A little while ago I mentioned that I was thinking about cooking up some liver because it is the mega iron food. I told you I would let you know if I ever got past the thinking about it stage.
So I mentioned my thought to my husband, he hates liver. He has actually had it before. I told him I could probably cook it in a way he would like it and not even know that was what he was eating. He actually got upset and insisted that I was not allowed to feed him liver. In the past he has said I could use foods he didn't like and he would try it. So this statement, coming from that man that will chew on the pencil he took from a hole in the wall bar, meant a lot.
What it meant was that I was more determined to make liver and him like it. I just had to come up with a plan.
So yesterday I was cleaning out a chicken that I was roasting for dinner. I reached inside to get that little plastic bag of parts. Those parts that I always throw away without even looking at. That is when the plan was finalized.
We will never be eating liver in this house. Ever. That is the new plan.
I stuck my hand in there and the parts were there but they weren't in a bag. My finger went right into the liver. I almost threw up on the chicken. So I figured this was the universes way of telling me that liver just wasn't meant to be eaten. Ever.