The Liver and Peas Story

            My first job after college was a teaching position at St. Anthony’s, a Catholic elementary school in Greenwich Village. As a beginning schoolteacher my time management skills were rather poor. Parent-teacher night had arrived, and my report cards were not yet ready. I had two choices: finish the report cards in the classroom, meet with parents in the school hall, and eat a late night supper when I got home, or rush home, finish the report cards and eat a quick snack, and then rush back to school to meet with parents. This choice was not possible. There just wasn’t enough time. I was about to settle down with choice number one when Sister Annette approached me with an invitation.

            “Steve, why don’t you just come over to the convent? Finish your work there and then you can eat dinner with us.” I didn’t know what to say at first, but after a moment’s consideration I knew this made the most sense, so I took Sister Annette up on her offer.

            At the convent, I was set up in a little room with a desk. I wouldn’t exactly call it an office, but it was reasonably comfortable and quiet. As I finished recording grades and writing comments. I could hear some of the nuns praying. At this point my mind started to wander. My natural curiosity made me wonder about the nuns daily routines and rituals outside of school. Before long I was asking myself what kinds of foods they ate. Did they ever eat hamburgers, hot dogs, and French fries, and drink soda? Or, did they eat only bland foods such as unseasoned skinless chicken with boiled green beans like my grandmother ate when I was a boy? She had a bad heart and suffered from colitis, and faithfully stuck to a strict diet.

            “Wouldn’t it be funny,” I joked to myself, “if tonight’s dinner is liver and peas? What are the odds of that ever happening?” I shouldn’t have asked.

            When it comes to food, I am easy to please. Simple dishes are fine with me. I have no problem eating leftovers two and even three days in a row. I am perfectly willing to prepare sandwiches for the family if my wife doesn’t feel like cooking. I’ll try most foods once I build up the courage. In the Philippines for instance, I ate fresh octopus just minutes after my brother-in-law caught it. Of course, we also drank rum and that helped wash it down.

            I wasn’t always so tolerant of different foods. In fact, growing up I was a very picky eater. My mother was so worried that I wasn’t getting proper nutrition that she gave me Sustagen from the drugstore. It’s a powder that’s mixed with water to make a nutrition shake. Back then, it was an ongoing joke with my sisters and cousins. We all laugh about it now though.

            Then and now there have been just two foods in this world that I truly hate. Those two foods are liver and peas. “Blech!” I can’t stand the acrid gamey smell of liver nor its chewy rubbery taste. And as for peas, why they are considered sweet I’ll never know. They don’t taste sweet to me! Over the years I’ve learned to tolerate peas a little if they are mixed with other foods as in a stew, but by themselves I can’t stand them. I’ll eat broccoli, asparagus, you name it; but not peas.

            Finally, I completed my report cards and joined the nuns in their dining room. There was a communal atmosphere in the air. There was no hierarchy here. Everyone was equal regardless of their vocation outside the convent. We said Grace and prepared to eat. Sure enough, the meal that evening was liver and peas! Outwardly, I acted nonchalant, but in reality I was stunned. I knew I was going to need more than a prayer to get through this meal. But, what could I do? I couldn’t not eat. That would have been ungrateful and disrespectful. So, I forced myself to eat the liver and peas- every bit on my plate. I guess that was my penance for not having the report cards ready on time.

Steve T.

August 2019