The Forbidden Meal

My darling wife is, as a general question, tolerant of my preferences and eccentricities. But there is one thing she will not abide, a practice she finds so repellent, so contrary to good manners and morals, that it is fully prohibited from our home while she is present. I refer, of course, to the preparation and consumption of chicken hearts.

Why does Anna object to chicken hearts? It is not because they are high in cholesterol, although they are. Nor is it out of some humanitarian concern for chickens: I have seen her consume chicken legs without compunction, and I would argue that it is more cruel to leave one of these barnyard perambulators legless than simply to take his heart. No, Anna’s objection lies in the realm of grossness. To her, it just too gross to eat another animal’s heart. I try to persuade her, pointing out the obvious psychic benefits of consuming another creature’s life-sustaining organ, feeling its power flow through us, &c., but she just cringes. (She is probably remembering that scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.)

So why is this a problem? Well, do you know how delicious chicken hearts are? I will tell you: THEY ARE VERY DELICIOUS. Imagine if you could take everything that was good about a whole roasted chicken – properly seasoned and cooked, of course – and use some sort of large hadron collider to pack all that chickeny goodness into a package the size and consistency of my thumb from tip to first knuckle. That is a chicken heart. Now imagine taking about forty of these thumb-sized joy parcels, deep frying them, and dusting them in salt. Exactly.

Tonight, Anna is out of town. TONIGHT, MY SONS AND I WILL FEAST.

(Note to self: stop by the grocery store for more oil.)

Advertisements