Passport & Plate - Sweetbreads with olive oil, lemon juice and oregan
Greece | Thursday, February 26, 2015 | 5 photos
Ingredients
½ kilo sweetbreads (available from most Mediterranean or Asian butchers)
¼ cup good quality olive oil
Juice of on medium-sized lemon
1 tsp dried oregano
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
How to prepare this recipeLook for, and remove, any fine hairs from the sweetbreads. Wash them well under cold water. Place them in a pot of boiling water for a few minutes, or until firm. Remove from the water, rinse and set aside. Heat oil in a large fry pan. Once the oil is hot, place the sweetbreads into it. Fry until golden on medium heat, and then turn over. This should take approximately 10 minutes per side, but it will depend on the size of the sweetbreads. You know they are cooked when the texture and colour is even when cut through. Stir through the lemon juice, oregano, salt and pepper. Simmer on low for a few minutes. Taste the sauce – if it needs more seasoning or lemon juice, add this.
Serve as an appetiser, accompanied by a few glass of ouzo, cognac or grappa. Share with someone who has an equally adventurous spirit. John Wayne movie optional.
The story behind this recipeI remember that they were tender, plump and sweet. They swam in a sauce of olive oil and lemon juice. And they looked like cute little clouds. I ate them while sitting with my father, watching John Wayne movies. Even though I was only little, I knew to be quiet. This was a sacred space.
L.P. Hartley wrote, ‘The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.’ In the spirit of armchair travel, I decide to revisit my childhood and cook…sweetbreads.
Sweetbreads are the thymus or pancreas of a calf or lamb. When I ate them as a child (along with liver, brains and other offal), they tasted delicious. Was this one-time vegetarian game to go there again?
The first stop in my travels: ‘George’s Meat’ at Melbourne’s Preston Market. Owner George tells me that only his mostly-older Greek and Italian customers buy sweetbreads. They come in one-kilo packs. They're in the freezer. It’s all or nothing. Bring it on.
At home, my kids inspect the hefty pink package. I ask if they will try them.
‘No thanks,’ they chorus.
Next I call Mum.
‘I’m cooking sweetbreads. Come over so we can eat them together.’
‘I can’t. I’m fasting.’
It appears there is no one to accompany me on this journey to the past. Still, I like to think of myself as a traveller, not a tourist. Soon the sweetbreads are sizzling away in a pan. The smell that wafts up is heady, but not unpleasant. When they are done, I present them on a dainty plate – a cheap trick to convince myself that I am not about to consume the thymus of a small animal. For good measure, I take out a bottle of ouzo and two shot glasses. Perhaps my husband will join me.
He politely refuses. I have to do this alone. I try one. It has that subtle, distinct flavour that I remember, with a nicely tangy aftertaste. Relieved, I taste a second, but this time I find the rich, meaty undertone a little overwhelming. With help from the aniseed ouzo, down it goes.
I went. I saw. I ate. Now it’s time to come back home.
