TheBanyanTree: Brauschweiger

[Monique Colver]

I do not eat liver. Growing up, we ate only non-organ meats, and that's a
policy I've stuck with. I have an irrational fear of anything that's
different, especially meats and things. "Just try it!" people say, but I'm
really not interested. Many years ago, when I had a pregnant dog, I cooked
liver for her because it was good for her, so they said. I didn't have to
cook it, I suppose, she would have eaten it no matter what, but I cooked it
for my benefit.

And the smell was atrocious. Of course, I'm sure there are other ways to
cook it, some of which might even be appropriate. And no, I still won't
like if it's made some special way. I just don't. People can tell me as
much as they want that I'd like it if only I'd give it a shot, and I still
won't try it. I'm stubborn.

Many many years ago, when I was married to the first husband, I had an
occasion to try head cheese. We were visiting his relatives, in the
countryside of Ohio, and I'm told they eat everything there. He warned me,
before we drove out to his aunt and uncle's, that they would insist I try
their famous head cheese. I said, "They can insist all they want, I'm not
eating it."

When we got to the farmhouse, there was food laid out neatly on a table,
most of it looking as if it had just been butchered recently and not fully
processed yet. At least as far as I could tell -- I'm a city girl, always
have been. I'll die a city girl.

"You have to have some of this," the aunt said, as she handed me a plate of
suspicious looking items. I took one, but instead of eating it, I held onto
it, and then I snuck off into the bathroom, where I wrapped it carefully in
a napkin, and put it in my pocket.

I didn't know what else to do with it. No way was it going in my mouth.

A young cousin had watched me sneak away with the tidbit and then return,
with no sign of it, and said, loudly, "I'm not eating that!"

But me, I didn't want to offend anyone. I was like that in my 20's, before
I realized no one cared. I didn't want them to think I was unwilling to try
things, or that I didn't appreciate their hospitality, though I was and I
didn't.

At least I wasn't rude as my first husband's mother. When she came to visit
we went out for Mexican food, which is food that I grew up, and love, and
she pronounced it as appetizing as dog poop.

She was charming.

I don't miss her.

She once tried to serve me squirrel. SQUIRREL. I don't eat squirrel either.

And you can't make me.



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Monique Colver
Colver Business Solutions
www.colverbusinesssolutions.com
monique.colver at gmail.com
(425) 772-6218


On Sun, Mar 17, 2013 at 12:31 PM, Dale M. Parish <parishdm at att.net> wrote:

> > Loved your story Dale, but I wish you had the calf tongue recipe, so I
> could
> > make it for the Spouse, as he loves jellied tongue.
>
> I'll have to fish around the family and see if any of my brothers or
> sisters-in-laws have it.
>
> --
> Dale M. Parish
> 628 Parish Rd
> Orange TX 77632
>
>
>