Tonight we’re grilling chicken. Last night we grilled steak – and it was good. I have a secret marinade. It’s really not so special and could easily be repeated, but I like to call it my secret recipe. That way, people complement me and ask for the recipe. I like complements. So, I keep holding out.
I’m going to keep holding out, so don’t go getting your hopes up.
Anyway, in addition to grilling chicken, I’ve got gizzards on the grill. Yes, gizzards. Don’t worry, they’re not for me – I wouldn’t eat them if you payed me. Well, maybe if the price was right.
The first time I met my father-in-law, we were visiting San Francisco – me, for the first time. Lots of firsts on that trip. Handsome, Dad, and I took a road trip down to Monterey, and as we started the trip south, we popped into a Safeway (might have been a Kroger, but I’m pretty sure it was Safeway.) I picked up a bag of M&M’s and they guys bought a pound of fried gizzards. Yuck is right!
Being the gentlemen that they are, they offered me a bite. Being polite (and trying to make a good impression), I tried one. And I hated it. Really hated it. So, why am I grilling gizzards, you ask? Because, on that trip Handsome and Dad ate every last one – even the half that I rejected. And I learned that day, food is the key to the man’s heart.