Coda alla vaccinara

Oxtail with tomatoes and celery

Coda alla vaccinara is oxtail cooked in the style of the vaccinari, or “cow men,” who butchered the animals, and it was born here in Testaccio. It’s still one of the most typical and beloved quinto quarto dishes, and is served with matter-of-factness in most trattorias and home kitchens.

There are as many versions of coda as there are cooks who make it. Almost everyone agrees on the initial boiling of the pieces, then the all-important browning of the meat, which is fundamental to the final flavor. Most people agree on the inclusion of tomato, wine, and lots of celery, but additions like spices or chocolate, which serve to enrich it, are endlessly agreed and disagreed upon. At trattoria Agustarello, Sandro makes a deep, dark coda with pine nuts, spices, chocolate, and other secret ingredients. My other favorite coda is made by the generous and unsecretive Leonardo at trattoria Cesare, which is simple, with lots of tomato and celery, and very delicious.

If you have never cooked them before, I understand why cooking tails may make you uneasy. But the pieces come from your butcher in short chunks that look no different from ribs, and are just as straightforward to prepare. Oxtail requires time and patience, especially at the beginning: go slowly, letting each piece burnish, scraping up the brown bits stuck to the bottom of the pan and deglazing intently. Let the pan bubble quietly, topping it off with water if need be. I generally make it on Saturday afternoon for good friends I know are going to love it.

Cooked well, coda is one of the most luscious and sensual dishes, the tender, glutinous meat falling from the bones, with cartilage to nibble and marrow to suck. You begin with knife and fork, but after a while hands are best, the nobbles of bone making perfect handles. Working on the principle that what grows together goes together, serve it with a big red Lazio such as a Cesanese, or an Aglianico from Basilicata. You’ll need lots of bread to mop up the sauce, a green salad to follow, and then chocolate cake.

serves 4

3 ¼ pounds oxtail cut into 2-inch pieces, trimmed of excess fat

1 large white or yellow onion

1 carrot

7 celery stalks

a few flat-leaf parsley sprigs, if you have them

5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

salt

1 cup white or red wine

2 (14.5-ounce) cans plum tomatoes with juice

1 tablespoon tomato paste (optional)

⅓ cup pine nuts

⅓ cup raisins

freshly ground black pepper

First, cover the oxtail with cold water in a pan, bring it to a boil, and simmer for 15 minutes to remove some of the fat that will rise to the surface; skim it away diligently. Drain the oxtail and set it aside. Finely dice the onion, carrot, 1 celery stalk, and the parsley. In a large, heavy-bottomed pan or casserole dish, warm 3 tablespoons of the olive oil, add the vegetables, and cook over low heat for 8–10 minutes, or until soft. Remove the pan from the heat.

In a large frying pan, warm the rest of the oil over medium heat, add the oxtail pieces, in batches if necessary, and brown them for 12 minutes or so, turning them so they color evenly. As the pieces brown, add them to the vegetables and sprinkle with a little salt.

Return the casserole dish to medium heat. Once the pan is hot, add the wine and let it sizzle and evaporate for 5 minutes or so. Coarsely chop the tomatoes, then add them to the pan with their juices and another pinch of salt. The oxtail pieces should be submerged; if they’re not, add a little water. Reduce the heat and leave to simmer very gently for 3 hours, or until the meat is falling off the bones. Keep an eye on the pan, stirring it every now and then and adding a little more hot water if the liquid level is too low. If you’re organized, you could keep a small pan of boiling water into which you have stirred a spoonful of tomato paste on the back burner to add as needed.

Meanwhile, cut the remaining celery into 1½-inch pieces and add them 40 minutes before the end of the cooking time. Add the pine nuts and raisins. Stir them until they’re well coated, then continue cooking until tender. Taste and season with salt and pepper.

Lingua con salsa verde

Tongue with green sauce

My brother and I both lay claim to the family kitchen heirloom that is Phyllis Roddy’s uncompromisingly named tongue press. (The press belonged to my great-grandmother Rachel, who was married to James, who smoked a brand of cigarettes called Three Castles, which had a picture of a boat called the Saucy Rachel on the packet.) As I write, the jet-black iron contraption is sitting in a box in Dorset, waiting to claim a place in Mum and Dad’s new kitchen. It was in the bowl of this press that, for years and years, Phyllis curled a boiled cow’s tongue, then wound down the lid and clamped the press to the table. A few hours later she would unclamp and release a cylinder of neatly pressed tongue that could be sliced and served with buttered bread, pickles, and ice-cold celery.

I understand why people are squeamish about tongue. After all, it looks—unsurprisingly—like a tongue. I am not, however, thanks to Phyllis and now nine years in Testaccio, where tongue is ordinary and appreciated, and cooked simply to delicious effect in a way which, in another nice stroke of kitchen symmetry, is not that different from how Phyllis did it. It is boiled with cloves and bay leaves and plenty of odori—carrots, celery, and parsley stems—until tender. Tasty, richly meaty, and with a pleasing firm texture, tongue is served hot, warm, or cold, and most often with salsa verde (green sauce). I also like it hot with mashed potatoes, or cold and sliced very thinly with beets, bread and butter, and a dab of English mustard.

serves 4 with leftovers

1 beef tongue, about 3 ¼ pounds

1 onion

5 cloves

1 leek, cut into 3 pieces

1 carrot, cut into 3 pieces

2 celery stalks, cut into 3 pieces

2 bay leaves

salsa verde (here), to serve

Rinse the tongue, then put it in a large pan and cover it with water by at least 4 inches. Bring to a boil and remove any scum that rises to the surface. Add the onion, cloves, leek, carrot, celery, and bay leaves, reduce the heat, and simmer gently, making sure the tongue remains covered with water, for about 4 hours, by which point it should be very tender when prodded with the point of a knife.

Once the broth has cooled a little, lift out the tongue, peel it, then return it to the broth. Keep the tongue in the broth until you serve it, then slice it thinly and serve with a spoonful of salsa verde.