The dishes attempted for the purposes of this blog are from, or inspired by, the cook book "The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating," and its creator, Fergus Henderson.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

Pork Chitterlings

I got the text at 7:06 this morning, "Chitlin time."  It was on.  At 9:07 A.M., "Still cleaning them..."  By ten o'clock, after almost three hours of cleaning these foul smelling, used condomn-like organs, they were finally on the stove.  Great!  Three or four hours of stove top simmering, and then the real cooking could begin.

At 10:17A.M., they "Smell like wet socks.  With bay leaves."  Disappointment was starting to set in.

Personally, I had been dreading this day for some time.  Not in the way one dreads root canal, but in the way one might dread taking a medicine.  You know you're going to take the medicine.  It's gonna happen.  But you totally expect it to be the worst thing you have ever put in your mouth.  Now, could you find the medicine to be quite pleasant?  Sure.  But are you anticipating nastiness?  Yes.

On with the wet socks.  At this point, there was still some hope.  They didn't smell so great, but they had thickened up and taken their familiar curly shape.  It was still on.

Somewhere between 10:17 and 12:25, it all went to pot.  Pardon the expression.  "Btw, I gave up on the chits."  (I almost typed shits there.  How appropoe.)  "They are gross.  They are now officially dog food.  The boys like them at least." 

B had tried.  He wanted it to work.  He was trying to get past the smell.  He almost might have succeeded too, but then, he took a bite.  He couldn't even swallow it.  It was over.  There's a bowl in the fridge for the boys, the rest sits on the back step.  Now returned to their original bucket, outside in the cold.  A solitary, stolid discard of a dream that once was.

And the house smells like bad breath.  Really bad breath.  The whole house.

B. Says:

Dissapointed.  I am sorry.  I was open minded.  I don't get grossed out about the 'idea' of nasty bits.  They were just nasty.  No good bits.  At least in my preperation.  Maybe I messed up.  Missed something.  All I know is that I can still feel that smell burning my nose 9 hours later.

Maybe, just maybe, I will try again.  Not for a while though.  If someone asks me "wanna cook some chitlins?", my answer will be simple:

"I'd rather watch my dad take a shower".

Good night.  I have to go snort Bactine now.

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