It is rare that a person is indifferent to offal. Dinner guests are apt to tick that box when the host requests a forewarning of their dislikes. One of the most memorable refusals I have received came from stoic English friend, formulated as: “I’d rather not have to eat organ meats or turnips.” His response read both like a plea to spare him from such a fate, as well as a solemn promise that, if left with no alternative, he would stiff upper lip his way through it.
Some commentators who start from the position that all meats are objectively on an equal footing, attribute the squeamish reaction to offal as prejudice fostered by ignorance. But that is a facile dismissal. The socioeconomic circumstances that once made nose-to-tail consumption both necessary and commonplace shifted into a position which narrowed that gap between beggars and choosers in favor of the latter. The power to waste, ever a marker of wealth, was a declaration of freedom from foodstuffs categorized as “last resort”. In the case of Italy, eating offal had been an integral part of the autarkic diet, food choices driven by a nationalistic momentum to carry out the insular programs of the Fascist party. Therefore, the power to purchase muscle meat came to signify an unshackling from both economic and political constraints. While this may seem ideological, the experience of reliance on last resort foods embeds itself in the psyche as an emotional memory.
Some meats are more equal
If we entertain the notion that all meats are equal, why did choice favor muscle rather than organs? One hypothesis is that organs carry out processes other than motor activity. They pump, they filter, they churn, they transport, they excrete. A world of pathogens might be lurking therein. In accordance with their function, they assumed unique shapes, colors and textures ranging from mushy and slimy to rubbery, gristly and lumpy. They lack the predictable fibrous linearity of muscle. Even when snuggly packed in styrofoam, their cadaverous origins call out through the plastic wrap. Besides the “ew, yuck” gut reaction, eating organs carries connotations of callousness and disrespect that the humble pot roast has largely been spared. In a practical sense, handling organ meats requires deft knife skills to manage and cut them as well as knowledge about how to clean and prepare them, which further shrouds them in mystery. With the exception of a few which lingered for a time in the dining halls of the upper crust - tongue, brain, and sweetbreads - organ meats slipped into the realm of disgust.
In an odd twisting of events, the general aversion to offal today is attributed to the fact that we are not used to its more pronounced tastes and unusual textures because those foods have fallen into disuse. In a nutshell, we avoid what is unfamiliar, which assures it will remain so. However, this circular thinking neither addresses the motivations underlying the avoidance nor does it suggest the need for correction. Turning our sights to nature, a degree of this aversion was hardwired through evolution: our olfactory apparatus is designed to detect anomalies in taste, smell, and mouthfeel to alert us of potential danger. That which is rejected as “unusual” is relative, determined not only by biological control systems but also conditioned by culture, and can only exist in the presence of an established “normal”, equally subject to the same criteria.
Hope on the horizon
Offal is making a comeback. It has ironically now become an acquired taste, “acquired” meaning the consumption of foods that pose a challenge to our habits, foods we learn to like and even love, but whose appreciation required jumping a hurdle. Nose-to-tail advocates promote it as part of the ethics of meat consumption and have established Organuary as a counterpoint to Veganuary. Nutritionists tout it as a nutrient dense source of vitamins and minerals, although despite its multiple virtues, you will not find offal on any list of superfoods. Entrails, even under the euphemistic guise “variety meats” are never going to wear the superfood feather boa and tiara.
And now, on to our recipe.
From corata to coratella
The organ system of small animals like rabbits or lamb purchased as an integral whole, that is, all of the organs still connected to each other, is called the corata, hence the dish’s name coratella. It consists of lungs, heart, kidneys, spleen, and liver. As a lamb dish, la coratella is best known as part of the quinto quarto of Roman cuisine, a dish that is pan fried, then stewed with artichokes. The renown of this version has obscured the many different regional variations throughout Italy, including the one I like the best (and perhaps not by chance) from my home region of Umbria. Here each meat is pan fried and then stewed in a spicy tomato sauce with aromatic herbs. It has a slightly sour edge from red wine and red wine vinegar, which work to balance (but not disguise!) the decisive flavors and bring them together as a harmonious whole.
CORATELLA UMBRA
Ingredients: Serves 4
(N.B. adjust to the amount of corata you have after it has been trimmed)
700g corata
1 small onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves chopped
8 tbsp olive oil
400g can tomato puree (preferably Mutti)
125ml red wine
125 ml red wine vinegar
1 sprig rosemary
2 sprigs fresh savory (or fresh thyme and maybe marjoram)
2 fresh bay leaves
2 bird’s eye chilis, preferably fresh
Salt and freshly ground pepper
INSTRUCTIONS:
Prep all the meats by cutting them into small bite-sized pieces. Make the lung pieces smaller than the other bits because they swell. Keep all the types separate on the cutting board.
lungs
heart and kidney
liver and spleen
aromatic elements
Heat 4 tablespoons of olive oil in a large non-stick skillet on high heat. Toss in the onion and after 1 minute add the garlic and the lung bits. Sauté until browned.
Add the heart and kidneys and sauté until well browned.
Put the contents of the skillet into a medium sized pot and add the tomato puree, wine, vinegar, herbs and chilis. Add a 1/4 tsp salt and 10 strong grinds of pepper. Simmer covered on low for 45 minutes stirring occasionally.
Meanwhile, add 4 tablespoons of olive oil to the unwashed skillet and sauté the liver on medium high heat for one minute and add the spleen. Pepper the meats. Let the spleen stiffen before attempting to stir. Take advantage of the liquid produced to deglaze the skillet. Continue cooking until well browned.
When the contents of the pot have cooked, add the liver and spleen and cook on low for 10 minutes. There should be relatively little liquid left, but it is decidedly a meat dish in a sauce.
