Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.
That sounds like a damn good lunch to me.
No longer remember the inspiration, but once tried devilled kidneys for Christmas breakfast à la stately home. Once was enough: they killed my appetite for lunch.
Something I've fancied trying since I read about it was done by a Dickens character, quoted in Dorothy Hartley's wonderful
Food in England: he hung a piece of pork on his door-key and suspended this from the mantel by a string so that it could twirl in front of his fire until well-roasted.
I hope he had a pan underneath for the dripping.