I thought about that for months. Then one night we were in a little French restaurant in White Rock where they serve all the "usual" country french classics, and on a lark--odd for me, because I generally don't gamble with my dinner--I ordered the veal liver and onions. I had seen it delivered to another diner and it looked so delectable--the onions were pre-caramelized and made one rich and gooey sauce. Unfortunately, the plate that arrived in front of me was hot enough to fry a taco, so where the chef might have cooked the liver perfectly it was well done by the time I put a fork into it, and I can now tell you that I do not like that texture. But I could tell I'd have most likely enjoyed it had it been done right.
Well, today at lunch I had a Mixed Grill: duck confit, liver and onions, and a small rare venison steak. The first and only thing I finished of the three? The liver!
I loved it.
Didn't think it was possible for a change of this magnitude to still occur in my life. What's next, mayo?
Not on your life.
