As some of you may know, my freezer is the sly receptacle of all sorts of foods that have caught my attention in one way or the other, waiting for the happy day when I can meld them into something I hope will be delicious. So when I got home to the winter Oregon woods, and took a happy inventory, there they were, these two packages that spoke to me immediately: a carefully wrapped package of pigs feet, which my dear friend Cindy had saved from being tossed out after a barbeque, on the principle that I would enjoy doing something or other with them, and…a package of tripe.
Now what is tripe? This was the first thing my friend Teri said when I enthusiastically told her about my plans for a Boxing Day soup fest, to which she and Cindy, and their respective spouses, were bidden.
Tripe, I explained to her, is the lining of a cow’s stomach. Now that does not sound in the least appetizing, and indeed, Teri’s expression showed she did not consider it in the least appetizing…quite the contrary. I tried then to explain that tripe is a bit of the cow that cooks up with a velvety, unctuous consistency, quite desirable (and honored) for hangover cure purposes. This was where Menudo comes in, I said. Menudo, the Mexican hangover cure par excellence, being what I planned on turning this package and the pigs feet into as one of the options for our soup dinner, for I had also discovered, in the cupboard, another valued ingredient: a hoarded can of hominy—so I told Teri.
She still looked doubtful. Don’t worry, I reassured her. I’m making a huge pot of vegetarian split pea soup as well.
But it was the Menudo that had my heart. I mean, I love split pea soup, but it was the tripe and pigs feet and hominy that grabbed my attention when I was spending happy hours cooking in my Oregon Christmas kitchen.
The thing about tripe, as about so many other wonderfully worthwhile things, is that it needs patience. Patience and flavor. The broth that you make from it is key to the end of Deliciousness. I had a big bunch of organic cilantro, for example, and usually the stems go into the dogs’ stodge. Not this time, though. This time I cut them off, twined them around with string to hold them together in a nice neat cilantro log, and used them in the soup. I love stuff like that. It’s what makes cooking the pleasure that it is for me. And it was a pleasure to make that soup.
So here is what I did to make Menudo for Boxing Day, for a group of people wary of tripe.
For the broth:
A pound of tripe
Two roasted pigs feet
A dried chile pepper (I used two, which most people would regard as excessive. Use your own judgment)
A head of garlic
An onion, cut in half and stuck with a couple of cloves
The stems from a bunch of cilantro, washed and tied together
A teaspoon of dried oregano
A half teaspoon of crushed coriander seed
I put all of these into a big soup pot, and covered with water. Brought to a boil, skimmed the scum off the top, and then put it on to simmer on the upper shelf of our woodstove, which kept it at a nice murmur while the stove heated our house. Left it there all Christmas day, then let it cool off and popped it in the refrigerator for the final additions.
The next day, for the soup:
I strained the broth, discarding everything but the tripe and the pigs feet. Cut the tripe into little squares, about one inch; shredded what meat there was from the pigs feet and threw away the bones.
Added the broth, the tripe, and the pigs feet meat into a cleaned out soup pot. And then added:
One drained can of hominy
Salt to taste
I set this at a simmer for about an hour on the woodstove. Let it cool again. And then, before the guests arrived, put it back on to heat, while I chopped the fixings to be put out in small bowls so that people could choose for themselves what to add to their own personal Menudo.
Fixings for Menudo:
Thinly sliced chile pepper
Chunked limes for squeezing
Chopped fresh cilantro
The Menudo smelled heavenly. Really, I thought I would be the only one who ate it, so I made a lot of split pea soup, but then everyone but the Vegetarian Husband wanted a spoonful ‘just to see what it tastes like’, and then everyone but the Vegetarian Husband had a happy bowl of the stuff.
Even more happily, though, there was one serving left the next morning—this morning—when I woke up with a craving for it all over again. There was a covered plate of what was left of the fixings, and there was that ample serving in a pot. I heated the latter up, covered it with what I wanted of the former, and sighed with pleasure as I ate.
For if there is one thing better than Menudo, it is day old Menudo, when the unctuousness of the former melds into the luxury velvety richness of the latter. And this is the final prize for the canny cook, that leftover, final bowl.
I love tripe. And I especially love Menudo. Surely I’ve made that plain?
May you love what you eat as much as I loved my breakfast this morning. And remember: in love, as in all else, it’s very important to be brave! Be brave about what you eat, as about all else in life! May we all be brave!
And may we all have a very Happy New Year indeed.