Speaking of tongues . . . one of the worst and most traumatic meals of my childhood was when my mom served us a beef tongue . . . there it was in front of us on a serving platter . . . a giant, nasty tongue.
Keep in mind that when my mom made a meal you ate whatever it was she made . . . no arguments . . . or you didn’t eat. Or worse, you sat at the dinner table until you DID eat it no matter how long it took.
I once lasted until well after midnight once when she served up a yucky dinner of liver and onions. I eventually smothered bite size bits wretched congealed liver in cold mashed potatoes and pretty much swallowed all of the pieces whole. Ugh.
So, you didn’t argue with mom when it came to food. You ate it because she made it. End of story.
Except this one time . . . she took one bite of that hideous lolling tongue and we got a reprieve. Even she wouldn’t eat it.
I don’t remember what we ate for dinner that night but it wasn’t that . . . thing.
** No recipe for this one . . .
who wants to eat after seeing that??