Liver Lover
At a Washington, DC restaurant years ago with my husband and my parents, the server asked if there was anything we didn’t eat. Shaking our heads fervently, we assured him we ate everything. My dad had won a Chef’s Tasting Dinner for four at an Italian restaurant, where we assumed we were in for a night of mostly pasta and fish courses, maybe even veal. When the main course revealed sautéed liver, my dad and I made do with extra bread while my mom and my husband Mike gleefully devoured their portions (and ours!)
While not a fan of liver served in its traditional form, I do enjoy it prepared in other ways, mainly pâté. Thanks to my German mom, who made my brother Stephen and me liverwurst sandwiches growing up, I enjoy the flavorful treat, especially the more rustic version with coarse bits of meat, onion and garlic. Eaten at breakfast or lunch on black bread with a slice of a buttery alpine cheese brings me sheer joy. When I discovered its more refined cousin, pâté, that was a different story altogether. As a child it slid quietly under the radar in our house, and I can understand why. Had I known how delicious it was, my parents would have had to share.
An avid waterfowl hunter, my dad would return from his trips with dressed ducks and geese that we ate on Sunday evenings. For this special occasion we ate in our dining room. With its Williamsburg blue wallpaper and off -white wooden window shutters, the dining room at our house, like most homes back then, was reserved for holidays and special events, or the occasional party my parents threw with the table set buffet style. An oil painting of sheep huddling in a barn during a storm hung on the wall, and my mom’s Limoges dessert plates were lined up proudly on the Ethan Allen colonial-style pine sideboard. Dining room meals were eaten under soft lights with tapered candles burning in pewter wall sconces, with my dad seated at the head of table.
Prepared every which way, I couldn’t get enough of the game birds. I remember eating at least two duck breasts in one meal. Dad always saved the livers for the chef at a favorite Washington, DC, restaurant, who turned the viscid lobes into delicious pâté. Back then, pâté was reserved for grown-ups, something I would learn about and enjoy only when I was much older, a fancy food purchased on that rare trip to a gourmet market.
While pâté was the height of sophistication to me, chicken liver seemed a plebeian substitute (if that), and took me longer to appreciate. Twenty-five years ago, at a friend’s Eastern Shore wedding reception, I was starving and popped a small bite from a passing server’s tray into my mouth. Assuming it was a fried oyster or perhaps a misshapen crab cake, I realized too late it was fried chicken liver. I chased it with a gulp of wine and swore it was one of the worst things I’d ever eaten. Its strong taste stayed with me for the entire evening. It would take another decade for me to change my mind.
On a late afternoon while on vacation in Florida, Mike and I stopped at the one restaurant open during the odd hour between lunch and dinner, a French bistro whose offerings were limited to salad and a chicken liver mousse appetizer. Sulking like a spoiled middle schooler and remembering the wedding liver, I declined the mousse and (again!) glumly nibbled on the accompanying bread to go with my glass of wine. Mike dove right in. Between his moans of ecstasy and my growling stomach, I agreed to try chicken liver, again.
As is often the case with new and tasty finds, my reaction was “where has this been all my life?” I ordered my own plate and since that fateful day have enjoyed chicken liver mousse and pâté, and yes even the occasional fried livers, as often as I can. Thanks to tips from fellow at-home cooks, I’ve learned how to make my own version (my favorite uses cream cheese, which adds to the consistency and mellows out the liver). Chicken livers can be more forgiving than their wild game counterparts, which I have not yet mastered, a fact not picked up by our two Labs.
A few years ago, prior to one of Mike’s goose hunting trips, I asked him to keep the livers after having the geese dressed as a treat for the dogs. When he came home, I put two of the livers in the dogs’ bowls. The boys sniffed at them, looked at me and walked away. Like a pair of pampered guests, our beloved canines who eagerly consumed rabbit poop, dirt, mulch, plastic toys, rocks, and the occasional animal carcass, quite literally turned up their noses at the offering. Of course, I did what any loving mom would do, I sautéed the livers in a bit of olive oil and butter with some salt and pepper. Once cooled, the dogs gobbled them up. Adventurous eating surely must run in our family.
