There is no restaurant in Houston that we want to love with all our hearts, guts, and livers more than Feast. This fearless, classic English fare celebrates nose-to-tail eating, a concept so deliciously traditional and responsible, it makes even staunch vegetarians light up in appreciation (before running for their lives). So despite the occasional inconsistencies in cooking; having to pull into the awkward, valet-only driveway; and being forced to drink a wisely selected wine list out of thick, minerally tumblers, we still give Feast three resounding hip-hip-hoorays!

Rustic to the bone, Feast hails diners with a printing-press stamp of a proud swine on the sign out front, creaking wooden floors and heavy, clumsy-looking tables and chairs inside. This, coupled with a painting of a weary-looking traveler hovered over a steaming bowl may be the British owners’ very convincing impression of a pub.

The menu has both a fixed section of mass-appeal (okay, maybe mass-foodie-appeal) favorites like pork belly, and a daily changing list of more exotic cuts. An early dish called “tongues and testicles” winked at nervous novices, but has since then castrated itself to the more delicious beef tongue, charred ever so slightly on the outside. A savory pot pie combining sweetbreads with smoky bacon, leeks, and earthy mushrooms is approachable enough to induct first-time thymus gland eaters, who will appreciate the creamy texture. Dieters beware: this is the cuisine of the olde English, for whom “light fare” still consists of boiled quail eggs served atop local salad greens with spiced mayonnaise. But on rainy days, there’s nothing better than a steaming bowl of fish soup that we assume was made from the heads, bones, and fins of the day’s catch.

After all of the anatomical odds and ends of this menu, the prospect of something called “spotted dick” might horrify the uninitiated, but this magnificent dessert isn’t pornographic. It’s a scone-like cake studded not too sweetly with dried fruits, and made absolutely delicious from suet. You might have to ask for it ahead of time, as it’s not always available. (When we did, the chef came to our table to ask, with his cheeky brogue, Who ordered my dick?)

A succinct list of small-production wines is always a plus, but in this case, we opt for their great selection of British beers. We don’t even mind the fact that Feast’s food is generally too heavy for most of Houston’s tropical climate, or that fish often comes overcooked, and that most everything is too starch-tastic, because, even as Feast is a nod to the past, eating like this needs to be a nod towards Houston’s future.

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