Growing up, there weren’t THAT many foods that I despised. I never liked tuna. Hated brussel sprouts. But those were like sweet chocolate, compared to liver. The smell of it cooking was bad enough… horrible! But the taste was vile! It left me ill! And the rest of my family LOVED it! Well, I don’t think my little brother did, but he wasn’t as vocal as I was. And the worst part was, I was NOT allowed to get up from the table until I had finished it! There were always ways I was able to get rid of it without eating (all) of it. When no one was looking, I would take a piece of it off my plate, and stuff it in my pants. I tried to hide it in my glass of milk, but my older sister (years earlier) got caught spitting her peas into a glass of tea at the table, so my mother was suspicious, especially if I finished quicker than expected. But I learned to be VERY discreet.

I always promised myself, when I was eighteen, I was NEVER going to eat this garbage again, nor was I going to make MY kids eat it. Well, at 52, I don’t have kids of my own, but I haven’t eaten liver in at least 35 years!

I occasionally have someone telling me, “You just haven’t had liver made right, like *I* do”… No, there is no saving this wretched piece of cow excrement, so don’t even try.