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Resting on a stack of marble was a pineapple-size section of lamb’s tongue stone destined to go above a Corinthian column high on the building’s south face.

More intricate work is done back at the Worcester Eisenbrandt yard in Maryland, where a sculptor named Pavel Kudelich crafts egg-and-dart molding and a pattern called lamb’s tongue.

In this classically simple Greenwich Village townhouse, an energetic and pleasure-seeking chef named Mario Batali wanted New Yorkers to try something new: a salad of truffled lamb’s tongue; melting pink windowpanes of head cheese; triangles of beef-cheek-filled pasta in a sauce thickened by crushed squab livers.

A salad of lamb’s tongue and browned beech mushrooms topped with a soft-cooked egg was nice.

The standout scene, where a woman’s tongue is pulled out, is far from today’s forensic realism, as it’s clearly an oversized lamb’s tongue dripping in cranberry sauce, and the actress chosen because she was the only person who could fit all that into her mouth.