Chicken Livers

Chicken Livers
© Melina Magdalena (2010)

“ I’m off to cook chicken livers for my children now,” I announced to my colleagues as I left the office.
“What?” asked one of them.
“Chicken livers – we all love them. When we were really poor we found out they’re one of the cheapest sources of iron-rich foods.”

As soon as I was ready to cook, I measured out 2 cups of basmati rice, washed it once and left it to soak in some cold water for 15 minutes.

My son accepted my dinner invitation with one proviso. He was going for a run later, with an old school friend, so he couldn’t stay all evening. (He must be doing OK again, if he was willing to see me.) I had told him I would cook fish, so it wasn’t just the lure of the chicken livers.

I bought 500g free range chicken livers last time I was at the Central Market. Well, haha – when they were attached to the chickens they were not free range. I froze them and then thawed them in the fridge overnight, but they were still half-frozen this afternoon when I was ready to cook. That made it easy to slice and dice them into small pieces.

My daughter had her first prac in a piggery today, and she was not going to go to karate if she smelled too bad. But she really wanted to go to karate, so I agreed to drop her off after she had a shower. (She usually catches the bus.) She made sure I would leave her some pilaf for when she got home.

I heated a little olive oil in a heavy-based saucepan and sautéed the livers whilst I chopped up a lot of garlic very fine, and added it to the livers. Our parsley dried up in the late summer sun, so I had to make do with some celery chopped fine. Parsley is better – it looks good to have the dark green flecks, and it adds flavour. The celery went in next.

After I learned to make this dish, I used to cook it a few times each year – always in sufficient quantities that we could eat the leftovers for breakfast, and lunch next day. It’s a simple recipe, and so nutritious and delicious. I do recall once, during the most strenuous growing times, there were no leftovers – everything was eaten and the bowls were licked clean.

I strained the rice and added it to the garlic, celery and livers, and stirred frequently with a wooden spoon. We were out of currants, so I throw in a couple of handsful of sultanas, and about 2 teaspoons of cracked black pepper. Then 6 cups of water (no need for stock because the livers make it flavourful), stir it through one last time, turn up the heat, put the lid on, and let it cook.

Despite the extra drive to Kilkenny and back to get my daughter to karate, I managed to prepare the cucumber and yoghurt by the time my son arrived, and I was chopping some vegetables for a side dish. His face lit up.

“What are we having? That smells good! Ah, vegetables!” (It was just carrot, cauliflower and broccoli in a pot with some water – nothing special. (He’s not eating terribly well at his Dad’s, I note.)

He sat down to read bits of the newspapers that were lying around on the table. There was an article about the primary school he and his sister used to go to. There was a lot of sport in the Messenger this week. There was an image of virile masculinity on the front cover – representatives of all the SANFL football clubs with their faces and shoulders painted. My son called them a rude name. He didn’t sign up for football this season, on the grounds of unfitness. I’m thankful once again, that he has friends to go running with.

Here’s how I prepared the cucumber and yoghurt salad: grate a large cucumber, drain off the juice and drink it – it’s delicious. Sprinkle on a pinch of salt, a scant teaspoon of dried mint and twice that amount of dill tips. Scoop in a lot of plain yoghurt, and dribble a dash of lemon juice or white vinegar over the top. Mix well, and stash in the fridge to serve with the pilaf.

My son and I dished up enormous quantities and sat down together at the table to eat and chat about life, university and whatever he felt like telling me about. I managed not to annoy him too much with details from my working life.

“What’s the kid going to be?” he asked at one point, “a girl or a boy?”
“We don’t know yet,” I said. Then – “Everyone says it’s a boy.”
He looked at me sharply – “Who’s everyone?”
“Oh you know,” I mumbled, regretting bringing up hocus pocus, because now he’s living with his Dad such matters are clearly off limits, “People who think they have a feeling about such things. They all think it’s a boy.”
“But the doctor?”
“No, we didn’t get it looked into. It’s going to be a surprise.”

At that point I realised I’d forgotten to toast the pine nuts – whoops! So I got up and did that, then added some to the pilaf on our plates and the rest to the pilaf still in the pot.

After tea, he used the computer in the dining room to do some study. I used my laptop in the lounge room to check my emails. It was very companionable. He left for his run before his sister came home. By that time, I was reading a novel. I only regret not getting up to hug him as he went out the door, but on the other hand, maybe it’s better I didn’t push that boundary too far…

His sister eventually returned from karate, sniffed the air and said “Did you leave some for me?” She devoured two plates full of the stuff, plus veges on the side, and then drank all the water that the vegetables had cooked in. After all, she’d spent 8 hours at university today, plus an hour and a half of karate. She had earned her appetite.

“Yum,” she said, “Do you like this stuff too, Mum?”
“It’s bitter, isn’t it?” I said.
“No – here, you taste it.”
I did. It tasted like a mild vegetable soup.

My partner, who is vegetarian, goes to her Christian lesbian group on a Thursday, so I didn’t need to worry about having meat for tea. This pilaf is good made with mushrooms instead, but if you use mushrooms, sauté them with a lot of chopped onions first, and use a bit of stock in the water.

I fantasise a little that when I’m at work today and my daughter is at uni, my partner might lift the lid off the leftover chicken liver pilaf that’s in the fridge, and just take a tiny taste. I know she’s vegetarian for political and ethical reasons, but if she just tasted my pilaf, it might be good for her, and for the baby.

In recalling my vegetarian years, the transition phase came after I bought dill pickles and mettwurst at the Central Market. My kids were still preschoolers at that time. We ate these foods ravenously and I realised again how much I was missing the food I had grown up with. But I didn’t know how to prepare meat dishes.

Then I went to my very first Passover Seder. It was the Communal Seder at the Reform Synagogue here in Adelaide. On every table was a little dish of chopped livers, made – I found out later, by the husband of the head of the Catering Committee. Well – I took one taste and could not stop. It was so delicious!

This is a fitting memory as we approach the Passover Season once again this year. My daughter asked me last night when we were going to have our family Seder. “Then we get to have chicken livers again!” she said gleefully, “and I’m going to eat a lot of Charoset, as well. I still don’t understand why people don’t make that at other times of the year!”

“Well, if you learn to make it, you can have it whenever you like,” I told her.
All is well at our house, when chicken livers are on the menu.

Chicken Liver Pilaf
500g free range chicken livers – chopped fine
1 tablespoon olive oil
4-6 cloves garlic – chopped fine
½ cup chopped parsley (celery plus leaves is a good substitute)
2 cups basmati rice – washed once, soaked in cold water, then drained
1 cup dried blackcurrants, or sultanas
2 teaspoons cracked black pepper
6 cups water
½ cup toasted pine nuts
salt to taste (when serving)

1.Use a heavy-based pot if possible. Sautee livers gently in oil.
2.Add garlic and parsley, stir intermittently for about 5 minutes.
3.Add pepper, rice and currants, stir well. The idea is to mix everything together so that the oil will stop the rice from sticking.
4.Pour on the water, bring to the boil, put the lid on, turn the heat down, and allow to cook undisturbed until the rice has absorbed the liquid (15 minutes approximately). It’s ok to lift the lid to check on the rice, but try not to open the pot too often because it lets too much steam escape.
5. Stir in the toasted pine nuts just before serving.
Serve with cucumber and yoghurt, and a side dish of vegetables of your choice.

Cucumber and Yoghurt Salad
This is a close relation to the Turkish cacik and the Greek tzatziki, but milder. I think there is a European cucumber salad too, that’s very like this one.
1 large cucumber, grated and drained.
pinch of salt
scant teaspoon dried mint, or 1 teaspoon fresh mint, chopped finely
2 teaspoons dried dill tips, or 4 teaspoons fresh dill tips, chopped finely
dash of lemon juice or white vinegar
2 cups plain yoghurt (greek style is good)

Mix well and refrigerate until serving time.