Text and photos: Trina
Oh. Kay. Then. As threatened, we're going to e a t this:
There truly isn't much that grosses me out. I rather delight in playing with the line between gross and edible, if only at the expense of those I'm feeding... and grossing out. But this. Wow.
The good news is that at some point in the recipe, you peel off the outer layer with all that, um, coarse texture on it. This stuff looks like my grandpa's stubble with which he used to exfoliate my face, thinking it was pretty dang funny. "Give your ol' paw-paw a kiss, mwah hah hah..." and next thing you know, your cheek epidermis is laying on the floor in a crumpled, bloody little heap and he's standing there guffawing and convulsing with laughter at what is left of your traumatized, tenderized little face as your eyes fill with tears, not of pain so much as horror. It is this most unpleasant, visceral memory that this beef tongue is initially, and somewhat unexpectedly, calling forth for me.
But... the second bit of good news is that the recipe I'm following comes with a number of very enthusiastic and encouraging reviews. I think, when all is said and done, I'll be ok.
And the best news so far: the pizza place just up the street is open tonight.