Last week when Jerry and I were on our way back to Lake Havasu, we stopped in a Flying J station for fuel. While Jerry tanked our car with the “liquid gold,” I went inside to buy us a couple of snacks. I handed my choices to the clerk, a late-50s looking man, and he asked me a stunning question.
“Want any gizzards?”
“Excuse me,” I replied.
“Gizzards. Would you like a pound of gizzards?”
“Uh, no. No, thank you. Not today.”
Flying J Stations are of the big truck stop type, and we began going to them when we first started “motor-homing.” Their prices are generally a bit cheaper than the average in the area, and they have facilities for motor homes–special bays for diesel fuel, propane gas, etc. It is in the shopping part of the station—where I stood last week—that you pay your fuel bill (if you haven’t done so at the pump,) and where food and other items are for sale. Included with the food items are deli types, including fried chicken.
But gizzards? A pound of gizzards from Flying J?
The clerk was serious, and even though I had declined his offer, he continued to talk of gizzards. “I buy a pound every evening, sit in front of the TV, and have them for snacks.”
He had deep brown eyes and was of the friendly sort of man as he continued to talk. “My blood sugar is so high, I have to do something.” He looked at me in a pleading sort of way.
“Uhm. That’s too bad.” I believe I said those words or other clucking, soothing sounds.
“Yep, sometimes it goes over 300.”
“Oh, no, that’s really bad,” I replied as I struggled to keep from laughing–not at the poor man, you understand, but at the offer of a pound of gizzards, and I must admit, I had a funny mental picture of the gizzard-man slouched before the TV, grasping a brown paper sack of fried chicken gizzards.
Outside, I snatched open the car door, slid into my seat, and hardly able to talk for laughing, I told Jerry I wanted to talk to him about gizzards.
“Gizzards?” He looked across the car at me. I told him the story, and we laughed for miles.
Actually, I like gizzards, but I haven’t eaten any for years, for I seldom fry chicken anymore, even though it’s one of my favorite foods, and yes, I know it’s not good for me, and yes, I eat the skin too, fried crispy and golden brown. Of the fast food variety, Popeyes is my favorite, with the Colonel, a close second.
As a child I often ate gizzards, and even–yep–fried chicken feet! How about you? Do you like gizzards? And how about feet? Chicken feet? I suspect you can’t even buy chicken feet anywhere.