Читать книгу Made in Italy: Food and Stories - Giorgio Locatelli - Страница 76

Until thirty or forty years ago, when the market for veal began to decline, veal farming thrived in Northern Italy, especially in my region of Lombardia and Piemonte. Small farmers reared calves along with chickens and other animals, and sold the prime meat to rich people or Milanese restaurants, so they were left with the cheaper cuts and the heads and feet, which would be eaten at home or sold to poorer people. Cooking these parts of the animal requires much more work, but because they are full of gelatinous tissue they become meltingly tender, with long-lasting flavours that make some of the most memorable and tasty dishes.

I understand that people these days find offal a harsh reality to deal with at home, and even in the restaurant I know it can take a bit of courage to try. One of the reasons we have become wary of eating certain parts of animals is the prevalence of problems such as BSE, which is why you have to find a responsible butcher and trust him. But, you know, sometimes I think that if people saw what goes into the processed foods they eat every day they might think differently about some of the food they buy without question. The foot of an animal is far more wholesome than the chemicals, additives and processed fats many people consume regularly, most of the time without even knowing it. Think about it: we happily buy anything in friendly sanitised commercial packaging because we are convinced it must be okay, when the guy who set up the company is probably already in Bermuda with a big house and a private jet. He doesn’t give a damn if we die after twenty years from eating all the additives his factory has put into our food.

But if you buy a calf’s head that has been carefully boned and rolled up and tied with string, a process that takes a lot of time and care, you know you are being given something that has been prepared by someone who doesn’t cut corners. And if you go into a restaurant where calf’s head is on the menu, you know that the cook is someone who cares about sharing fantastic flavours – because it would be much easier just to do a burger and chips. Again, it brings us back to the idea that good food doesn’t have to be expensive.

The problem, I know, is finding prepared calves’ heads. Supermarkets? Forget it. Even the few high-street butchers that are left rarely sell them, but if you ask, they may be able to get them for you. And if enough people ask, maybe we can make them fashionable, the way the humble lamb shank became something ‘smart’ in the Nineties.

If you like, you can do a variation on this dish by cooking the calf’s head in the same way, then slicing it about 1cm thick, dipping it in flour, then egg yolk, then breadcrumbs and deep-frying the slices until they are golden. Serve the slices with pickled red and yellow peppers (see page 84) mixed with capers.

1 calf’s head, ready prepared (ie boned, shaped and rolled)

1 onion, cut in half

1 celery stalk, cut in half

1 carrot, cut in half

1 bay leaf

50g plain flour

1 wine glass of white wine vinegar, plus 3 tablespoons

5 tablespoons Shallot vinaigrette (see page 52)

3 bunches of large spring onions, thinly sliced lengthways

bunch of chives, finely chopped

pepper

Cook the calf’s head with the onion, celery, carrot, bay leaf, flour and glass of vinegar in the same way as the ox tongue (see page 132). Leave it to cool completely in the liquid, then put it in the fridge until it sets to make a jelly.

Slice through the calf’s head, including the jelly, as thinly as you can.

Sharpen up the Shallot vinaigrette by adding the 3 tablespoons of white wine vinegar and a few twists of freshly ground black pepper.

Mix the spring onions with 2 tablespoons of the Shallot vinaigrette and arrange on serving plates. Lay the thinly sliced calf’s head on top and finish with the rest of the vinaigrette and the chopped chives.