“I’ve never seen those in a sink before.”

or: Having a ball on the 4^th!

Two weeks ago we headed to my in-laws’ house for the 4^th of July celebrations.  While hanging out in the kitchen I walked by the sink and was captivated by a marbled, bloody mess, encased in a long plastic tube, defrosting in the sink. 

What was it, my dear friends?

Don’t you wanna guess?

Here goes: what kind of meat (and I use that term loosely) does my father-in-law (the large animal vet) have at his disposal?  What does my father-in-law usually toss into a dirty bucket after working cattle?  Hint: no need to drive to the Prairie Nut Hut for dinner (that is an actual restaurant’s name; I kid you not).

You got it: TESTICLES.  Steer (bull?) testicles.

Even as I type the word I giggle.

Someone known as Shawn (or was it Seth?) thought it’d be fun to eat mountain oysters on the 4^th of July.

Shawn prepared the testes for dinner.  He cleaned them and sliced them and coated them in batter.  And I got pictures of the bloody mess—but right now they’re on my camera and we cannot find the cord that connects the camera to the computer—so imagine white balls being sliced thin and then being laid on a platter.

As Ang pointed out, shouldn’t BOYS especially have a problem with eating testicles for dinner?  YES.  THEY SHOULD.

I laughed and carried on like a teenager, grossed out that mountain oysters were on the menu.  Seth smartly pointed out that the balls were the freshest thing in the kitchen.  Which was probably true.  All of it—the fruit, the eggs, the milk—were much older than those testicles that had been cut from the steers a mere day or two earlier, but no matter how far I try to pull my family closer to a diet of fresh, unprocessed foods, I will not put TESTICLES on their dinner plate.

Outside, Shane fired up the deep fat fryer.  The calf nuts were dropped in and cooked and taken out, then offered to the children.  Yes, they were offered to the sweet, innocent and pure children.  Who were not told that they were eating bull (steer?) testicles.  Because they are sweet and innocent and pure and don’t need to know about such things as reproductive organs, but until they know what they are eating, I will keep the calf fries from my kids.  Of course G asked for one.  “Mom, I want a chicken nugget-thing like Penner.”  I looked at him and shook my head like Out of the question.  He didn’t deserve such a stern reproach, but I figure he’ll love me in 10 years when he can point and laugh at his cousins and tease them for eating bovine gonads (he’ll be older then and have an exquisite vocabulary).

Hubby and I were (I think) the only ones who didn’t try them out.  The other sisters-in-law were much more adventurous than me.  Shawn and Shane cooked them, and they are both wonderful chefs, but no matter how great they can prepare a food, I couldn’t try the mountain oysters.

Later that night, after all the food was cleaned up and the fireworks were finished, the prairie nuts lay unceremoniously in a bowl in the mud room.  Because, as Hubby says, nothing is better than a room-temperature steer (bull?) testicle.