my offal new job

food service jobs are, in many ways, a magical anthropological adventure. you can tell a lot about people based on what they eat, and how they choose to eat it, and how they behave when they're ordering it.

let us begin our study of human behavior at the deli counter, where people often line up to drool over the meats and organs on prominent display. my question to these folk is: why?? why would you eat this?? have u ever had to slice a giant hunk of cold tongue? cuz i have. and it really does look just like a giant dead cow tongue. now, perhaps back in medieval times, when serfs were given the discarded carcasses of butchered animals to nibble on, the tongue was the meatiest bit left. but civilization has come a long way since then, people -- you don't have to eat the unsavory parts of the animal anymore.

i believe the people who eat this shit should be invited back behind the counter for an up-close look at the tongue in its whole and natural state. they should be forced to really examine the . . . purpleness of it. observe the gelatinous mucus that seems to jelly up the ends.

still hungry? then you, sir, are a monster. good day to you.

also -- what is up with chopped liver? people order this shit by the bucket-load, literally . . . and it does, in fact, resemble the shit of a baby who has been fed only cat food and mashed bananas for several days.

worse, people seem very righteous when they order this crap:

"Yes, give me a pound of your finest chopped liver -- post-haste!"

"You there, girl! Fetch me a half pound of very thinly sliced tongue! So thin that I can see my mottled, liver-spotted hand through it!"

whatever, old people. you wanna stuff yourself gouty with offal -- who am i to judge?

in my previous food service jobs, cold food made for an irate customer. in this new world of strange deli offerings, people want everything cold. cold soup, cold fish, cold meat. if it looks like it could be served in the steerage section of an immigrant steamer, or the barracks of the gulag -- all the better! apparently, people like their sausages cold and seasoned with a hint of hardship and sadness. it brings back fond memories of when the whole family slept in one bed and had consumption, i guess.

now some of you might be thinking -- shame on you, tea guarie! how dare you be close-minded! it's true -- perhaps i am too quick to pass judgment on people based on their affinities for odd meats. some of these old folk might be scandalized by my tastes for diet coke and lean cuisine.

but hey, at least i can sleep at night knowing that i've never willingly had the tongue of a farm animal in my mouth.

just sayin'.