Not only esteemed as a culinary delight, liver has a long history of admiration. While it has been on my mind for months, until I read Stiff (see column at right) I didn't consider the widespread and varied significance liver has had throughout the world. 

Many ancient cultures deemed the liver the center of life. Ancient Babylonians, Etruscans, and Romans believed that haruspicy, the 'reading' of a sheep's liver, could determine the will of the gods, diagnose human illness, and determine the course of the illness. In order to read the liver, it was separated into sections. The leanings of the deities were determined by examining the section of the liver assigned to a particular god. Similarly, to make medical diagnoses, the physical characteristics of each section were examined, marked with wooden pegs, and translated.

This Babylonian clay model of a sheep's liver, courtesy of the British Museum, is believed to be from about 1900-1600 BC.  You can  purchase your very own poster of this clay liver!
 

While we might think of our own livers merely as the collector of happy-hour buckets-o-beer, human livers were believed to be more important than the heart or brain. Roman anatomist Galen, whose anatomical beliefs were held as truth for centuries, believed that "blood originated in the liver, and sloshed back and forth through the body, passing through the heart, where it was mixed with air." (Eric Weisstein, scienceworld.wolfram.com) 

Mary Roach, author of Stiff, even suggests that some believed the liver to be the seat of the human soul. 

Though I don't believe that a liver will tell me my fortune, I just might give it a second look before dredging it in bread crumbs and tossing it into the skillet. Who knows? Maybe my lucky numbers will be revealed in a calf's liver.

I am working on a new post.. I haven't forgotten about the liver!
Also, I must tell you about my weekend. Check back soon.

Have I told you of my interest in liver? It started quite some time ago,when I was reading Julie & Julia. In the book, Julie Powell eats liver, twice. Since the book is about cooking every single recipe from Mastering the Art of French Cooking, it's not surprising that I am still thinking of all that rich food. But it is surprising that it's the liver that sticks with me. This was the passage that really hooked me:

One very good and simple recipe for calves' liver is Foie de Veau a la Moutarde. Just dredge some thick slices of liver in flour and briefly sauté them in hot butter and oil, just a minute or so on each side. Set these seared slices aside while you beat together three tablespoons of mustard, minced shallots, parsley, garlic, pepper, and the bit of fat from the sauté pan, which makes a sort of creamy paste. Schmear this over the liver slices, then coat the slices in fresh breadcrumbs... Once the liver is well coated with the crumbs, place it in a baking pan, drizzle it with melted butter, and stick it under the broiler for about a minute a side. That's all there is to it. The crunch of the mustard-spiked crust somehow brings the unctuous smooth richness of the liver into sharp relief. It's like the silky soul of steak. (p. 220)

Ever since reading the above, months ago, I haven't been able to stop thinking about this recipe. I've questioned numerous friends and family members about their experience with liver and received mixed reviews all around. Theresa recently had it for the first time and enjoyed it; my mother ate it regularly while growing up and scrunches up her face at its mere mention (she says it's the smell that is so objectionable); and my grandfather, just as I had hoped, sat me down and explained exactly how to prepare it.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I nonchalantly jotted 'liver' down on the grocery list. Of course Ryan reacted to this stranger, not adequately camouflaged among the standard milk, eggs, and cheese; his eyebrows arched and he laughed to himself. To clarify, Ryan is an incredibly adventurous epicurean. I would be a much less experienced diner without him, thus I knew the eyebrow lift was clearly directed at me.

As we approached the meat section at the grocery store, I was excited to pick out my pink calf liver, but all we found was a package containing a very dark and lazy looking mass. Apparently there is a big difference between calves' liver and beef liver. There was absolutely nothing appetizing about this hunk of organ. I hated to walk away, especially under the I-told-you-so-gaze that Ryan was only slightly trying to conceal.

To be continued...

Over the long-weekend I finally had the opportunity to use my new KitchenAid pasta sheet roller and cutter attachments. I had a really good time hand-cutting various shapes and learning their names and meanings (thanks to Marcella Hazan - see book in column at right.) I made pappardelle (a broad noodle from Bologna), maltagliati (a pasta shape used primarily for thick soups and literally translating to "badly cut") and of course, spaghetti! But I still have much to learn. Next, I would like to make tortelloni and gnocchi.

Life has gotten right back to where it was pre-holidays...very busy! Aside from lots of work, Ryan and I are caught up the college basketball season. We went to the UCONN v. Georgetown game last weekend. Though Georgetown won, it was still a very good game and lots of fun. (Personally, I feel UCONN should have won...they played so well) Our next game is January 27th, Duke v. Maryland.

I'm waiting patiently for some snow today. I haven't had the chance to build a snowman yet!

Once I finally arrived in Connecticut, the holiday was quite nice. On Christmas Eve, Brooke hosted her first holiday dinner at their new home with her new in-laws :) We had such a good time and a wonderful dinner, despite the craziness caused by the two territorial dogs: Sal and puppy pug Marco. After all of that time with the camera, I didn't manage to get a good photo of Brooke and Steven!

Here is Mom with the tenacious pug and a photo of Dad.



Madison preparing to open her first Christmas Eve present and Jake, the sweetest, most easy-going dog, with all of Maddie's toys piled on top of him:

And of course, my favorite, Salinger (but I'm biased):

Continued from yesterday... See below for the Part I of this entry.

By this time I’m crying. Perhaps it is a bit dramatic, but I feel like I’ve witnessed some major drug deal and my life is in danger. I am sitting in the car juggling calls between my parents and Ryan thinking ‘Why is neither party en route to my rescue?’

After some digging, Ryan learns that the crappy New Jersey town I am in has passed an ordinance prohibiting pets from hotels. The only response I can muster is ‘blubber blubber blubber’ and a couple of ‘why me’s?’ Finally, I decide that my bloodshot eyes and sniffly nose could work to my advantage and I head to the hotel lobby.

Now, don’t start imagining the lobby of the Ritz. This “lobby” is approximately the size of my bathroom. The young man at the window (yes, that’s right, one can only assume it was a bullet-proof glass window) looked friendly enough, so I begin my story:

“Ok,”
sniffle sniffle
“my car just broke down and I need a room for the night.”
deep breath
“The only problem is…”
I glance up at the prominently displayed sign that bellows NO PETS ALLOWED
“I have a dog in the car.”
Tears start tumbling down my splotchy cheeks.
The young man shrugs.
“No problem.” He responds.
My eyes widen. “No problem? Thank you thank you thank you.”
I pass him my Discover card and sigh in relief.

Granted, I was relieved that I’d scored a room for me and my dog, but my relief was short lived. As I headed to the room at the back of the hotel, I passed the door just before mine and heard dogs barking within; so much for the ordinance that sparked my mini-meltdown.

I swiped my key card and opened the door. The room was just slightly bigger than the lobby. It reeked of smoke (only smoking rooms were available to pets), there was a hole in the door where the peep-hole once was and in the bathroom, the toilet paper was locked in place.

Sal’s apprehension was just as pronounced as my own. Paw by paw we entered the room. The next half hour was spent making a plan and talking to AAA. I never took off my coat or my shoes. Sal paced, hid under the desk, and the moment I stepped out of the room to retrieve my suitcase from the car, peed on the carpet.

I didn’t get a wink of sleep – in part because I was so anxious but also because a group of guys rented the room above me and partied all night. When I did doze off it was on top of the bed, my scarf as my pillow, donning, still, my coat and shoes.

In the morning, I decided to test fate. I started my car and drove 8 miles to a Volkwagen dealer. Six miles into the trip my serpentine belt snapped. I heard it fly out from underneath the car and watched as my gauges went bonkers. My car started overheated, the power-steering went. I was determined to get there and luckily did not do any further damage to the car.

Four hours later I was back on the road.

Perhaps the only funny part about this story is that it is not a new one. Though there are only a few of you, those who read the blog that I kept in 2005 may recall a story that is ridiculously similar.

After a nice hot meal and a long goodbye, I bid Ryan farewell and started my journey home. It was Thursday, December 20th and I was off to Connecticut to celebrate Christmas with my family. Though it was a bit too cold to roll down the windows and let the wind whip through my hair, I still anticipated the classic road trip scenario: just me, my dog, and the open road. With good weather and no traffic, the trek from DC to CT usually takes six hours.

As luck would have it, the highway was empty and the rain was still 12 hours behind me. Making good time, I could already see myself pulling into my parents' long, snowy driveway. But right around 10pm I started to hear a peculiar grinding sound. I snapped off the radio and leaned into the dash. The grinding persisted and with it the sweet aroma of burning rubber. I slapped on my hazards and yanked the wheel to the right. In an instant, my dreams of a warmly lit house changed to an image of just me, my dog, and a burning Volkswagen.

I slithered out of the passenger door to observe the wheel (my first guess at the location of the grinding). No smoke. No flames. And only a lingering scent of burnt rubber.

For those of you who have driven the New Jersey Turnpike you know that there are often stretches of 30 miles or more between exits. Further, when you do happen upon an exit, it is usually a rest stop consisting of a gas station and a McDonalds. Though I wasn't feeling it at the time, the fact that I was less than a mile away from a town loaded with hotels was quite lucky.

I puttered off the highway, already in alarm, failing to note my exit or location. I pulled into the first hotel, a Holiday Inn, and cut the engine. As I sat for a moment, weighing my options, I notice a blue mini-van and a white Ford Expedition parked behind me. The man to whom the Expedition belonged sidled up to the minivan. Thinking they, too, were travelers, I didn't give them a second thought.

I was quickly discouraged by the girl behind the desk. They did not allow dogs in the hotel.

Back at the car, I paced, talking to my parents and to Ryan about my mechanical maladies, my lack of lodging. Caught up in my own situation, I was taken aback when I noticed the man with the Ford rushing past me, repeating, 'I've got business to take care of' into his Bluetooth. My eyes followed as he approached a hotel room door straight ahead. As soon as he opened the door a seemingly endless stream of men came pouring out. They all looked similar to one another: puffer jackets, do-rags, jewelry, Timberlands. Pushing against the outbound stream, a small white man carrying a briefcase. He was the driver of the minivan.

At first no one took notice of me. The men piled into a few cars and idled in the lot. But then one man stopped at the car parked in front of mine, leaned in, lit a cigarette, and never took his eyes off me.

The whole scene was sketchy and I was terribly nervous. I didn't know what I was witnessing, nor did I care. I just knew I needed to leave. I started my engine. All heads turned; the clangor was remarkable! I zoomed out of the parking lot in a panic and was nearly sideswiped by another vehicle.

Safely parked in a neighboring hotel, I waited anxiously on the telephone as Ryan searched the internet for pet-friendly accommodations.

The story continues tomorrow...