Over a fine roast beef supper down on the family farm Tuesday night, I made the mistake of asking my older brother and Dad how the wild game supper was Saturday night over in Hadley.
Oh, the food was good, according to them. There were several different dishes made with deer meat, one with moose meat, a roaster filled with Rocky Mountain oysters, some pheasant and even quail (although when Kevin first said it, I thought he said "whale"! That led to some rather unpleasant thoughts about the taste of whale blubber.)
Anyway, there was no racoon or o’possum on the menu, as there has been at other wild game feeds they’ve gone to in the past.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the mention that cow tongue was served up Saturday night.
That’s when I about lost it.
If there’s one thing my family ought to know by now it’s that when I’m at the dinner table, there shall be no mention of blood, of surgeries the registered nurse in my family has recently watched, or of organ meats.
Especially cow tongue (which isn’t an organ meat, but disgusting none-the-less).
To be honest, I’ve never tried what some may view as a delicacy. The thought of trying it makes my stomach curdle.
Sister-in-law Jamie and I agreed last night that the worst thing about going into mom’s freezer is seeing the package labled "tongue" stacked on top of the pile of frozen hamburger, steaks and roasts. That’s what happens when you raise a few butcher steers. You get all of those delicious meats back … as well as the ones you really don’t want.
I have to give my mom a lot of credit. She actually has to open up the package labled "tongue," and fry the meat up in the pan. Then she gives it to my dog.
I’ll try not to think about that the next time Molly licks my face!