The Offal Truth: A Call to Arms

You know, I get it. I've read everything Bourdain's talented nicotine-stained hands have ever written. I've vicariously enjoyed the earnest and unusual meal descriptions on deependdining. I've wincingly watched Alton sample brain sandwiches with gusto if not delight. And I've sincerely tried to eat several bowls of spicy korean tripe stew and a plate of sausages lovingly crafted from blood and vermicelli noodles. A tiny subsection of offal offerings, I know... but both meals ended, uh, poorly.

I'm blushing as I write this since it seems to be only proper for a proper lover of food to properly love offal. And I don't. This is bad, right? After all, it's fine and well to glibly claim to love good food while daintily cracking a brulee with the back of a spoon whilst speaking of rainbows and ponies. It's quite another to say the same thing when you're up to your elbows in a bowl of crispy sheep's testicles. I admire people who can. I want to be one of them. I think of people who love offal as the Steve Irwins of dining. They're not content to observe food in the safety of their own kitchens. Oh no, they want to chase it down, sit on it, and stick their heads in its gaping mouth while it's thrashing about and trying to bite them. On the face.

So be it. I am really going to try this time, the last time, to like offal. Baltimore's recent Restaurant Week gave me a head start at this venture when I dined at the acclaimed Petit Louis Bistro in Roland Park. Classic, classy, and delicious through and through, the atmosphere and impeccable service lulled me into a state of delirium during which I ordered the sweetbreads (read: random scary animal glands) in a demi-glace with mushrooms. And they were awesome. The crispy, delicately fried exterior gave way to molten, juicy center. Each bite was enveloped in the salty, earthy sweetness of veal jus and mushrooms. I not only ate all of them, I wiped my plate squeaky clean with a chunk of bread. I am a changed woman...I think.

I am hereby accepting, nay, begging for offal recipe submissions that will make me a (complete) believer. I promise to use all my powers, all my skills, to make and eat 3 offal-related dishes from the pool of submissions. Then, I'll write all about it. Even if they bite me on the face.

Let the games begin.