I'll tell you a little secret: I hate offal. You can keep your tripe, intestines, and kidneys. In the U.S., aside from a small cult of food dorks with I Heart Offal buttons pinned to their suede-bottomed Jansport backpacks, most people just won't eat it, which means that I can't sell it ... unless I can sneak it into something they already like.
The obvious platforms for sneaking the icky bits past closed-minded consumers are terrines, pâtés, and mousses. We won't eat liver if it's fried in butter, but for some reason people can't get enough of it if you put it in a glorified meatloaf or whip it with a bunch of caramelized onions and pork fat. Same goes for setting stuff prettily in aspic. It just reminds me of Jell-O salad but if you stick a blood orange-poached beef tongue in it and charge $25 a pound people will buy you out.
That's fine. We make terrines, pâtés, and bullcrap in aspic every week at the Meat Hook but liver is not the shape of my heart. What keeps me coming to work every morning is sneaking offal into things that you would buy at a truck stop. Anybody with $80 worth of charcuterie books and an elementary understanding of the culinary arts can bang out a passable pâté, but it takes a real passion for pulling one over on Middle America to get the fifth quarter into the fourth quarter of the game.