A random comment on Facebook brought this childhood memory to mind recently. We didn’t eat out very often. When we did, it was likely fast food take-out. My mom would occasionally bring home Kentucky Fried Chicken – this was back before they tried to hide the fact that it was all fried by calling it KFC.
She always got an order of livers and gizzards along with the chicken. To this day, I still don’t know what a gizzard is. I just remember that both my brother and I thought they were delicious. We hated the liver though and it was nearly impossible to tell them apart.
Kind of like cherry and cinnamon Jelly Bellies. I love the cherry ones but can’t stand the cinnamon. I’ve gotten to the point that I’ve given up eating red jelly beans if I don’t know for sure there are no cinnamon ones hiding in the mix.
As a child, I was more stubborn with the gizzards. I really wanted them. So I’d carefully study the little nuggets of breaded and fried meat trying to detect the slight difference in color. The livers were darker. I’d compare them until I found one that seemed clearly lighter than the others and then I’d eat it. If it was a liver, I’d freak and try to spit it out. My mother, who loves eating liver, would react badly to such a waste of delicacies.
They don’t even sell livers and gizzards anymore. But back in the day, when eating out was a real treat, if mom opened a bag from KFC, we’d get excited. And my little brother would ask “Did you get some lizards and givers?!”