Innards. It’s what’s for dinnards. Awhile back, when finally coming clean to you all about my, well…diversity of eating habits, I mentioned that offal, delicious though it may be, “doesn’t photograph too well.” I stand corrected. Though it may not be the beautiful girl, with a sparkling smile, and hair so buttery blond she is simply crying out to have her picture taken, it is not necessarily the gangly, pre-pubescent, girl with wiry hair and a mouth full of metal either. I guess it is all in how one handles a little bit of liver, that makes one exclaim– beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

I myself was not always a lover of liver. When I was young my mom would prepare them every so often for Sunday supper, and I would gag. She would drag out the heavy, cast-iron skillet, and set the individual chicken livers to sizzle in the buttered pan, with a healthy seasoning of sliced onions, salt and pepper. My nose would set to twitching even before I could see what we were having for dinner. My family would sit down to eat, my parents each taking a hearty portion of liver, and even my sister, my kindred spirit of sorts, with an even more timid palate then my own, liked the liver too. I, on the other hand, would take a small serving, poking it, rolling it around my plate, smelling its acrid, pungent odor, and ultimately leave it. It was just plain nasty.

But then I went to Italy. Oh, and about 10 years passed. In Florence, on a warm July evening, with people zooming by on their scooters, anything, even chicken liver, smeared on a crostini, and drizzled with fruity, olive oil is going to taste good. Smooth and creamy, with just the right amount of heft to truly remember what it was that you were eating, I was now a chicken liver convert. And I have never gone back. Now it is me, who drags out my cast-iron skillet to fry up some liver for dinner. I make my own rustic pates. That smell that was once so acrid is now deeply savory, and a bit smoky.

So this weekend, while watching cooking shows on PBS, I saw Lidia make a pasta sauce with chopped-up chicken liver and I knew that this was a sauce I had to try. Although this may appear to look like a hearty bolognese, it is anything but. Don’t get me wrong, it is no primavera, but it is simply not heavy and rib-sticking either.

To make the chicken liver sauce, saute an onion and a few cloves of garlic with a bay leaf. Add a few tablespoon of butter, and a bit of tomato paste. When all is toasty, add about a pound of coarsely chopped chicken liver, and some peas. Continue to saute, until the liver has a nice crust on the outside, and then add a bit of stock. Stir well to mix, and heat through. Season with salt and pepper, then add in your cooked pasta (I used linguini) and some Parmesan cheese.

Delicate and buttery, smooth in both consistency and texture, with a pop of sweetness from the peas, this sauce was a dream for those who have a taste for the innards. And maybe it is even unassuming enough to sneak past the liver haters left out there.