When I was ten or twelve my parents cooked up a vat of chicken gizzards, livers, and hearts and served them for dinner. I was grossed out as could be. My parents recounted this story for years. I was picking at my food, identifying all the grossness, “This is a gizzard, this is a heart, this is a cockroach…”
They threw everything out and we got Henry’s hamburgers.
They threw everything out and we got Henry’s hamburgers.