Tripe

This failed effort in my first go at one of Henderson's offal recipes might not deter me from continuing on to kidneys, hearts, and sweetbreads, but it certainly will put me off of cooking tripe for the rest of my life. H says to simmer in a mixture of milk and onions for about an hour and he cautions against overcooking. Tripe will just melt away, he warns. But other sources caution the opposite: it might take twelve hours to transform these strips of the lining of the ox's second stomach into something easier on the teeth than bungees. After about twenty minutes of simmering the kitchen already smelled as Waverly Root warned it might, like boiling laundry. (Strange that it should have such an objectionable odor while at the same time having no discernible flavor.) My queasy disgust was a flashback to how I felt when I watched The Cook The Thief His Wife and Her Lover, which I saw very soon before becoming a strict vegetarian. After two hours and twenty minutes, the little piece I cut off to taste was perfectly inedible. Rather than continue to simmer for nine more hours--I was too nauseous from the smell to contemplate nine more minutes--I tossed the whole mess in the trash.

On the upside, tripe is undoubtedly the most photogenic item in the meat section of the supermercado.