My mom is a terrific cook. Now that I’ve got that disclaimer off my chest, can we talk about the most dreaded meal of my childhood – liver and onions? Mom and I differ in our recollections of how often this was served, so the truth must lie somewhere between every Thursday (which is what I remember) and almost never (which is what she claims).
It was a child’s worst food nightmare: strong-tasting, bitter liver with equally strong tasting onions in a sauce that had picked up the flavor of both. One of the great things about being an adult is that I can confidently say I will never eat liver and onions again. If they serve it to me some day in the Old Folks Home, I will refuse to eat it. Then I’ll haul myself up by my walker and yell “I’m revolting!” Which, by that point, will most likely be true on a lot of levels.