub dinner, not a heritage experience.

Source the faggots from one local butcher and keep the supply chain short. If the kitchen wants to make them in-house, work with the butcher on the mix and use caul fat if it is available. Serve them hot, in a shallow bowl, with the gravy spooned over rather than drowning them. Add a pot of mustard or a few pickled onions on the side, but keep the plate clean. Train the staff to describe them simply: savoury pork meatballs with liver and herbs, slow-baked in gravy, served with peas. That is all most people need to know.

Then listen. Run them for six weeks, track orders, ask the regulars what they think and adjust the seasoning, the portion size or the gravy rather than the concept. If they sell, keep them. If they do not, ask why. The answer will usually be about price, timing or description, not about the dish itself.

The order we should be placing

Faggots have not disappeared because Neath stopped liking them. They have slipped because menus changed, butchers closed and younger customers were never given a reason to try them. That is a gap worth closing. A dark pint, a bowl of peas and a properly made faggot are not a nostalgia trip. They are a good night out. The Bluebell could make that case one plate at a time, without a wink, a dare or a novelty menu in sight.