More Offal, Please.

Mark’s Daily Apple recently featured a recipe that hides liver in meatballs for those squeamish about offal and innards. I’m also currently reading a book that talks about how we don’t get enough of that stuff in our diet.

Dude! Shouldn't you wait until it's dead before you season it?!

I did a quick search online and came up with a blog titled (Don’t shoot the messenger, besides, it’s brilliant!) Eat Me Daily, which sadly appears to have been abandoned sometime in June 2010, but not before featuring a weekly offal column for almost nine months. Go here for a list of all the Offal of the Week columns.

Then I discovered that the author is still happily blogging away at his own site Nose to Tail at Home.

Here’s the deal. I have tremendous trouble with offal of all stripes and tripes. No liver, no tongue, no brain, no kidneys. I grew up in New Mexico and I wouldn’t touch the menudo, even when severely hung over. I may have accidentally once had giblet gravy at Thanksgiving before knowing what it was. I’m sure I was an absolute nightmare as a child, and I would apologize for that, except I turned out pretty good.

But now there’s a part of me that thinks if I’m going to do this Paleo/Primal thing, I’ve got to DO this thing. Our savanna-cruising ancestors would never turn their noses up at a vibrant, jiggling intestine. When did I get so uppity? I realize the whole thing is merely an arbitrary psychological barrier, but how does one get over it? Exposure therapy?

I recently had some paté and it was…okay. A bit metallic tasting, but I assume that’s all that beneficial iron in those livers. Maybe I could get used to it. I will definitely try those meatballs, although it feels a little bit like chickening out. But I’m not sure I can face a plate full of sweetbreads just yet.

What was your gateway offal? And what’s your favorite dish now?

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