On our honeymoon, almost exactly two years ago today, we arrived in the fair city of Verona thoroughly pissed off. And then things got worse. It wasn’t as if the day had started badly either: waking in Bologna; leisurely sipping a doppio espresso; before strolling along Via Pescherie Vecchie to buy a small, crusty loaf, a giant, but sweet tomato, an immoderately-sized leaf-wrapped burrata, and a serrated knife; then, wandering into the Piazza Cavour to make ourselves nearly sick with buttery cream cheese curds washed down with a half-bottle of bardolino. All in all, a pretty reasonable opening gambit.

I don’t even recall at what point things began to go west, but the supposed simple hour and a half drive between the two cities took us more like four. So, in late afternoon, we lurched into Verona hot, tired, stiff, and needing to pee. And then we couldn’t find our hotel. Another hour of angrily trawling the Veronese streets in our banana-hued rental car, grinding gears, and now with excrutiating pee pains, we finally found it – closed. No amount of banging on the door, honking of the horn or screaming at the windows produced a response. Despairing, I relieved myself copiously in the hotel’s flower bed and, looking up with an air of contentment, spied a large pink elephant beaming at me from across a field. Salvation arrives in many guises, and drawn towards it, things immediately improved.

With a free bottle of valpolicella, a purring welcome from a friendly ginger tom, a pair of iridescent peacocks puttering outside, and a room for the night with breakfast, Hotel Elefante saved us from sleeping in our car and, perhaps, from premature marital counselling. Having regained at least partial equilibrium, we made for the city center dressed for the theatre.

Skirting the wholly-invented balcony of the wholly-invented Capulet family, we ducked down Via Portici and into a restaurant filled with lovers pawing each other under the table and, like cartoon dogs, sucking-up the same strand of spaghetti. Still too flustered to entertain any romantic notions, we ordered what turned out to be a vast portion of fegato di vitello alla Veneziana or Venetian-style calves’ liver, which, with its heady richness of garlic, sage and cream, would have rendered senseless even the most amorous couple. Things continued to improve after dinner as we shuffled onwards to the arena di Verona and, cooling our tails on its ancient bleached limestone blocks, watched an epic performance of Puccini’s La Bôheme that somehow provided much-needed perspective on the day’s minor tragedies.

Periodically, we’ll laugh (or grimace) at our haplessness that day, but as time passes, we’re more apt to remember the liver than the liverishness. During a recent lunch at the very respectable Aperitivo here in Park Slope, Brooklyn, we ate a delicious adaptation of that dish over linguine with a nice dry Valpolicella that was reminiscent of our pre-opera meal in Verona. Here it is, recreated for your visual pleasure. Feel free to eat it on a balcony or at a banquet for quarreling clans, just don’t expect to be feeling frisky afterwards.

As Odysseus was nearly drawn to his destruction on the rocks by the enchanting song of the sirens, so your hardy WANF voyagers were almost powerless to resist breaking themselves on the plentiful tables of Uruguay. However, unlike Homer’s hero, for whom women were the main weakness throughout his epic peregrinations, during our recent travels in South America, we found that grilled organs, specifically sweetbreads, are the likely source of our eventual ruin.

A comparatively short (by Odysseian standards) three-hour Buquebus ferry ride from Buenos Aires across the Mar del Plata – the enormously wide and constantly brown estuary of the Rio de la Plata (River Plate) – lies Uruguay’s capital and largest city, Montevideo. Arriving by water feels delightfully old-fashioned, and it allows the visitor to get a sense of the lie of the land in a way that a plane ride cannot. Rather than the confusing meander through a city’s outskirts on the way in from the airport, the city slowly revealed itself to us as we approached it by sea, face-first, so that we could see the way it had been built, outwards from the port.

Centered on the port is Montevideo’s cuidad vieja (old town), which with its faded colonial glory and salty night-time reputation, is immediately charming to the visitor. Only the giant ultra-modern cruise ship towering over everything prevented us from wondering if the ferry hadn’t also been a time machine. The hub of the old town is the Mercado del Puerto, a magnificent Victorian-era market with a skylit roof supported by wrought iron pillars, where the air is thick with the thwack of cleaver on meat, the cries of competing vendors and the sooty warblings of its resident pigeons. It no longer serves as a venue for trading fresh produce, a fact that might be sad if it weren’t now a giant parilla (grill/barbecue) serving all manner of traditional Uruguayan meaty preparations.

More accurately, there are actually a bunch of different parillas within the mercado all in friendly and typically laid-back Uruguayan-style competition with one another for the title of best in the city. We spent a good fifteen minutes cagily circling the mercado trying to figure out some way of discerning which might be leading this contest. After inspecting rack upon similar rack of sizzling meats, we decided to let demographics be our guide and plumped for Estancia del Puerto, the place with the fewest available seats (2), and the most drunken dudes with guitars serenading the patrons (1).

We had left Buenos Aires on a very early morning ferry and, having eaten nothing on the journey, arrived in Montevideo in a terrible, bleary-eyed state of hunger. The only way out of which seemed to be robust servings of charred beast. Happily then, the menu was the most extensive of its kind we have ever seen, containing more than eight choices of steak, five of sausage, 3 or 4 matambres (stuffed beef rolls), chicken, pork, and an intimidating selection of organ meats, not to mention a full range of pasta, salads and sides, in both full or half portions. Understanding, by this point in our carnivorous odyssey, that servings tended to be of a generous nature in this part of the world, we ordered half portions of mollejones (sweetbreads), morcilla (blood sausage), lechon (suckling pig), the potentially gruesome chotos/chinchulines (guts), and a bottle of typically Uruguayan tannat (red wine), in the hope that this might save room for further sampling of the menu.

Since, like all good grills, only certain sections of this parilla were used to actually cook meat, with others functioning as warming areas for ready-to-serve meats, we were presented with our choices within seconds, and what a presentation! No garnish, no sides of vegetables, no wasted real estate at all, just meat on plates and silverware wrapped in a paper napkin, with deep, communal tubs of chimichurri and salsa criolla scattered around the bar. We dived in recklessly.

The star of the show was the lechon, or milk-fed baby pig, which was heavenly. So good in fact, that were it not for the perfectly crispy skin overlying a thin-layer of incredibly sweet fat, and the moist, almost milky-tasting, flesh of unweaned piglet, it would truly be a barbaric dish. But our pause for reflection on the plight of young pork was brief as we tore into the golden beauty of the sweetbreads, the complex spices of the morcilla, and the (surprisingly) wonderful crunchy texture and minerally-tasting joy of the chinchulines. It all tasted to us like no meat had before, even the condiments had a singular tang and freshness to them that we found a step-up from those we’d had earlier in the week. And it seems we were not alone in this.

Glancing up at our surroundings and fellow diners as we approached fullness, it was comforting to see that everyone else was head-down and going full-bore into their lunches too. And who could blame them? Like the irresistible song of the sirens, the evocative combination of wood-smokey atmosphere, beautiful Victorian architecture, and the surround-sound effect of wall-to-wall sizzling would surely stir the soul of any meat-lover and be ruinous to the anti-meat resolve of even the most hardcore vegetarian.

Mercado del Puerto
Rambla 25 Agosto de 1825 y Perez Castellano,
Ciudad Vieja, Montevideo, Uruguay
Mercado del Puerto online

A month or so ago we bought a package of veal liver at our local grocery store telling ourselves that we going to cook them, but not really having any idea how. We’ve made veal kidneys before without relying on a recipe so we were convinced we could do the same with the beast’s liver, but when we got home we found ourselves bereft of inspiration, and we put them the freezer and they there stayed until recently when we realized that we must figure out something to do with them.

Inspiration is overrated, so we abandoned our search for it, opting instead for a simple breading and pan-frying approach. You’ll notice that this dish kind of resembles a veal milanese in appearance, and it does, just don’t pound the livers or they’ll split and become purple goo. Because of this resemblance, as I was making it I was thinking of the great breaded sweetbreads we ate at Prune, and at the same time, I imagined this dish would be the perfect kind of thing to have for lunch on a cold, foggy day after a brisk walk in the rolling hills of Piemonte, and washed down with a gentle nebbiolo. And that might be the case, but it was just as good with a cold beer after a miserable rainy day trawling around Manhattan in search of baby gifts.

Veal Liver “alla Milanese” with Garlicky Mushrooms

Ingredients

• 6oz veal liver, cleaned
• 1 egg, beaten
• 4oz plain flour
• 3 slices stale country bread, crumbed
• 3oz olive oil
• 1 large portobello mushroom
• 1-2 medium cloves garlic, finely sliced
• 2 sprigs thyme, leaves removed and rubbed
• salt and black pepper

Recipe

• Put egg, flour and breadcrumbs into separate bowls
• Slice liver into thin rounds and sprinkle with salt and pepper
• Heat oil in a saute pan to medium heat
• Chop mushroom roughly into chunks and saute with garlic until soft but still al dente.
• Sprinkle with thyme and remove to a warm plate.
• Dredge liver slices first in flour, then in egg, and finally in breadcrumbs before placing gently in pan
• Fry liver for 2 minutes each side or until coating is golden brown
• Drain briefly on paper towels before serving immediately with mushrooms
• Garnish with lemon slices and good balsamic vinegar. Enjoy!

Get your head out of your bums – I know what you were thinking when you read that title. We bought our Kitchen Aid meat grinder and sausage maker attachment months ago and since then we’ve been excited, yet kind of nervous, to try it out. I figured grinding meat would be easy, but making homemade sausages was going to be time consuming and, well, it was! Maybe it was because we had enough ground meat and fat to make the world’s biggest sausage? We ended up making enough sausages for 20 meals. Regardless of the time it took to make 25-35 sausages, I have absolutely no regrets. Using any type of new kitchen gadget takes a bit of time to get used to. When I started rolling my own pasta, it took about 5 or 6 times to really get it right. Now, I have no qualms making homemade pasta for a quick, weeknight meal. Will I be making homemade sausages for a quick, weeknight meal? Hell to the no. But will I make 35 sausages over the course of a lazy weekend in order to have enough for many, many future meals? Absolutely YES. I may not be as excellent with curing (guanciale, lardo, duck prociutto, etc) as our friend cookblog or as fabulous with all things meat and fish as Hunter Angler Gardener Cook, but I now feel confident in grinding and blending pig fat, various bits of pork and veal with some seasonings and stuffing them into hog casings.

Which brings me to hog casings. Yes, hog casings. You all do realize that most of the sausage you eat is stuffed into a layer of a pig’s intestine called submucosa? The submucosa is made of mainly collagen which makes it perfect for being a delicate (and flavor-free), thin and flexible parcel to hold ground meat. You can also buy artificial casings, but why go there unless you have to? For us, finding natural hog casings proved to be a bit difficult, only because many butchers need you to ask for some on a day that they are stuffing sausage or when their order comes in. But many butchers should have plenty on hand to either sell you or, in our case, give you for free. They’ll often look at you, eyes widened, with a “BRAVO!” look as though they are very proud that someone is actually making sausages at home.

When the fourth butcher we went to finally had some casings to give us, he quickly bundled some up, handed them to me and said, “There ya go, it’s on us! You know what do to with them, right?” All of a sudden, over-confident Amy came over me and replied, without hesitation, “Oh, totally… thanks so much!”. I felt too proud to admit I had no freaking clue what to do. I walked home with my casings, palms sweating, heart beating fast hoping that I was ready for this new challenge.

Just a few tips that I learned with some research and with my first sausage-making experience:

• Don’t let your over-confidence/pride take over. Just talk to your butcher about what to do! Don’t be like me…
• If you decide to be like me, then make sure you wash your casings and run some water through to clean them. Ask your butcher if they are already cleaned – this could save you a bit of time.
• Have some lubrication (I used melted butter) ready to put on the sausage nozzle. You need to be able to slide your hog casings on to the nozzle very easily and they are delicate.
• Have a partner to help you. Someone needs to feed that ground meat through the processor and someone needs to “catch” the meat in the casings. I can’t imagine being able to make sausages without someone helping.
• Keep your ground meat/fat/spices mixture very, very cold. If it is too warm, the machine will melt the fat even more. This will make it much more difficult to stuff into the meat grinder and will make the sausage stuffing process much slower. I even put mine in the freezer for a half hour so that it was super cold.
• Have fun. Don’t forget to make a few fun penis jokes here and there and maybe slap your (preferably male) partner with some newly filled sausages on the butt! It’s fun to make snausages!

We used the brilliant Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn recipe for brats from their book Charcuterie. We paired this with the delicious sweet and sour German side dish, Rohtkol made with red cabbage and apples. It was a comforting meal and really showcased the sausage. We can’t wait to make more sausages in the future!

CLASSIC BRATWURST WITH ROTKOHL (German Red Cabbage) – Adapted from Charcuterie

Bratwurst Ingredients (**feel free to cut this recipe in half as it makes about 5 pounds of sausage):

• 3 pounds boneless pork shoulder/butt, diced
• 1 pound boneless veal shoulder, diced
• 1 pound pork fat back (if all you can find is salted, wipe as much salt off as you can and leave out at least half of the added salt in the next step), diced
• 3 tablespoons kosher salt
• 2 teaspoons white pepper
• 2 teaspoons ground caraway seed
• 2 teaspoons ground mustard powder
• 4 teaspoons garlic powder
• 1 1/2 teaspoons ginger powder
• 1 1/2 teaspoons fresh grated nutmeg
• 2 cold beaten eggs
• 1 cup cold heavy cream
• 10 feet of clean, soaked hog casings

Recipe for the bratwurst:

1. Toss your diced pork, veal and fat together. Using a meat grinder, grind all of it up together.
2. Combine all the ingredients with the ground meat/fat mixture. Use your hands or your (even easier) kitchen aid mixer to do so. It should be a bit sticky. Test a bit of the meat by cooking it in a pan to check for seasonings. Adjust if necessary. When perfect, chill in a bowl in the fridge for a long time, or put in the freezer for a half hour to ensure it is VERY cold for sausage stuffing.
3. Add the sausage attachment to your mixture and put some lube (butter) on the nozzle. Slide the hog casing on to the sausage nozzle until there is only a 2-inch piece hanging on the end. Tie a knot in the end piece of the hog casing.
4. Turn your Kitchen Aid on a medium speed and start stuffing your very cold Brat mixture into the sausage maker and watch your hog casings fill up! Using your hand “work” the casings so they don’t get over-filled as they can burst. Ever six to twelve inches (depending on how big you want your brats), twist the hog casing into links. Continue stuffing until meat mixture is gone.
5. Cook links in a hot pan or roast in an oven until brown and cooked all the way through. Serve with some good mustard on top of Rohtkohl (see below for recipe).

Ingredients for Rotkohl:

• 1 head of red cabbage, thinly shredded
• 1 large onion, thinly sliced
• 1 large apple, peeled and chopped
• 2 cloves of garlic, minced
• 6 rashes of bacon, cut into pieces
• 1/2 cup cider or red wine vinegar
• 1 teaspoon ground caraway seed
• 3 cloves
• 1 cup beef stock
• 3 tablespoons sugar (brown or white)
• 1 tablespoon whole-grain or dijon mustard
• salt and pepper to taste

Recipe for Rotkohl

1. In a heavy-bottomed pan or dutch oven, cook bacon until fat is rendered and bacon is cooked. Remove the bacon but leave fat in the pan.
2. Add the garlic, onions and apples and allow to cook in the fat for a few minutes until they get some color. After 3 minutes or so, add the shredded cabbage and stir to mix everything together. Allow the cabbage to cook down a bit – about 4-5 minutes.
3. Add all the other ingredients (add only half of the beef stock), along with the reserved bacon and stir. Bring to a boil, then lower to medium-low to simmer with the lid on. Check after 30 minutes of cooking to see if more liquid is needed. If so, add some more beef stock. Stir. Cover again and cook for a total of 1 to 1 1/2 hours (depending on how crunchy/soft you want your cabbage). Beware of the 3 cloves – if you can find them to pick them out before serving that would be good.

So I know what you’re already thinking (if you’ve even dared to read this post at all!) – tongue?! WHA-WHA-WHAT!? I think i just threw up a little. Nasty. Or, maybe you’re thinking, “interesting… I’d give it a try… I trust these two.” And possibly you’ve been lucky enough to have tried tongue before and can honestly understand why we’re pressuring all of you out there to give this cheap cut of offal a try. Seriously, folks, trust us on this one. It’s cheap and it’s tasty. There’s one catch – as it is often with certain cuts of offal, tongue (both beef and veal) is high in saturated fat. But remember, tongue is to be eaten as a special dish – this is not a cut you’re going to eat twice a week.Many of you may have eaten beef tongue before as it is a popular cut of offal to eat in many types of cuisines such as Mexican, Jewish, German, Philippino, Vietnamese, Spanish Russian and Persian cuisine. One of the most popular ways of eating beef tongue is in beef tongue stew. But when I saw a nice piece of veal tongue for only $2 in my grocery store, I knew I had to pick it up and cook it at home. But how to do it? And then I thought about all the ways I have eaten tongue in the past and remembered my absolute favorite way to eat it – grilled like I’ve had it at my favorite Korean (Korean BBQ) and Japanese (Yakiniku) restaurant. So with that in mind, we cut the skin off our tongue, sliced it as thinly as possible, grilled it on high heat for about 15 to 25 seconds on each side ate it two ways: basted with sesame oil/sea salt and topped with a squeeze of fresh lemon and topped with the delicious Korean scallion salad (Pa Muchim) with a side of Miso dipping sauce. It was fun to eat and absolutely delicious.

Just as a note, getting the skin off of tongue seems like a daunting task to some. Often, people will buy it already cooked or smoked so the skin is already removed. Many times it is cooked in water at a very, very low temperature (UNDER a boil) as to not over-cook it and supposedly the skin comes right off. We decided to not take the amount of time it should take to make traditional Japanese grilled tongue which should be soaked in water for hours, cooked in water slowly and then salted for 24 hours before it is finally grilled or braised. We took a sharp knife and hacked that skin off ourselves. It really wasn’t as difficult to do as we thought – plus we don’t always have to go for perfect-looking food.

I hope you all won’t be scared to give some tongue a try. Tongue on tongue action is a flavor sensation.  Also, check our Nuria’s version of Veal Tongue in a Vinaigrette Sauce - she’s got an awesome picture of the tongue before it’s been cut!  We forgot to take that picture!

GRILLED VEAL TONGUE WITH LEMON, PA MUCHIN AND MISO DIPPING SAUCE - serves 2 to 4 as a starter

Ingredients:

• 1 Veal Tongue
• 3 tablespoons sesame oil
• 1 tablespoon sea salt
• 1 lemon cut in segments
• 1 batch of Pa Muchim (Korean Scallion Salad)
• an indoor stovetop grill or ourdoor grill
• a very sharp knife

What to do:

1. Take the skin off your tongue and then slice into very, very thin slices – as thin as you can get them.  Heat your grill up smoking hot. 
2. Make your Pa Muchim and allow to marinate.
3. In a small bowl, combine the sesame oil and sea salt.  When grill is hot, brush one side of the thinly sliced tongue with sesame oil/salt mixture and put that side down on the grill.  Brush the other side with the mixture and after 15 to 30 seconds, flip over and grill on other side.  Do this with half of your veal tongue slices.
4. With the other slices, brush a bit of your miso sauce (see below) on each piece before if you’d like and grill for 15 to 30 seconds.  Brush a bit of miso sauce on other side and grill again.
5. Serve the first set of grilled tongue with a squeeze of lemon and the other topped with Pa Muchim.  Dip both in miso sauce if you’d like.  Enjoy!

MISO DIPPING SAUCE (Make another batch to brush on tongue before grilling if you’d like)

Ingredients

• 1 teaspoon of miso paste
• 2 teaspoons of sugar
• 4 teaspoons of soy sauce
• 1/2 teaspoon of sesame oil
• 1 small clove of garlic, minced

What to do:

1. Add all ingredients together and stir all together.
2. Marvel to yourself at how freaking easy that was.

Check out some other posts you may enjoy:

• VEAL KIDNEYS WITH MUSHROOMS AND COGNAC
• GREEK-INSPIRED GRILLED LAMB SHOULDER CHOP WITH THICK HERB YOGURT
• LIDIA’S LAMB CHOPS (Lamb Chops with A Mustard Anchovy Sauce)
• CACIO E PEPE: SPAGHETTI WITH PECORINO AND BLACK PEPPER ROMAN-STYLE
• The REAL Cocido of Spain
• Pork Roll and Scrapple – The Dirty Culinary Pride of South Jersey/Philly

VEAL SAUSAGES WITH HERBED POLENTA AND ROASTED BEETS (Serves 2)

• 4 Veal Sausage Links
• 2 Large Beets, cut into 2” half-moons
• 1/2 cup polenta
• hot chicken stock for the polenta
• chopped parsley and sage

For the gravy:

• 1/4 cup red wine
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 1/2 onion, finely sliced
• 1/2 habanero, finely chopped (optional)
• 2 teaspoons of BISTO (or 1 beef stock cube)
• 2 cups of boiling water
• Salt and Pepper to taste (for polenta and gravy)

What to do:

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Peel the beets, cut them into half-moon shapes and toss with olive oil and salt/pepper. Put on baking sheet and roast for 25 minutes.
2. In a medium-hot pan, brown your sausages on both sides. When they are browned on both sides, remove from pan and keep on side.
3. Add some olive oil (1 Tbsp.) to the same pan sausages browned in. Add sliced onions and allow to soften. When onions are translucent, add garlic and (optional) hot pepper. Allow to saute for a minute or two.
4. Add red wine and deglaze the pan, picking up any bits on the bottom.
5. Mix BISTO (or stock cube) and boiling water thoroughly. Add this to the pan. Bring to a boil. Simmer liquid until reduced by half.
6. While gravy is reducing, start your polenta. In a separate pan, combine polenta with 1 cup of hot chicken stock by first putting stock in pan and then slowly pouring polenta in it (STIR all the while… it will feel like you don’t have enough hands to do this, but just do your best!). Add a pinch of salt. Continue to stir vigorously with a wooden spoon, adding more chicken stock while doing so. You don’t want the polenta to be dry, but also do not let it get soupy (unless, of course that’s how you like polenta). You want it to be smooth and not runny. Keep stirring with a wooden spoon while on medium – low/medium heat for about 15-20 minutes. At the end, taste for necessary salt and smoothness. Throw in your herbs and some (optional) parmagiano cheese.
7. Take beets out of oven and allow to cool for a few minutes.
8. Add the sausages back to the pan. Allow to simmer for 3-4 additional minutes.
9. Plate your dish – start with a layer of polenta, two sausages per plate nestled into the polenta, topped with some gravy (get some onions in there!) and finish with a few roasted beets. Enjoy!

CHECK OUT SOME OF THESE OTHER POSTS YOU MAY ENJOY:

• HUNGARIAN GOULASH
• JAMAICAN JERK CHICKEN
• WINE-BRAISED LAMB SHANKS WITH ROSEMARY AND THYME IN PRESSURE COOKER
• ORECCHIETTE WITH SAUSAGE AND KALE
• TOAD-IN-THE-HOLE (Sausages Nested in Batter)

When we first encountered veal kidneys we were enjoying the beginning of what was to be one of the greatest meals either of us had ever eaten. It was a six-course marathon, running the gamut from tiny, delicately-prepared pots of duck liver pate as an amuse-bouche through to the choice of as many as you could stand of some 20 odd cheeses to finish. It was in Banyuls-sur-Mer, France, a smallish, out of the way Mediterranean resort just north of the Spanish border, and frequented almost exclusively by fairly well-to-do looking French. And having been in France, and ordered off a menu in French, we were not entirely such that it was veal kidneys we were getting until about halfway through the course when we both looked at each other and said, “these mushrooms don’t really taste much like mushrooms, do they?”

These Rognons de Veaux were served in a kind of deep soup bowl with a sauce of what tasted like reduced veal stock, sauteed onions and very ripe chunks of avocado. As a preparation it was as delicious as it was surprising that something so commonly reviled would be served with avocado. When we returned to the US after that trip, we were enthused but a little apprehensive to try to recreate this dish ourselves. Neither of us had ever cooked kidneys of any kind before and so were unsure what to do with them, even if we could find them.

It was much to our surprise then, that we found them at our local supermarket, keyfoods in Park Slope, Brooklyn, almost immediately. They were about $3.00 for what appeared to be one of this particular bullock’s two kidneys. Their purplish-grey color was slightly off-putting, as was their repulsive smell of urine and farts when we got them home and opened them up. A little online research suggested that it was essential to make sure the kidneys were completely clean before cooking them as some of the bullock’s waste products they used to process could still be hanging around and would, well, add an unwanted je ne sais quoi. After rinsing the kidneys for a while, the smell dissipated, but it only really went away properly once I had removed the membrane from the underside, chopped the kidney into bite sized chunks and rinsed it for several more minutes. [In fact, recent research and experimentation suggests that soaking the kidneys in milk (after cleaning and chopping them) is a much better way of neutralizing their odor than simply rinsing them in running water.]

However, veal kidneys aren’t the kind of thing we eat very regularly because they, like most offal, are high in cholesterol and other bad things that taste good, and because they are so rich tasting, not to mention being kind of a pain to prepare on a weekday night. So it wasn’t until this past weekend that we decided to make them again, but this time we wanted to try a different recipe. My wife, Amy, had done quite a lot of research, looking into possible recipes but by the time we got around to starting the preparation, our wireless internet cut-out and we had to muddle along with only the vaguest idea of a recipe.

So the recipes that follow are delicious and make a potentially awkward ingredient into a gourmet preparation, but neither are actually established recipes, per se, since the first one is our attempt to recreate the dish we ate in Banyuls, and the second is our attempt to make a dish we only knew of by name. Thankfully, both worked out pretty well, but if anyone out there has any more tried and tested kidney recipes (apart from steak and kidney pie – I’m English, so I’ve already got a good one) we’d love to hear about them!

Enjoy!  We have also entered this recipe to Hunter, Angler, Gardener, Cook’s “Meat & Greet” event!

Rognons de Veaux avec Avocat (Veal Kidneys with Avocado)

Ingredients
1lb veal kidneys, cleaned and chopped (see above) into bite-sized chunks
1/2 yellow onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, crushed
2 large ripe Hass avocados, pitted and cut into chunks (equivalent to size of kidneys)
1/4 stick unsalted butter
1/2 pt chicken or veal stock
salt and black pepper

Recipe
Sautee onions and garlic in 1/2 of the butter until soft and translucent before removing them to a plate.
Add second half of the butter and increase heat under pan to medium-high before adding the chopped up kidneys. Kidneys will give up quite a lot of liquid while cooking so it is important to keep heat relatively high at this stage. Cook for 7-10 minutes or until firm to touch.
Return onions and garlic to pan with kidneys, add stock to a depth 1/2inch and let reduce by half.
Add half the avocado and let liquid reduce by 1/2 again. Avocado should have melted into the sauce at this stage.
Kill heat and add remaining avocado. Taste sauce. Season with salt and pepper accordingly.
Serve immediately.

Veal Kidneys with Mushrooms and Cognac

Ingredients
1lb veal kidneys, cleaned and chopped (see above) into bite-sized chunks
1/2 large red onion, roughly chopped
1/2 button mushrooms, quartered
2 large garlic cloves, finely sliced
1/2 beef stock/bouillon cube
1/2 pt room temperature tap water
75ml or 2.5 fluid ounces good cognac brandy
1/2 stick unsalted butter
2 tbsp sour cream
salt and black pepper
2-3 tbsp finely chopped flat leaf parsley

Recipe
Sautee onions and mushrooms in 1/3 of the butter until soft. Add garlic and cook for a further 3-5 minutes before removing from pan to a plate. Set aside for later.
Add second third of the butter and turn up heat to medium-high before adding kidneys. Cook for 7-10 minutes until firm to touch.
Return onions, mushrooms and garlic to pan and turn heat to high. Add cognac.
Let liquid reduce almost completely before adding about half the stock/water. Let liquid reduce by about 80 percent and mixture looks quite thick. Kill heat.
Stir in remaining butter and sour cream. Taste and season accordingly. Sprinkle in parlsey before serving.
We served it on a round of toasted French/Italian bread, but it would also be good over some baby spinach or even radicchio leaves.
We washed it down with a wonderful bottle of Barbaresco that we brought back from Italy. We very rarely drink anything that costs more than $10/bottle, so any powerful red wine would probably work well.