Cow head in banana leaves at Hill Country. Photo: Kat Kinsman

There comes a time in every girl's life -- when she's ripping open the long-braised skull of a short-lived calf in order to better wobble out its beer-marinated brain -- that she smiles contentedly and realizes she loves her life an awful lot. Then she goes for the eyes.

Well OK, not every girl's life -- but at least those of a troika of squeam-free dames including Hill Country's executive chef and cookbook author Elizabeth Karmel, Homesick Texan writer Lisa Fain and lucky, lucky me. And it all happened because of Twitter.

See a step-by-step barbacoa making slideshow and read a description after the jump. Warning -- it's not for vegetarians or the faint of stomach.

Though some Jewish food mavens may beg to differ, we think few dishes are as associated with the children of Israel as gefilte fish. While not as easy-to-love as blintzes, as versatile as horseradish or as soothing as chicken soup, the ubiquitous balls of ground fish make a fine appetizer for almost any holiday meal.

Gefilte fish, which takes its name from gefüllte, the German word for "stuffed," was traditionally made using finely ground pike or carp mixed with eggs, onion, flour, seasonings and either matzoh meal or challah bread. It was then packed into the skin of a deboned fish, poached with onions and carrots, chilled and sliced. Today gefilte fish is typically formed into patties and served cold. It is often preserved in a jellied fish broth and commonly accompanied by horseradish and a slice of carrot.

While gefilte fish isn't one of the symbolic foods on the Passover Seder Plate, it is a traditional part of the meal in many households. Part of its popularity lies in the cultural significance underlying its preparation: Since one can buy it deboned, it doesn't require work at the table, which means that it can be eaten during the Sabbath when work is forbidden. Another benefit is that fish is parve, so kosher consumers can eat it on the same plate with either meat or dairy foods.

Another reason for the aqueous critter's lingering popularity lies in its economy. Originally developed in Europe's Ashkenazi Jewish community, gefilte fish balls incorporated cereals and fillers to stretch the fish itself. The fish was class-free -- accessible enough for the poorest member of a community, yet glitzy enough for the most wealthy.

Today gefilte fish continues to be a popular and enduring cultural motif. On one end of the spectrum, enterprising chefs like Wolfgang Puck are finding ways to make it more exciting; on the other, a strong market for the traditional ground fish and stuffing survives. Brett Werner, manager of Miami Beach's popular Roasters' n Toasters deli, estimates that his store has sold approximately 200 quarter-pound pieces of the fish for this year's Passover already!

How do you feel about gefilte fish?

As I've mentioned once or twice in the past, I have a pretty wide-open definition of palatable food. I've had my fair share of headcheese, blood pudding, cow-face tacos and other unpopular meat products. More to the point, I often go out of my way to find bizarre things to eat. That having been said, Culinary Schools' list of disgusting delicacies gave me some serious pause. For that matter, the pictures were enough to seriously haunt my dreams.

The thing almost reads like a list of urban food legends. Maggoty cheese? Check. Grilled dog? Check. Soft-boiled duck fetus? Check. Some, like sheep's heads, jellied moose snout, and octopus, are on the list simply because they are conceptually a little difficult to deal with. Others, like blowfish sushi and boiled bat, are potentially life-threatening.

All in all, I don't know if this list is a compendium of "must trys" or a compendium of "must avoids"!

One of the great things about delicacies is that, while they may be rare, they are only worth what someone is willing to pay for them. For example, sturgeon eggs may be a taste treat, but if nobody is willing to fork over the a small fortune, then they are, essentially, just bait. Recently, this simple fact has become quite important as lobster, which was once priced well out of the range of the average person has started to come within reach. The freakish crustaceans are now going for about $2.50 per pound wholesale, down from a high of about $10 per pound in spring 2007. In terms of retail price, this translates into a drop of at least $4 per pound. In some Boston-area seafood markets, the price hovered in the $7 range earlier this year; depending upon one's location, it has subsequently dipped well below that.

There are two big reasons for the great lobster drop. One is the fact that many high-end consumers, the kinds of people who could afford to eat lobster regularly, were hit particularly hard by 2008's financial meltdown. The second reason lies in the collapse of Iceland's economy: seafood producers in Canada that used Icelandic banks have not been able to get the credit they need to buy large amounts of lobster.

Personally, I'm going to be taking advantage of this sudden piece of good news. While I'm not a big fan of shelled lobster - to be honest, the huge crustaceans remind me of aquatic cockroaches and the whole lobster dining experience is disturbingly like an alien autopsy - lobster tails and lobster bisque are among my favorites. What's more, with lobster going for a fraction of its former price, this might be the perfect time for a Monty Python recipe that I've always wanted to try: Lobster Thermidor Aux Crevettes with Mornay Sauce, Truffle Pate, Brandy, Fried Egg and Spam. While I'm at it, I'm also keeping an eye on other delicacies; after all, who knows what will drop next?

Time Magazine reports, with a soupçon of punny glee, that sales of offal in Great Britain have surged as of late, likely in response to the international economic downturn. Quoth London's Liz Logan:

"Tough economic times have Britons eating their hearts out and swallowing their tongues. Not literally, of course. But offal - or "variety meats," as the food category is euphemistically called in the U.K. - is experiencing a surge in popularity, with sales up 67% over the past five years."

Thing is, even in advance of the pound sterling's plunge, the nose-to-tail herd, helmed by offal stalwarts like Fergus Henderson and River Cottage's Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, had been squealing 'bout the culinary benefits of tripe, kidneys, brains, tail, giblets and trotters. Come for the savings, stay for the savoring -- the message seems to have come home to roost.

I posted a while back about my love of grilled chicken hearts, and I'm no stranger to whisking up a batch of giblet gravy, or a neckbone ragout, but I'm hungry for your favorite takes on organ meats. Post 'em in the comments below.

[via: Time]

Thank you to Flickr user vvvanessa for uploading this drool-inducing image to the Slashfood pool.

Giblet gravy recipe after the jump.

When I was a kid, eating raw fish was considered bizarre, and admitting a love for the stuff was comparable to outing oneself as a tree-worshipper or part-time sword swallower. In its own, strange way, it was cool, but it also put one in the same category as the classmate who ate paste or the kid who sometimes set fire to things.

My parents, who had lived in Asia, were huge fans of sushi and sashimi, which meant that much of my childhood was spent traveling from one squalid Japanese restaurant to another in search of honest-to-goodness fresh fish. My sisters and I usually crunched tempura while my parents gobbled down morsels of hamachi, toro, sake, and saba, rating the various venues and moaning about how good the stuff was. As time went on, the claims that this was "grownup food" started holding less and less water; by the time I was ten, the whole family was in love with raw fish.

Bacon candy is one of the most popular recipes at aol.com, which is as good a reason as any to salute bacon. While you're candying your bacon, order up some bacon salt with which to anoint summer's last grilled veggies, french fries, chops or steak.

For your breakfast fix, try Smithfield's maple-smoked bacon (locate your local grocer here) or Oscar's Adirondack slab bacon -- and, if you're ready to commit to a serious relationship, sign up for the Bacon of the Month club. If you're adventurous, you can learn about curing your own bacon here. Wherever it came from, to cook your bacon you will need a good cast iron frying pan, such as these beauties from Le Creuset and Lodge. Both work well with a bacon press.

A bacon keeper is an inexpensive and indispensable feature for the frosty landscape inside your refrigerator. Now you than you're set to preserve and prepare your bacon, start cooking with it. Cobb Salad isn't Cobb Salad without bacon; here's a great recipe for this American classic. Once you've mastered your Cobb, explore additional recipes at The Bacon Show -- but be warned: after you sample your homemade bacon-infused vodka, you will probably need one of these.

While bacon is nourishing your interior, insulate your exterior with a bacon scarf. Outfit your breakfront, office cubby, or any other environment you choose (bacon-themed bathroom, anyone?) with a selection of novelties from the bacon collection at Archie McPhee. Finally, if you're wondering wherefore this depth of scholarship concerning bacon, consider this: aside from being namesake for one of art's masters, bacon inspired the art of no less a master than Salvador Dali.

A few years back, my pal Tom introduced me to the delicious, sweet taste of "Kaba-yaki," broiled eel served with a sweet sauce. As I'm always game to try new things, I scarfed down the piece that he offered me. As soon as I tasted it, I forgot about the fact that the meat came from a slithering, snakelike creature and began to focus on the flavor. It was tender, moist, and perfectly delicious. I was hooked.

Although time, geography, and economics have kept me from regularly partaking of the delicious Kaba-yaki, I can certainly understand why it is Japan's official summer food. I can even understand, to a certain extent, why Japan Tobacco, Inc. recently came out with "Unagi Noburi," or "Surging Eel," an eel-based carbonated beverage. Made from (among other things) the head and bones of eels, the soda contains several of the vitamins that are contained in the fish. The company is marketing it as a sort of energy drink, designed to extend its drinkers' stamina.

According to reports, the drink tastes more or less like Kaba-yaki. While the idea of a broiled, barbecue-y eel drink initially nauseates me a little, I have to admit that I wasn't all that hot on eel itself when I first heard about it. Given how the Kaba-yaki turned out, I may have to give the soda a try!

Warning: this post may offend people who like cute little furry guinea pigs.

A few days ago, I wrote a post about chicha morada, the amazing Peruvian blue corn drink. Thinking on it further, I am becoming increasingly convinced that Peru produces some of the best dishes in the world; with that in mind, I plan on writing a fair bit more about the wonders of lomo saltado, papas a la huancaina, and other treats. However, in the interests of total honesty, I also have to acknowledge the dark side of Peruvian cuisine, the surreal side, the side that dresses up guinea pigs in colorful costumes then roasts them with cheese.

The twisted tale of the Peruvian Guinea Pig Festival begins in a cute, whimsical way. In the small city of Huacho, located north of Lima, somebody came up with the bright idea of holding a regional carnival to honor the cuy, or guinea pig. Now in its third year, the event features contests for fattest, quickest, and best dressed cuy. People from the surrounding communities primp and preen their top animals, preparing them for the race and dressing them in the height of rodent fashion. It is not uncommon to see the animals dressed in bright silks and taffetas, sporting little hats and crowns, and generally looking like a cross between a fur mitten and the infant of Prague.

While the winners of the fastest and best dressed contests are spared from the final competition, the remainder of the cuy become fodder for the greatest test of all, a battle royale that pits woman against woman, village against village, and cuy against cuy: the fight for tastiest guinea pig. Amidst an orgy of stuffing, roasting, skewering and smoking, the women of Peru demonstrate their skill with one of the country's traditional delicacies.

As I wrote several weeks ago, a pig pickin' is a North Carolina tradition involving a pig, a converted petroleum drum cooker, a bunch of charcoal and a whole lot of time. But a pig pickin' is not the only way to cook a whole hog - cultures across the world have been spit roasting, grilling and burying pigs in hot ash for thousands of years. In many places, pork is the cheapest meal available, making pig roasts an affordable way to have big festive meals for the whole community. Here are a few whole hog traditions from around the world:

Hawaii: Possibly the most famous whole pig preparation of them all, the kalua pig is a staple of the Hawaiian luau. The pig is "dressed" (gutted, the outer layer of skin and hair removed) and salted and placed in an imu - a banana leaf-lined pit filled with hot stones. The pig is covered in more dirt and left for hours until smoky and falling apart tender.

Cuba: Cubans love their lechón (suckling pig), a Christmas Eve tradition. Pigs are often cooked in backyard roasters made from bricks or cinder blocks. One popular version of the homemade roaster is called a "caja china" (a Chinese box), a rather coffin-like device in which the pig is placed on the metal-lined bottom and a tray of coals is placed on top, cooking the meat through indirect heat.

Italy: At the annual Sagra del Maiale festival of pork, Italians grill whole pigs over a food fire and lovingly dis-articulate them to feed the whole village. Skin becomes crispy and meat is buttery soft and succulent. And not a big of the porker is wasted - even the ears and trotters are fair game. Not headed to Italy any time soon? Some Italian restaurants in NYC and other cities have their own Sagra del Maiale.

The Philippines: The image of the golden-skinned pig spinning on a spit over a roaring fire is a reality here in the South Pacific, where Filipinos adore stuffing the pig's belly with herbs and spices, impaling it horizontally, and roasting it until the skin crackles and the meat is meltingly tender. The dish, known as lechon baboy, is a festival day favorite.

Behold the Whatafarm burger, which according to alanbeam.net, via about.blank is "a burger ordered from the Whataburger chain and includes chicken, egg, cheese and bacon. 2 parts cow, 2 parts chicken, 1 part pig."

I'm all for the orgiastic multi-species chow down, what with my penchant for Kentucky burgoo (2 formats of cow -- old and young, lamb, pig, and chicken) and applaud the orderers for their gastronomic gumption. If I were being all harrumphy about it, I could note that the menu offers pig in sausage form and a fish filet as well and they opted for neither, but hey - Michelangelo didn't knock out the Sistine Chapel on his first jaunt up the scaffolding.

We salute you with all hooves, claws and trotters up!

[Via about:blank]

I've always wanted to throw my own pig pickin,' and my departure from North Carolina finally gave me an excuse. So I went for it - whole hog, if you will, earlier this spring.

A pig pickin,' known in other parts of the country as a hog roast, or simply, a barbecue, is a Carolina tradition involving a hog, a converted oil drum cooker and a lot of time.

Pickin' (ALWAYS drop the 'g') have been a stable of church fundraisers, family reunions and political rallies in the South since long before the Civil War, as pork was always much cheaper than beef. You can't feed 100 people much more cheaply than with a nice hog and all the fixin's - baked beans, hush puppies, slaw and sweet tea.

Not long ago I posted about an event at the Astor Center in NYC, the annual Head to Tail Dinner put on by Chris Cosentino of Incanto restaurant in San Francisco. I was lucky enough to attend and want to tell you all about it. We'll go behind the scenes in the kitchen before, and just prior to the meal; and follow all the way through the dinner itself. It all started three days prior when I was invited to join the chefs in the kitchen as they started prepping for the dinner.

Chris and his pal, Chef Jonnatan Leiva of the Jack Falstaff Restaurant in San Francisco had flown in on a red-eye after finishing work late the night before. With what little sleep they had on the plane, they went straight to work in the Astor Center kitchen, as they engaged on a three-day binge of Red Bull to keep them alert and local microbrews to keep them sane. Other chefs from around New York state showed up to volunteer and help put the event together.



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Left to right- Aaron Sanchez, Colin Alevras, Chris Cosentino, and Jonnatan Leiva.

It was already late in the afternoon and the Director of the Astor Center, Lesley Townsend, arrived with a emergency shipment of king-size Red Bull's and Chef Aarón Sánchez of Centrico in NYC and Colin Alevras chef/owner of The Tasting Room in NYC showed up with some quart-size brews from Six Points Craft Ales in Brooklyn, their Diesel Stout and Bengali Tiger IPA. I highly recommend both of these brews, especially the IPA.