On goat heads and stuffed pig guts

Being Frank

By Frank Ameduri

Happy Easter. Today marks the celebration of the most significant event in Christianity. If you're not sure what I'm talking about, today is not the Easter Bunny's birthday. Contrary to what greeting card manufacturers and department store chains might think, this is actually the day of Christ's resurrection. It's celebrated in many ways throughout the world, but, as with most religious holidays, food always plays a big part.

Coming from an Italian family, our traditional Easter table took on many different looks over the years. Every family, though, always has some culinary traditions that are largely kept alive only to alarm and frighten guests at the holiday table. A good friend of mine invited me over last summer for a traditional family meal of stuffed pig stomach. Sadly, I had some other things going on that night. I knew it was going to be an interesting menu when he began the conversation with, "O.K., now this actually tastes a lot better than it sounds." That's what people always say when they want you to eat a part of an animal normally described as "byproduct."

My grandparents had all kinds of interesting recipes for byproducts. Spoken in Italian, Carne di mistero actually sounds kind of nice. Of course, when it's just plain ol' mystery meat, it packs a different kind of punch. No matter the meal, my grandparents always had something of a surprise. A guest who casually stirred the pot of sauce would often recoil and stumble out for fresh air after something unexpected floated to the surface -- something like the cloven hooves of a pig's foot, a snout of some kind or a tongue. Whatever it may have been, it was floating in a cauldron of bubbling red stuff, and it was going to end up on somebody's plate. It wasn't unusual to hear my grandmother having this conversation with a guest.

"What is this?" the guest would ask.

"It's meat," granny would say.

"Yeah, but what kind of meat?"

"It's beef."

"O.K., I might buy that, but what cut of beef?"

"Do you like it?"

"I'm not answering that until I know where it was on the steer."

"You like it. So eat it."

My grandparents were known to serve things like polenta e osei. Sounds good, right? That's polenta with small birds. There's no nice way to describe that dish. Suffice it to say that part of the recipe calls for a pellet gun and understanding neighbors. Another popular dish is scungilli — it's basically sea snails, which are a lot like land snails only they're a lot bigger, and no amount of garlic will kill the taste.

Easter was always a special time, though. That's when some Italian families break out the big sticks. One popular tradition involves the fattening of a spring lamb. The lamb is brought home and sort of joins the family for several weeks. He's always a cute little guy -- cuteness is really the only talent lambs have, and the lamb invariably takes to following the young boy of the house all around. He becomes Sparky or Curly or Spunky for a few weeks. Then he becomes dinner for one very traumatic day. Forget Clarice Starling, there are generations of Italian children who have heard the screaming of the lambs in their Easter nightmares.

Another favorite easter centerpiece is the fabled goat's head. It's actually a pretty easy recipe as far as I can tell. You take a goat's head, peal it and pop it in an oven preheated to 375 degrees. When your guests are comfortably seated at the table, casually remove the steaming head from the oven and place it, ceremoniously, in the center of the table. Following the long, uncomfortable silence, the old people at the party should start pulling what scant flesh there is off the head. When the head is pretty much a bone with terrifying-looking teeth in it, the old people should fight over who gets the eyes. At this point the young people can take a poll to decide which fast food restaurant they'd like to patronize. With the eye debate over, it's time for the real fun to begin. That's right, boys and girls, goat heads are brain food! If you want to give your friends something to talk about at cocktail parties for the next 50 years, just invite them over for Easter dinner and crack open a goat head. Tradition. Just tell the Easter Bunny we don't care who's birthday it is. If he shows up at our place at dinner time, no amount of jelly beans in the world will save him.

Frank Ameduri needs all the brains he can get.