Tongue and Brain
- Tongue and Brain
Fueled by a “Waste not, want not” ethos,it was the year of Mom’s foray into cheap cutsand organ meats. A kid, even I knew the tonguehad come from a sizable animal since the hunk of meat
was, well, sizable. I imagined its owner a gentle bullgrazing contentedly like Ferdinand, which made meincreasingly squeamish, especially since it stared at me—yeah I know, no eyes—but it was staring at me,
the large taste buds that had once exploded with animalgourmet pleasure now only a sad gray mass of bumps,testament to its all-too-short bovine existence, its lifeof sweet grass and tender clover gone. At that point
Mom plopped the tongue into a pot of boiling waterseasoned with whatever herbs and spices had beenrecommended in Joy of Cooking or some otherculinary classic. Once cooled, Mom sliced off the root,
root as in the place it had been attached or rooted tothe animal, and then she skinned it, cutting off its thick,ghostly-white so-called skin—Alien leather, I thought.I began to see my mother in a new light as she hummed
“Moon River” and sliced the tongue, fanning the piecesout onto a serving platter accompanied by little dishesof mustard and horseradish sauce. The plated meatnow in no way resembled a tongue, and although [End Page 180]
the thought of my tongue passing over or in any waytouching an animal’s tongue was disturbing, the flavorwas beefy and succulent. Mom’s next effort was brain,boiled. Boiling was big during this era. Presented au naturel—
a large cerebral mass in the middle of the dining room table—we gathered and stared in silent horror. No one wantedto be discouraging or negative. Mom had toutedthe importance of new experiences, of being open to them.
The silence in the room took on epic proportionswhich are the proportions of a large animal. We heldour breath. The convolutions of sickly grayish tissuehad become a dare. Mesmerized, we waited to see her
make the first cut. She took up the carving knife,we leaned in. A long pause. Meekly, she put it downand, clearing her throat, whispered, “Somehow,I just didn’t expect it to look like a brain.” [End Page 181]
mary jo firth gillett’s Soluble Fish won the Crab Orchard Series in Poetry First Book Award. She also has four prize-winning poetry chapbooks. Her poems have appeared in New Ohio Review, Salamander, and Southern Poetry Review.
