Offal

The beauty of odd bits – Kholodets with everything

Slowly cooked pig’s eye ball is a surprisingly lovely thing. Unlike what you (and I until recently) might think, once cooked the eye is not squidgy, jelly like or translucent but simply a piece of muscle, ie meat, very much

Offal

On tongue relish and why size matters

There is certainly something vaguely titillating about being able to utter – Russian tongues, anyone? – when lowering yourself to a hungry diner. I then add – Organic, salt beef in fact, over which I’ve been labouring for the last

Offal

Hearts on toast

There is something romantic about enjoying pulverised hearts on hot toast for breakfast. Hector Lector with his liver and nicccce Chianti (schluuuuup) immediately walks into my hazy morning mind.  Indeed, there is something cannibalistic, primal, overly-realistic about preparing and eating

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A dinner of fatty delights

‘It’s champagne, mustards and a plate of sliced pork fat in our fridge’ he said with a laughing-out-loud glint in his eyes ‘nothing else. What are we to eat tonight?!’ I nuzzled my face in the thick jumper, as if

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Trendy dudes, fried eggs and unexpected winters.

Fried eggs with salo, thin slivers of cured pork fat (of which I have written liberally before here and here), used to be one my dad’s ¬†favourite breakfasts. Snacks and dinners too. I have a monochrome selection of memories of

Offal

The most fertile of breakfasts

Despite my well-publicized love for crossing sexual with food imagery, this is the first time I will admit to the outright enjoyment of fish sperm for breakfast. Herring sperm, to be precise. Russians call this thing – moloka – milk