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Two grandsons, The 747 and Lamppost Head, happened to be staying overnight with us on the day that Honey cooked liver and onions for the first time in her life.
The 747, boy of action, put a forkful in his mouth and reached an immediate conclusion: "Yum!"
Honey told me to slice some liver real thin for Lamppost Head because he has trouble chewing meat with his retainer and braces. I sliced and diced some, mixed in slivers of fried onions, put it in a little bowl and slid it across the table to him.
Lamppost Head, thoughtful boy, took a bite, chewed it meditatively, took another, and spooned in the rest.
"More, please?" he asked, holding out the empty bowl.
If you want to get Honey started, tell her about a kid that refuses to eat anything but pizza, chicken fingers and French fries, and the parents give in.
None of our children or grandsons are picky eaters, though there are some dietary restrictions in the family and of course favorite foods. Our kids grew up like we did, eating whatever was placed before us, and usually liking it. The grandsons gobble salads and vegetables, especially broccoli. If anything, it's hard to get them to finish the meat.
Liver and onions - beef liver and onions - is, however, a dish that neither of our mothers cooked. I can't say that either of us disliked it, we just lacked the tradition of it.
THE WHOLE LIVER and onions thing came up because last week we picked up our beef from Chamberlain's: a whole cow and a half, already cut, packed and frozen. Honey had been defrosting, cleaning out and reorganizing our freezers for weeks. We've been buying beef from our farmer friend Melodious for years.
Now, when you buy a whole cow you get lots of parts you may not know what to do with: chunks of suet (fat) which we hang for the birds, soupbones which Honey uses to flavor vegetable soup, and tongue and liver, which we give away.
My parents gave those parts away, too. When I was in fourth or fifth grade, Ol' Food sent a fresh cow tongue in a paper bag to school with me, to give to a janitor whom she knew liked it. I did give it to him, but only after using it to chase girls around the playground at recess.
My mother did now and then fry chicken livers. I loved them and still do, though I can't recall when I last had some. I love turkey livers, too. When Honey cooks a turkey, she always takes the little packet of organ meats - the heart, gizzard and liver - wraps them in foil and roasts them in the pan with the bird. I eagerly unwrap the foil to get my liver.
"No wonder this turkey died. He had no liver," I complain when on occasion the liver is missing.
But chicken liver and turkey liver aren't beef liver. Beef or calf liver has a much stronger flavor, one that people seem either to crave fanatically or can't stand even the smell of it cooking.
NOT LONG AGO, Honey and I had given in to a yen for fried chicken and bought a small bucket of Original Recipe Kentucky Fried - oops, I mean KFC, "fried" being hopelessly out of fashion these days. (Actually, it isn't fried - it's pressure-cooked in oil. The Colonel was an innovator in many ways. Google "15 things you didn't know about KFC.")
A few days later, when Honey brought home fresh chicken breasts and was contemplating how to cook them, she had an idea.
"I wonder if 'the Colonel's secret recipe of 11 herbs and spices' is on the internet," she said.
Several versions of the breading recipe were, and, though it was baked, not fried or pressure-cooked, we dined on faux Original Recipe chicken that night.
When the beef came and we were discussing who might want the tongue and liver, one of us - I'm not sure who - suggested that we try fried liver and onions ourselves. We are sometimes adventurous in our old age.
Honey hopped back on the internet to search liver and onions recipes. Several suggested soaking the liver in milk to cut the strong taste, then breading and frying in butter or oil.
"I have some of the Colonel's recipe breading left over. Should I use that?" Honey mused.
She did, and history was made: Kentucky Fried Liver and Onions. It was tasty.
(Fred Miller's new book of 100 stories, "Falling Under Honey's Spell," is $10, available locally at Connie's Kitchen, Davis Bros. Pharmacies, Frank's Pastry, Giant Eagle Calcutta, Green Marble Coffee, Museum of Ceramics, Pottery City Antique Mall, and at fredmilleratlarge.com.)