Offal is finally gaining some well deserved popularity:

In the 12th and 13th centuries, and surely beyond, when a butcher finished cutting up an animal, the less attractive pieces of meat and organs were left to “fall off” the butcher’s block. Thus, the term offal was born.

Until recently in this country, offal consumption was limited to ethnic venues, like the tongue you find at Jewish delis and the chicken feet in Chinatown. [Check out this great recipe for stock made from chicken feet. - LG] But butchers are finding those unusual parts in demand now. More and more in Boston, once-undesirable animal products are falling on to mainstream restaurant menus.

It all started with Lydia Shire, now at Locke-Ober, and soon to open Scampo in the Liberty Hotel. When she opened her eclectic restaurant Biba in 1989, many Bostonians hadn’t yet been introduced to offal in a fine dining setting. “It’s taken [the United States] a long time to catch up in the world with offal eating and I think they’re still behind,” says Shire, “so I just felt that someone in America, specifically Boston, should put on the menu something other than a stupid veal chop.”

Biba featured its own offal section, which changed seasonally. Duck testicles were cooked confit-style in goose fat, then poached, slowly braised in goose fat, and served with fava beans and garlic. A trip to Barcelona inspired a calf’s brain flan made with bone marrow that was flavored with sherry and capers. Shire originally hoped that offal would attract international clientele from the nearby Four Seasons Hotel. But her inventive innards won over the hearts of Bostonians as well.

Eastern Standard in Kenmore Square, which features “daily offal,” carries on the legacy on a slightly smaller scale. “Some days you run a chicken liver po’ boy, and that flew out the door,” chef Marco Suarez says. “And the other day you’re running beef heart salad, and that takes a little bit more of a sales pitch from the servers.”

The chef is “playing with loose terminology,” he says, sometimes serving things like turtle meat stew or alligator as the daily offal. “[It's] not offal, per se, but not everybody eats it.”

Offal customer types vary, says Suarez. “You get the people that come in that specifically want the offal . . . whatever it is,” he says. Then there are the other chefs and cooks in town, who appreciate the lesser-known parts of the animal. “Before I started working here, I used to come in here for that type of thing.”

Some butcher shops cater to the curious home cook. Lionette’s Market in the South End has a standing order for a whole pig each Thursday. Customers in the know call ahead to reserve specific parts, owner James Lionette says, but no leftovers ever go to waste. Lionette mixes pork livers into ground pork and beef. “The flavors are phenomenal,” he says, “but people tend to get creeped out by the texture. When you mix it in with the ground meat, you don’t get the texture but you get the fabulous flavor.” Lionette also makes head cheese from the pig’s head and feet cooked down and turned into a pâté. The most popular byproduct of the pig is guanciale, a bacon-like Italian delicacy made with pork jowls, or cheeks. “We sell heaps and heaps of that,” he says.

“I could care less about trendiness,” he says, “but the sustainability aspect - that you’re using the whole animal - is what’s important to me. In this country we’re so wasteful.”

At KO Prime steakhouse in the Nine Zero Hotel, chef Jamie Bisonnette says, “I grew up loving liverwurst.” His love for offal materialized when he spent time in France, where a chef told him, “Anybody can cook a piece of fish, but not everybody can take a calf’s brain and make it [into] something that tastes delicious.”

The KO Prime menu offers oxtail marmalade, calf’s brains, beef hearts, tripe, even crispy veal sweetbreads “McNugget style.” Bisonnette is pleased with offal’s rising status. “If it becomes more popular in other restaurants, then it gives me more people to eat it,” he says.

And more places for other chefs to hang out.