|Picture from www.sodahead.com|
A quick disclaimer:If you are a lover of liver, this post is not for you.Just sayin’.
I hated liver. The smell. The taste. The texture. Everything about liver, I didn’t like. When I was a kid my mom made it at least once a month. I guess she thought it was healthy. I thought it was gross.
My parents belonged to the generation where no one could leave the table until one’s plate was empty. Roast beef nights were great. So were stew nights. Fish nights and meatloaf nights were okay, but not liver night. As soon as that familiar, disgusting smell began to waft through the house I knew I was doomed.
Those were the days when the whole family sat down together. When dad got home from work, dinner was served. We sat in a little alcove in the back of the house formally known as the breakfast nook. Three windows brightened the area along with the cheery yellow and orange-flowered wallpaper. But on liver nights the windows never let in enough light. Even the wallpaper seemed faded and dull.
My dad sat at the end. Nothing escaped his view. Mom served up the liver and we ate. Or we tried to. I came up with every way to finish my plate of food without actually tasting the awful-smelling meat. I cut it up in teeny tiny bites swallowed it whole. That seemed to work, but wasn’t very much fun. I plugged my nose, but my dad told me to stop playing around and that I was hurting my mom’s feelings. Once I had the bright idea to cut it up and then sneak pieces in a napkin. I tossed the offending beef parts and placed my plate in the sink. I thought I was safe, but a while later my dad brought me back into the kitchen, pointed to the balled-up napkin in the trash and demanded a confession. I received a spanking and an extra serving of liver. I never knew who ratted me out; probably my little brother.
This went on for years and when I moved out I was finally able to be free of the liver night stress. A few years ago before my dad passed away we started talking about mom’s dinners. We agreed that most were wonderful. I took a deep breath and brought up liver night. As we reminisced, he confessed he also hated liver. He said he only ate it so my mom’s feelings wouldn’t be hurt. I was shocked, even appalled. He, who hated liver with as much passion as I, forced me to eat it? I told him because he never confessed his true feelings we had been doomed to years of liver nights. We both looked at each other and pondered… Did my mom only make it because she thought my dad liked it? Or did she really like it? To be honest, I really don’t remember her taking heaping helpings of the nasty stuff – just polite-sized servings. Then she pushed the meat around her plate with a fork as the rest of us put on our best manners and smiled while we ate. I guess we’ll never know.
Do you have a food you absolutely hate? Leave a comment below.