Passing up the other, other white meat

Daleen Berry
Cumberland Times-News

June 15, 2007 10:52 am

— They say you are what you eat.
Okay, I'll buy that. For our culture has become as saturated with fatty oils as the French fries from any of your local fast-food establishments. When I was in Spain two summers ago, I couldn't help but notice that most of the natives were rather trim. Apparently, their primary source of transportation is attached to their bodies, as they seem to travel almost everywhere by foot.
I am not a food junkie. I never have been the type to sit around munching on a bag of chips while watching television in the evenings. (First of all, I'm not really a chip person - unless they're chocolate. Then get out of my way.) Nor am I much of a fried food person. Fried green tomatoes aside, which fulfill one of my regular summer cravings. Nor do I eat much meat. Well, to be more accurate, I don't cook much meat.
While rearing my children, and feeding my family, I cooked from scratch and regularly deboned chicken and used my hands to mix up a meatloaf, or even floured the liver that was supposed to be so chock full of iron that its negative impact on your system could be overlooked. But something has happened to me within the last several years, and it seems to have become a habit.
I'm sure I still could debone a chicken if I had to - but I'd much rather pick up a pack of the frozen skinless, boneless (real cooks would add "flavorless") breasts that make cooking meat these days almost painless. And just last week I made an honest-to-goodness meatloaf, so I would have something for lunch while at work. (Nothing like a good meatloaf sandwich, with mayo.)
But there are just some things I don't think I can eat. Caviar. Oysters. And mountain oysters come near the bottom of the list. That's why, when my farmer daughter called me one warm evening recently, I found myself thinking about wh0at we eat, and why we eat it.
"Guess what I'm doing?" she asked. "I'm cooking mountain oysters."
There was a small pause. "Isn't that ... uh, aren't they?"
"Yes, they are. Bull testicles."
That three-syllable word being the reason I don't know if I could bring myself to prepare - much less eat - the things. For you see, they actually are the male genitals of a young bull.
(Which strikes me as another really good reason not to eat the things - for the poor beast must be castrated to obtain this particular delicacy. How cruel is that, anyway, to deprive the bull of his ability to procreate, while simultaneously surgically altering him forever? Why, I know grown men who have suffered a lifetime of agony - not to mention unrelenting feelings of inadequacy and the need for a trained therapist - for far less painful afflictions!)
After the "oysters" are separated from their owner, you do the usual kitchen prep work - slice, dip in egg, roll in flour and season - and then fry them. "They're a delicacy, you know," she said as she explained the process to me. Even through the telephone wires, I could see her laughing at me.
A quick check on the Internet told me that Rocky Mountain oysters are also called cowboy caviar - among many other interesting names. I also learned that the ancient Romans ate animal genitalia and today, some people consider them an aphrodisiac. Oh yes, and over in Clinton, Mich., they actually hold a Testicle Festival each September to commemorate the loss of the poor bull's manhood. (It really is amazing, the things one can find on the worldwide Web.)
Finally, I learned about a group of courageous men out in Colorado (Indeed, where else?) who evidently have no fear of losing their manhood. Named the Rocky Mountain Oysters Lacrosse Club, they're looking for sponsors to help cover their traveling team's expenses. (Though perhaps not tax-deductible, club members may just throw in one order of edible mountain oysters to go, for each donation they receive.)
But I digress. Getting back to the other, other white meat, my daughter told me that, once fried, they resemble - and even taste - like wild mushrooms, freshly picked in springtime. (A friend in the Midwest says they have a nutty flavor.) They're pretty good, she told me, after relating that she too, had been dubious about their value as a food source. But once she tried them, all doubts evaporated.
But that's her - not me. I have issues with meat. I have issues with fried food. I have issues with eating genitals of any sort. So why on earth would I subject myself to a dish - however delicate it is - that involves all of those things?
Yes, I understand that not everyone's appetite is the same. We would be such a sad lot, if we all had identical tastes, and we would probably become bored with food in short order. Besides, I can eat calamari, I can eat sushi - that's cooked fish, mind you - but mountain oysters are another matter entirely.
For if we are what we eat - and I eat a mountain oyster - then that makes me a testosterone-filled gonad.

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