Leapin' Gizzards!

I pride myself on being able to roll with whatever comes up during my travels. My hosts are frequently surprised by my willingness to dive into East African culture. I don’t ask for or expect any special treatment just because I am a guest, and I think they like that. I will eat just about everything put in front of me, no matter how outrageous it might seem to my American sensibilities. I mean I ate grasshoppers for crying out loud! One of my biggest fears is that I inadvertently offend my hosts, which galvanizes me into even higher levels of cultural immersion.

But there is one food I just can’t bring myself to eat, no matter how much I psych myself up for it.

Chicken gizzard.

Now, I know what you must be thinking. “Jo, what an absurdly specific thing! It can’t possibly come up that often that you need to refuse it! Why make such a big deal over a gizzard?”

Here, chicken gizzards are considered a delicacy. When chicken is served, the gizzard is always in the pot, because it proves to those eating that this was a whole chicken before it was cooked. Traditionally, the gizzard is always offered first to the guest of honor, and it humbles me to say that I am almost always the guest of honor. Such is the nature of East African hospitality that the gizzard is usually on my plate before I even have a chance to stammer a polite refusal. I have found that I can usually get out of eating it by insisting that someone else eat it on my behalf. Everyone is always eager to do so because these guys love them some gizzards. Occasionally, I have even seen the priests jokingly argue over who should get to eat it, but in that “I’m-only-pretend-joking-about-this-because-it-would-be-rude-to-outright-demand-it-but-I-actually-really-want-it” kind of way.

Truthfully, I don’t really care who eats it, as long as it’s not me.