Livers and gizzards

Thanks to a coworker of mine, I have rediscovered the glory of fried chicken livers and gizzards.

Those of you out there who have never eaten either, I don't want to hear it. You have no clue of the gloriousness of the deep-fried, acquired-taste morsels.

Gizzards are a chewy surprise that makes you wonder if you're eating some kind of shellfish. Livers are dark and rich, kind of the on-land oyster.

I hadn't had any of either since my beloved Granny B's burned. The hometown eatery was legendary: fried catfish special Monday, chicken nugget special Tuesday, three-piece mix special Wednesday, fried shrimp special Thursday, and the 10-piece family delight special Friday through Sunday.

The place was epic. The baked beans are unmatched, and the livers and gizzards were guilty pleasures you couldn't find anywhere else.

Thanks to my coworker, I found those gizzards and livers again ... at the Exxon station at the intersection of Eastman Road and I-20 in Longview. Yes, to those of you who know what I'm about to say ...

Grandy's.

That place we all dreaded on family trips as children. Oh how unaware we were of its splendor.

I ordered a dozen livers this afternoon and was hooked up with about 20 of them along with two rolls. Needless to say, I could barely get half of them down, especially since we made a stop at Popeye's for red beans and rice to accompany our livers and gizzards.

You just can't eat that many livers. It's not possible. It's like Paul Newman eating 50 boiled eggs in that movie.

So now I have leftovers: Heavy, fried, coma-inducing leftovers.

Thank to you that coworker, and the childhood I enjoyed growing up on livers and gizzards.