The Glow of Getting What I Want

Some time ago (translation: I can't remember when) we were enjoying a convivial glass of wine at Bob and Pat's house. Pat set out crackers, Brie and chopped liver. The chopped liver was wooonderful!

"Damn! This is toothsome! Where did you get it?"
"Bristle Farms" she replied. Bristle Farms is not the real name; trying to avoid lawsuits.

Then and there I vowed to get me some. About a week later, I went to Bristle Farms, Riviera Village. Not finding it, I asked a store person. He went straight to the pate section (they have an exensive one) but there it wasn't. He inquired at the meat counter and the butcher told him, "The shipment didn't come in. We usually get it on Tuesday and Saturday."

One week later, I marched up to the butcher and asked for, "Some chopped chicken liver." He nodded, smile and bustled back into the butchery (?) returning with a small paper bag. I thanked him and scurried off like a cockroach. It wasn't until after I paid for it that I realized the sack felt ... funny ... to be holding a container of chopped liver. So I looked. It was real chicken livers! (Arghhh!) Apparently the butcher hadn't heard the "chopped" part. I returned them.

Time passed. We were in Manhattan Beach so I skipped into the Bristle Farms there and asked for it. They were out. I said, "THe hell with it" to myself and walked out of the store.

Yesterday I got my chopped liver. We took our tax stuff in to the accountant and had lunch (as we always do) at Factor's Famous Deli. What better than a Jewish deli for a Jewish delicacy? After we ate, I went to the deli counter and there sat an enormous bowl of chopped liver. I could see the bits of hard-boiled egg gleaming yellow and white... a lovely sight. I bought a quarter pound ($6.24) and two big fat dill pickles ($1.89.) Ah, happiness.

So -- once I buy the Easter ham, I'll be set for both Easter and Passover. Y'all come on over!