The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly have an agreement as ironclad as any legal document in the world court. Simply put, the contract is as follows: I will eat broccoli when she eats liver. I'm on pretty good ground here because I know she abhors liver and will not allow me bringing it into our domicile in any form.

In fact, if I consume any liver I'm sometimes not allowed home until it has completely gone through my system, which can take up to three days depending on my physical condition at the time.

With this in mind, I had a vicious attack of liveritis last week and needed a fix of nicely fried chicken livers. Whenever such a malady assaults me, there is only one thing for me to do, and I know what it is.

I head for the Slurp