Who's That Girl

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WHO'S THAT GIRL: A higher education obsessed foodie who is documenting her life in the kitchen. I love to cook delicious, gourmet-style foods for those I love and always welcome a challenge in the kitchen. With that challenge comes an impromptu nature. I tend to avoid following recipes to the exact, so you are not likely to find very many posted here. Being that I am a Libra and am learning to be free in the kitchen, the story always goes, "A pinch of this and a smattering of that!" Thank you for visiting -- and happy reading!

Saturday, September 18, 2010

One Night, Two Dinners

Sunflower market. 6:30 p.m.

We'd had a full day and were browsing the aisles for something we could put together quickly.

"It would be nice if we could get lucky with some decent tuna steaks or swordfish," I mentioned.

Alas, not a good catch today. But the trout looked tasty. Hum.... And so did the scallops. And, oooh -- look at the shrimp.

Yet, as we were waiting for the fishmonger's attention, Nancy began recounting a story of chicken livers.

Apparently, her mother would cook the livers for her and her siblings, sauteeing onion and mushrooms and seasoning them only with salt and pepper before tossing them in the skillet. I watched her recount this story with so much enthusiasm that I began to get excited for her. And before I could even think about what I was saying, I heard myself blurt out, "I can cook them for you."

What?! What did I just say?

Now, I, too, have memories of liver. But, on the pleasure spectrum, those memories fall way off to the unpleasant. My mother would cook liver for my dad. He loved the stuff. But I always had such a problem with the too-smooth and somewhat slurry texture of liver. Still, I would watch with some sort of deranged amazement as my mother would season the livers with, I believe, seasoning salt, then place them in flour before slowly dipping them into a skillet of oil, swiftly frying them before placing them on a place lined with paper towels.


Now, here I was on a Saturday night standing in the middle of the grocery store telling my dearest loved one that I would make something for her that I have never ever, ever, ever in my life have ever had any desire to cook, much less taste.

Ah...now that is what I call love.

We found a small enough container for one because -- and heaven knows -- this meant that I was now going to have to cook two dinners. One for me. One for Nancy. 

And that's what I did: Chicken livers with onion and mushrooms for Nancy; Trout with parsley, chives, paprika and cayenne pepper for me. Oh! And we had purchased this amazing sourdough bread from one of our bakers earlier in the day. So we served that with our dishes.

And after all that complaining, I did gather enough ganas to taste the liver -- with Nancy's persistent coaxing, of course. Honestly, it tasted like a dense, strangely textured coagulated mixture of mincemeat. I did not like it -- not even a tiny bit!

But I could not help smiling while watching Nancy eating her dish with delight, rarely looking up from the plate until the very end when, one by one, she licked her fingers clean.


  1. Oh, that's love! I don't think I could cook liver, let alone eat it. I guess it's an acquired taste.

  2. Liver and let liver I always say. My mom cooked beef liver often (it was cheap and we were poor). As an adult I've come to love it. The gamier the better. I'm sorry, now I've turned you off completely.

  3. THAT's amore... I don't think I've ever got to that point with Baz, even though he'd be thrilled if I ever offered to cook tripe for him... a boy can dream :)

  4. Awww...poor Baz. But tripe?! Yeah...I would struggle through that as well.


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