Of the numerous hearts I’ve tried over the years of Floffal-ing, the lamb’s is one to which I return again and again. Simple, sweet, succulent. They are also some of the most readily available animal hearts you can get hold of, and are versatile when it comes to cooking methods and flavour combinations.

Here, I wanted to showcase how instinctual and, therefore argue how accessible, cooking with offal can be. Think of an archetypal lamb dish – cooked pink, well seasoned – we’d quite readily encounter mint, peas, herbs and something zingy or peppery. And so, here this is. I really would love an animal’s innards to be seen and treated homogenously as part of its entire ‘form’ and name as a meat product and thus ingredient to cook with.



To prepare, take the whole hearts when they’re at room temperature and trim any little areas of sinew or leathery fat that are most outstanding from the main flesh (this needn’t be trimmed down raw, though, and there’s not usually a great deal of additional ‘stuff’ anyway). Reserve these trimmings as they will reimburse your hearts in the pan when cooking. Cut the hearts in half, revealing the pretty, intricate webs of vessels and ventricles. If there are any coarser elements that are really obvious, you can trim and save these. Most of the time however, it’s to be admired and left alone. Season them generously with salt and cracked black pepper.



Place a frying pan on the hob and add a glug of either rapeseed or olive oil, or butter, whatever your preference (I go with the former), bruise a clove of garlic and gather any heart trimmings from before and add to the pan. Heat until the garlic and trimmings are sizzling and energised. Interior-side-down-first, place the heart halves into the pan and listen to the spluttering and scorch of the pan fat’s heat. Enjoy that, for a minute and a half to two minutes, depending on the thickness of the halves and also the visual appearance of the meat – if it’s developed a ‘crust’, a char and has good caramelisation, then you can turn it over.



Straight after this, grab some frozen peas and pour a handful or so into a microwavable bowl, season with salt and pepper and some lemon juice, and pop into the microwave for 3 minutes.



Gaze at, and gently prod the heart halves if you feel the need or fancy to (it’s a good means of learning what to sense for in terms of cooking) every 30 seconds for another two minutes or so, then take the pan off the heat, grab some tin foil, cover the hearts with it to rest them. Don’t shock them out onto a cold plate, nor leave them exposed to the open air and drastic heat-evaporation. Nestle them under the foil and leave them to gently settle in their own warmth and residual juices.



The microwave has probably pinged by now, if not a bit before, so take the peas out and let them steam a little to cool. Meanwhile, roughly chop three springs of mint – leaves and stalks together, please don’t waste them – the same for parsley, coriander, dill – anything, but making mint the pillar ingredient. Add these to the bowl with some lemon zest, and you could add tiny chopped specs of shallot or spring onion if you have them too, and enjoy the acidity they bring as I do. Be sparing, though. A final flicker of the luxurious could also be applied in a glug of a very fine olive, nut or truffle oil. Crush – mush – to whatever extent you like - the peas with a fork, spoon, or fist – whichever feels most effective to you.



Spoon the peas onto a plate – ideally white or black, let the colours sing – and then unveil the resting hearts from their foil blanket; slice them across in strips about a centimetre thick and reveal their pretty, pink, plump centre. Lay the slices over the peas in a line so they’re lying on each other but peeking out. Spoon the remaining pan juices lightly over the fleshy parts. Eat, and fall in love.