La lengua

Not only have I blogged beef tongue before, I did a decent job of it, too. That was seven years ago, I’ve since become allergic to beef, but my method of preparation has not changed a bit. I’ll throw in some commentary along the way, but here we go with beef tongue, baby:

One of these things is not like the other . . .

Glorious beef tongue. Why is it that so many foods I despised as a child I now regard as delicacies? Tongue, chopped chicken liver, eggplant, pine nuts, cantaloupe: as a kid, these foods brought me to tears, but when I eat them now, I have happy memories of childhood. Where’s the logic in that?

A tongue bought fresh from the market is already several days old. Don’t leave it around in the fridge for another few days — it won’t improve with age. Instead, scrub it under cold water and then soak it in cold water for two hours.

Next, cover with a thick layer of Kosher salt and wrap in plastic. Store in the refrigerator for two days, flipping it after day 1.

If your tongue weighs 3 to 4 pounds, you won’t need to soak it afterwards. Simply rinse off the salt and toss your tongue into a stock pot. Cover it with water — Julia recommends five inches over the tongue, but I think you’ll be fine if the water just barely covers it. Add a bouquet of herbs. Garlic and bay leaves are essential; add juniper berries if you want a corned beef flavor (but if you come over to my house, I won’t serve you that kind of tongue, nosirree). This last time, I used whole allspice, which worked well. I add celery, onion, and carrots to the stock pot as well. Quarter the onions and keep the skin on (similarly, for the garlic, just cut the bulb in half and throw the two halves into the stock pot).

This is where people mess up. They don’t cook it long enough, and they end up with a fibrous nightmare which, yes, licks you back when you eat it. Simmer it at least 3 hours, preferably 3.5 or 4. You ought to be able to easily pierce the base of the tongue with a knife.

Plunge the cooked tongue into ice water. Slit it down the side with a sharp knife or razor, and then peel the tongue the way you would pull an undersized glove off a very sweaty hand.

The end result should remind you of pot roast, but with far more richness. Well simmered tongue has a melt-in-your-mouth quality. If it’s chewy, you screwed the pooch and undercooked it. Too bad.

Classically, tongue is sliced thin and served on rye bread with stone ground mustard, red onion, and pickles, but I prefer soft tacos. For that, you need a quarter-inch dice of tongue meat. Quickly stir fry it over high heat (only to warm it — it’s already cooked) and serve over fried corn tortillas with a garnish of finely chopped white onion and cilantro. Top with salsa.

For our most recent tongue, I prepared a somewhat Indian tomato sauce in the following manner:

1. Saute one medium onion, finely diced, with one teaspoon finely chopped ginger and two finely chopped garlic cloves.

2. Add two 14 ounce cans of tomato sauce along with the following spices: 1/4 teaspoon fenugreek, 1/4 teaspoon cardamom, 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin, 1 tablespoon white sugar, and 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes (or any hot red chile flake). For saltiness, I added about a tablespoon of fish sauce.

3. I also added one heaping teaspoon of roasted tahini paste as a thickener. I doubt this added much to the end result . . . perhaps a bit of complexity. Omit this if you like.

4. Simmer for about 30 minutes, then serve it over the sliced tongue.

Yum!

Eat anything fun lately?

D.

For once, I did not futz with the recipe

For tonight, I made Tyler Florence’s recipe for galumpkis (stuffed cabbage). And now that I think about it, I did futz with the recipe: I used a pound of lamb and a pound of pork, no beef. Otherwise, yeah, everything was the same.

Quite good, although the sauce came out watery. I suspect the only fix for that is to cook down the sauce (in the earliest stage of the recipe) until it’s like mud. The meat and cabbage give up too much liquid, so I suspect that’s the only way to deal with the problem.

Oh, and I’ve decided I like working with grape leaves far more than cabbage. Cabbage is a pain. On one of the comment threads (perhaps on someone else’s stuffed cabbage recipe), one person claimed that if you froze and thawed the head of cabbage, the leaves will come off perfectly. Hmm. I can tell you it was impossible to remove the leaves from a fresh head without a lot of tearing.

Happy New Year, everyone! Here’s hoping it will be better than 2011. At least up until that end of the world thingie.

D.

For the Challah days

There’s two loaves there. Karen braided 1.5 loaves. I am a braiding dyslexic.

D.

Drawing inspiration from just about anywhere

Yeah, not often I find a new recipe playing Facebook Scrabble (oh, they don’t call it Scrabble, but are there really any differences?) But when it occurred to me to check whether I could add a E to BARD to create BARDE, thinking perhaps it would be an alternate spelling, the game said yeah, go crazy guy. So then I wondered, is BARDE just an alternate spelling for BARD, or is it something else?

Yes, it’s an alternate spelling. But it’s also:

bard or barde 2 (bɑːd)
— n
1. a piece of larding bacon or pork fat placed on game or lean meat during roasting to prevent drying out

And it so happened I was roasting a chicken at the time. So I quickly cut a few bacon strips in half and decorated the top of my chicken with them. This was about 3/4 through the roasting process; I always start with the bird breast-down, do her ’til she’s toasty, then flip her over and finish her breast up. And then I make dinner, yuk yuk yuk.

Karen and Jake both liked the end result, and they finished all the bacon, too. Which just goes to show, (as we all knew) everything is better with bacon.

D.