Beef Lung - An Essay
I love beef lung. I do not state this lightly as a lover of the bloody innards of animals. Liver (excepting foie gras) is almost always bloody to the taste, kidney exudes a horrifying stench of urine if not cleaned properly and the almost plasticky crunch of chicken gizzard does nothing for me.
Lung belongs to the family of unctuousness. That velvety tenderness that only the slippery bits can offer. Lamb's brain when sliced thinly with the membrane removed and then soaked for the appropriate time then deep fried in a thin batter is quite lovely, a whisper of sweet fattiness that does not overwhelm. Tripe is best served when braised as the Italians are wont to do, the meat sucking in the juices of the gravy. The long, sultry temperatures of the braising process lend to it a tenderness that requires only a gentle nudge of the tongue to yield in the palate. Tripe is also lovely when grilled as satay, a rather old-fashioned food I have regretfully placed on the endangered food list.
Lung of course has to be treated properly like all things within the cavity of an animal's body. My experience is with beef lung, its preparation on which I will elaborate on today.
It would serve the novice lung consumer well to prepare himself for the sight of raw lung. You cannot walk into cold storage and look down on their elegant plates of meat in their shiny deli displays and politely enquire about it. You will have to trudge to the butcher's who will probably frown and then ask you whether you are sure. He will then proceed to plop down a mass of grey so huge and of such an odour that you OWN lungs will shrivel at the sight of it. Like all other organs which keep an animal alive, it ain't pretty and there is ALOT of it.
Lungs of course supply the air to the living animal. Its spongy texture when raw is tough and sinewy, with puckering holes that look, regrettably like gaping sphincters. The thing to do is to boil it. And this takes hours, the process yielding a sludge that brings to mind Exxon Valdez.The gentle boiling of the meat slowly but surely breaks down the sinews and yields a gorgeous salmon colour when sliced.
But lung is not to be trifled with. I prefer to fry it in the malay style, that is, to season the boiled lung in a mixture of tumeric, salt and pepper. I sometimes add curry leaves for an interestingly pungent dimension. The lung should be sliced thinly with a sharp knife and left to marinate to really let the flavours seep into the meat and for some of the moisture to evaporate. It is then ready to be deep fried in a frying pan of vegetable oil or beef tallow (what made Mcdonalds fries once so gorgeously rich, before they switched to the hydrogenated mess that is vegetable oil).
Caution is always advised when dealing with hot fat but ESPECIALLY so with lung. Within the sponginess of the meat lies pockets of moisture which will literally explode when it comes into contact with the hot oil. There is no use skittering away because the spurts of oil assail from all directions( an amateur cook must earn his battle scars somehow). A deep-fryer could work, but my experience is that the lung almost always comes out soggy with oil and not at all appetizing.
It is after you patiently turn over the slices of lung and treat your upper arms for coin sized third degree oil scalds that the magic happens. The splattering of the oil stops and a gentle sizzle is heard. Time to remove the lung from the oil and place it on a kitchen towel. Once most of the oil has been absorbed, what you are left with is a wonderfully complex taste of tender velvety meat covered with a salty, savoury, crispy outer shell.
Traditionally eaten as an accompaniment together with several dishes in nasi padang or nasi rawan, I prefer is straight up, the sharpness of the tumeric and salt imparting a welcome astringent taste to my salivating tongue. The gamey taste is a perfect counterpoint to this and for me if offers so many levels of umami (that strange Japanese named taste that is probably best described as a combination of salty and sweet) that it sends a deep almost imperceptible sigh running down the length of my body. It is almost ironic that the lung when cooked to such perfection makes me catch my breathe in my throat, the lovely juices trickling down my gullet.
In life it served the cow but in eating it truly serves the bold palate. Happy lung frying!
Lung belongs to the family of unctuousness. That velvety tenderness that only the slippery bits can offer. Lamb's brain when sliced thinly with the membrane removed and then soaked for the appropriate time then deep fried in a thin batter is quite lovely, a whisper of sweet fattiness that does not overwhelm. Tripe is best served when braised as the Italians are wont to do, the meat sucking in the juices of the gravy. The long, sultry temperatures of the braising process lend to it a tenderness that requires only a gentle nudge of the tongue to yield in the palate. Tripe is also lovely when grilled as satay, a rather old-fashioned food I have regretfully placed on the endangered food list.
Lung of course has to be treated properly like all things within the cavity of an animal's body. My experience is with beef lung, its preparation on which I will elaborate on today.
It would serve the novice lung consumer well to prepare himself for the sight of raw lung. You cannot walk into cold storage and look down on their elegant plates of meat in their shiny deli displays and politely enquire about it. You will have to trudge to the butcher's who will probably frown and then ask you whether you are sure. He will then proceed to plop down a mass of grey so huge and of such an odour that you OWN lungs will shrivel at the sight of it. Like all other organs which keep an animal alive, it ain't pretty and there is ALOT of it.
Lungs of course supply the air to the living animal. Its spongy texture when raw is tough and sinewy, with puckering holes that look, regrettably like gaping sphincters. The thing to do is to boil it. And this takes hours, the process yielding a sludge that brings to mind Exxon Valdez.The gentle boiling of the meat slowly but surely breaks down the sinews and yields a gorgeous salmon colour when sliced.
But lung is not to be trifled with. I prefer to fry it in the malay style, that is, to season the boiled lung in a mixture of tumeric, salt and pepper. I sometimes add curry leaves for an interestingly pungent dimension. The lung should be sliced thinly with a sharp knife and left to marinate to really let the flavours seep into the meat and for some of the moisture to evaporate. It is then ready to be deep fried in a frying pan of vegetable oil or beef tallow (what made Mcdonalds fries once so gorgeously rich, before they switched to the hydrogenated mess that is vegetable oil).
Caution is always advised when dealing with hot fat but ESPECIALLY so with lung. Within the sponginess of the meat lies pockets of moisture which will literally explode when it comes into contact with the hot oil. There is no use skittering away because the spurts of oil assail from all directions( an amateur cook must earn his battle scars somehow). A deep-fryer could work, but my experience is that the lung almost always comes out soggy with oil and not at all appetizing.
It is after you patiently turn over the slices of lung and treat your upper arms for coin sized third degree oil scalds that the magic happens. The splattering of the oil stops and a gentle sizzle is heard. Time to remove the lung from the oil and place it on a kitchen towel. Once most of the oil has been absorbed, what you are left with is a wonderfully complex taste of tender velvety meat covered with a salty, savoury, crispy outer shell.
Traditionally eaten as an accompaniment together with several dishes in nasi padang or nasi rawan, I prefer is straight up, the sharpness of the tumeric and salt imparting a welcome astringent taste to my salivating tongue. The gamey taste is a perfect counterpoint to this and for me if offers so many levels of umami (that strange Japanese named taste that is probably best described as a combination of salty and sweet) that it sends a deep almost imperceptible sigh running down the length of my body. It is almost ironic that the lung when cooked to such perfection makes me catch my breathe in my throat, the lovely juices trickling down my gullet.
In life it served the cow but in eating it truly serves the bold palate. Happy lung frying!