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).