When I was growing up in Rhode Island, I spent a lot of time with my great grandma, who was from Naples, and she still cooked like she was from the old country. She made tripe all the time for my great grandpa. As a kid, I loathed the flavor and smell of tripe. I would run from it. I refused to eat it. Her version was prepared beautifully, with red wine and tomato and herbs, but I just couldn’t handle it as a kid. I didn’t like tripe until years and years later, after I traveled and cooked in California and France. Now it’s a staple on my menus, and I make it like my grandma did—brick red and spicy.