Do not let the word tripe deter you, let its soothing charms win you over and enjoy it as do those who always have!  Visually, as well as gastronomically, there is a great serenity to a plate of tripe and onions.

Before I get into it, I’d like to mention that yes, I do have one ad up from Foodbuzz now.  Don’t get the wrong idea.  All of the proceeds I make will be going to the National Parkinson Foundation in Mr. Henderson’s name at the end of the year.

Now, tripe.  I’ve waxed poetic about tripe a few times before.  Way, way, way back when I first got “The Cookbook” I tried to make this recipe just to see if it was within my abilities.  Following the directions exactly, using the best possible ingredients, it ended up being terrible.  The taste, the texture, the whole mess was just inedible.  I got frustrated and moved on to other cookbooks.  The thing is though, I absolutely despise having an aversion to any food or drink.  I forced myself to learn to like cilantro and Campari.  So disliking tripe wasn’t really an option.  While I overcame my issue years ago, I haven’t revisited this dish until this week.

The recipe calls for honeycomb tripe but none was available from my sources.  What they did have was tripe that is used to make menudo, aka Rumen tripe. Rumen tripe comes from the first cow stomach, while honeycomb tripe comes from the second.  Fear not though, I got the full tripe experience as the only major difference is texture.  The taste of both kinds is very similar.

In a large enough pot I added roughly a quart of whole milk, a few roughly chopped onions and a massive pinch of mace.  The milk was brought to a gentle boil and then I turned the heat down to let things simmer for a little while.  In the meantime I cleaned the tripe about a dozen times under cool water to remove any “undesirable” elements.

Clean tripe?  Check.  Softened onions in milk?  Check.  Time to combine them.  I carefully decanted the tripe into the pot and added just a bit of salt and pepper.  A few good stirs to even out the mix and then I hit the heat again. Once I had hit boil again it was back down to simmer, which is where I left it for the next hour, stirring all the while to keep the bottom of the pot from burning.

Here you can see how some of the fat from the tripe has rendered off, enriching the liquor.  The frustrating thing was that the tripe itself was still pretty rubbery and completely unlike the amazing stuff I’ve had before at restaurants.  So on the cooking went for another hour and a half with me carefully checking every twenty minutes for tenderness.  There is a certain balance I was looking for: giving, but not falling apart.  My big fear was that the tripe would just melt away, which is a possibility. But before that could even remotely happen, I realized that the onions had vanished completely due to the extended cooking.  This is supposed to be tripe and onions, so I needed to add onions somehow.  A light bulb went off over my head.

I’d incorporate the onions into the next step!  Into a pan went a stick of butter and as it melted I quickly sliced another whole onion, adding it to the butter to sweat a little.  After a few minutes I dumped in enough flour to soak up all of the butter, making the beginning of a Soubise sauce.  The roux-like mixture was then used as a thickening agent for the tripe liquor, turning it into a gravy.

And here it is, tripe and onion with sauce plated on top of mashed potatoes.  It sort of looks like a blanquette de veau, doesn’t it?  Well, if you squint I suppose it does.

At the top of the page, Mr. Henderson requests that you let tripe’s “soothing charms win you over”.  The last time I made this dish, it was anything but soothing.  It was downright off putting to be kind.  But I can now say that it was due to my inexperience in cooking, not the recipe.  The first bite was in fact, incredibly soothing and comforting.  There was also something oddly familiar to it that I can’t place, and I’m still grappling with how to describe it now.  It just seemed… right.  My wife said that it reminded her of beef stroganoff, and I can see where she is coming from. The tripe itself was nice and tender–a little chewy in places–but you could cut it with a spoon.

Tripe is like blood when it comes to taste, nothing else really comes close.  Even Berti Bott Every Flavor Beans tried and didn’t quite succeed as far as I’m concerned.  But let me say this:  the tripe was so good, my wife had it the next day for breakfast.  We’ll be making this again for sure.

One down, eighty three to go.

Both this and the Boiled Beef and Dumplings recipe provide very good leftovers for your hash, or are excellent in sandwiches, or simply cold, thinly sliced, with Green Sauce or Horseradish Sauce.  You can salt the brisket yourself or 5 days in a brine or if you don’t want to make it yourself, you can buy corned brisket from the butcher.

Last Tuesday was St. Patrick’s Day so I wore green, spoke with an Irish brogue and made some corned beef for my friends.  Okay I lied a little:  I didn’t speak like an Irishman.  My wife would have knocked me silly after ten minutes.  I did however wear green and make corned beef.  Hopefully you and yours had a good holiday as well, and congratulations to Ireland for winning the Six Nations Rugby tournament.

As Mr. Henderson suggested, I brined my own four pound brisket for the allotted time, turning it over once to ensure that both sides were well soaked.  Having a brine bucket handy in the fridge is a great thing.  I’ve been dumping all sorts of random meat in there and just letting it sit for a few days.  Corned turkey is better than you might imagine!

In my roasting pan I made a bed of roughly chopped carrots, leeks, celery and onions.  The corned brisket was nestled on top of them along with a bouquet garni, a few whole heads of garlic and some peppercorns.

A bottle of red wine and enough chicken stock to make the brisket look like the tip of an iceberg was poured into the pan.  A layer of foil went on top and into a medium hot oven the whole thing went.

As the brisket roasted, we all sat around drinking Guinness, Bailey’s and Jameson Irish Whiskey while watching The Boondock Saints.  That’s about as Irish as we could get in the middle of Texas.  After a few hours the brisket was done and the kitchen smelled FANTASTIC.  I wish that I had let it cook a bit longer though, as the meat was a little tough.

Not helping the matter was that I made fairly thick brisket slices when I served it to my guests.  The flavor was there for sure.  As a matter of fact, I’d claim that this was the finest corned beef I’ve ever eaten.  Plated with a wedge of boiled cabbage and new potatoes, I’d like to think it made for a fairly decent dinner.  If I’d have had my wits about me I would have made soda bread as well.  Sigh.  We need more hours in the day!

One down, eighty four to go.