I’m low on iron. This has been a major issue for me in my quest to regain full-on healthfulness. You need iron to feel strong and good and not tired and dizzy all the time. Todd Flanders was right–iron does help us play.

The reasons that I am low on iron are many and varied, but the primary reason is that I never ate red meat and I am allergic to most vegetable-based iron sources. But since my illness, I’ve been back on the mammal wagon. My male friends will be pleased to learn that I have acquired quite a taste for steak. Just last week, I discovered something amazing about quivering, rare steak. It’s freaking tasty! I previously thought my rare-steak-loving brother a vile bloodsucking barbarian, but he has actually been right all along.

Anyway, I’ve decided that steak is wondrous. Burgers are beautiful. Pork chops? Divine!

Confidently armed with my new love of mammal meat, I scoured the internet for some information on what type of meat is highest in iron. The answer was clear: liver!

My god, beef liver was clearly a megasuperfood! Nutrients, minerals, calcium, vitamin C! And more iron than you can shake a cloven hoof at! I was sold. There was a little greasy spoon around the corner from my place of employ that I knew had fried liver and onions on the menu. I resolved to go to that greasy spoon and order liver and onions every day. Liver was going to become a staple in my diet. The men at the diner would call me “Liver & Onions Girl”, that’s how faithfully I would be ordering it.

The next day, with a skip in my step, I went to the diner and ordered my meal. The smell of the organ meat frying put me off some, but no matter! I remembered gagging at the mere smell of my grandmother frying up liver as a kid, but again, no matter! Take raw mushrooms, for example. I hated raw mushrooms when I was little and I have grown to love them since. Tastebuds change and grow. They mature. Liver was probably nowhere near as foul-tasting as I remember it was twenty years ago.

My liver arrived. Brown and perfect and crisp. I cut into it with anticipation. I took a bite.

And I remembered that liver is the most disgusting shit ever. The godawful taste! The grainy texture! The vile smell! Fried dog feces would have been more appealing.

I gagged. After a moment, I composed myself. I reminded myself that I had paid $7.95 for this meal. I reminded myself of the cornucopia of nourishment that would enter my poor anemic bloodstream after I ate it. All I had to do was chew and swallow. Chew and swallow. Chew. And swallow. Chew. And. Swallow.

I chewed. I swallowed. I plugged my nose and chewed again. And swallowed again.

That’s when I hit the rubbery vein. And I knew that I couldn’t possibly go on without yawning in technicolour all over my plate.

I looked up at the diner employees guiltily. They were all eastern European uncle types. I knew, like my beloved relatives, that they would be very upset with me if I didn’t finish my food. “Whatsa matta?” they would say. “Why you no like? No taste good? Ach, spoiled! We did nothing to eat in old country! NOTHING!”

Me: Ohhhh, look at the time! I have to run to a meeting! Drat! And I didn’t even finish!
Diner guy: You want me to wrap? For snack for later?
Me: Thanks, that’s nice of you, but I just don’t have the time! Thanks!
Diner: You sure? I wrap nice for you.
Me: No no no no no! Thanks! Bye!

And I ran the hell away from my unfinished liver.

I tasted that shit for days, too.