The family that eats strange meat together…

I was born an Argen­tine, and some­where on my pass­port (the expired Argen­tine one) it says in fine print that I must eat meat, or I’ll lose my cit­i­zen­ship. Argen­tines eat a lot of meat, and when it comes to the cow, they eat most of that, too. Empanadas (roughly trans­late as meat turnovers), blood sausage, beef kid­neys, sweet­breads, stew, matam­bre (stuffed beef roll), and bone mar­row on a cracker. Among others.

Tiffany, bless her, is a Mid­west­ern girl when it comes to beef. She grew up with steak, usu­ally on the grill, with some kind of sauce. On one of her first trips to meet my par­ents, she was offered the afore­men­tioned bone mar­row on a cracker. To her credit, she tried very hard to like it.

This all came to mind when, yes­ter­day, I got her to try a lit­tle of the chicken liver that came with the whole chicken we were roast­ing. She knew she wouldn’t like it, and I knew she wouldn’t like it, but I like liver so much that I thought maybe she should try this par­tic­u­lar bit of liver, and I can only imag­ine that she likes me so much that she thought maybe she would try this par­tic­u­lar piece of liver. She bit it off and chewed and smiled and I came back inside. And a few sec­onds later she rushed in and spat it out into the sink.

I do love her so. She doesn’t need to eat all the strange meat I do.

I can always eat liver with her mother (or my fam­ily, but that’s a given).