That brings back memories. My mom made gizzards occasionally for me when I was a boy. Liver and onions, too. The joys of growing up a west Texas hayseed. I’d give anything to see her and taste her cooking again, healthy or not.
We weren’t poor, but my parents, like everyone else, struggled during the Depression and carried over some of the habits.
To this day, I love nothing better than a plate of pinto beans and cornbread. As a youngster I went to New Mexico and spent a week with my grandmother. I loved what she fixed me for breakfast. So, when I got back home I asked Mom to make me some.
“What was it,” Mom asked.
“Grandma called mush.”
Mom had a laugh and never made me any mush. LOL