In Spain I’ve had octopus, and in Sweden I’ve eaten reconstituted lutefisk, but heart is a dish I’ve never encountered in any of my travels. Last Saturday, however, that changed. After morning errands at the Westside Farmers Market, I stopped in at El Salchichero, where it warmed my heart to find that I don’t have to cross any geographical boundaries to leave my comfort zone and embark on a gastronomic adventure. When butcher Chris LaVeque told me what organs they had for sale, I couldn’t resist buying a pig heart. For $3 per pound it was an excellent deal and made a delectable dinner for three—but not necessarily a simple one.
In Spain I’ve had octopus, and in Sweden I’ve eaten reconstituted lutefisk, but heart is a dish I’ve never encountered in any of my travels. Last Saturday, however, that changed. After morning errands at the Westside Farmers Market, I stopped in at El Salchichero, where it warmed my heart to find that I don’t have to cross any geographical boundaries to leave my comfort zone and embark on a gastronomic adventure. When butcher Chris LaVeque told me what organs they had for sale, I couldn’t resist buying a pig heart. For $3 per pound it was an excellent deal and made a delectable dinner for three—but not necessarily a simple one.
The heart was much larger than a fist. It was, in fact, larger than my two fists put together. As soon as I removed the muscle from its vacuum packing, its obscene smell, metallic like seaweed, filled my kitchen to the corners; anyone who popped their head in would have been right to wonder what, exactly, was cooking.
I didn’t have a recipe, only LaVeque’s suggestions: cut off the tough top portion of the heart, segment it, remove all the remaining gristle. When I began to wrestle with the raw and reeking muscle, however, I ended up just hacking off what seemed like the edible meat from the valves and exterior and calling it good. After being cut up, the meat looked like any other.
To make a meal out of it, I fried up onions, garlic, sweet potatoes and brussels sprouts, then tossed the heart meat in with a good dousing of teriyaki sauce. It was a kind of epic fusion dish. The sweet potatoes provided a lovely backdrop for the chewy meat, and the brussels sprouts added satisfying crunch. I found the combination of flavors to be perfectly to my liking, while my friends—evidently more sensitive souls than myself—both claimed to be able to feel slippery traces of the muscle lingering in their respective esophagi upon finishing eating. I just thought it tasted like pork.
If I were to do it again, I’d probably want to make a stew. There would definitely still be onions and garlic involved, but also potatoes, greens, beets and rice. It would be a savory stew just right for the tail end of winter and this unsavory weather. Next time, I’ll try cooking brain.
