Usually I love liver but this was a little much for me.
As a child, I adored my grandmother’s fried liver dinners. She would scoop a bowlful of flour into a big paper sack, add the liver, and shake shake shake shake shake until the slices were thickly coated. Whenever I heard that sound it would trigger a Pavlovian-like response and I’d go tearing into the kitchen to watch her drop the slices in the big 20lb. iron skillet. The best part was that none of my brothers wanted theirs so they’d sneak pieces onto my plate or hide their untouched portions in a napkin and pass it on to me for later. I would hide my happy midnight snacks somewhere in the guest room and eat them in bed after lights out. In the mornings, I’d wake up with the window slightly opened. Gramma never said anything about the fried food odor that my hidden snacks would emit but she usually checked in on me in the middle of the night and would crack the window an inch. She never said anything and it was our little secret.
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