Tripe photo courtesy: Kent Wang – wikimedia.org
After a few days in Ireland, I can’t say I was a fan of the food. The dishes were the same bland English style. I solved my dilemma by finding Indian restaurants where I never saw an Irish person eat. Then I read about a Cork “delicacy.”
Growing up, I hadn’t been a fan of my mother’s cooking. She cooked how most women did back then – no spices and vegetables limp from over boiling. Sometimes she made tripe with white sauce.
Tripe, for those of you who’ve never been as fortunate as me, is the rubbery slimy insides of a sheep’s stomach. I sat for over an hour, every time the dish was served, and refused to eat it, much to my mother’s frustration. While this was a rather sad memory from my childhood, I had to laugh when I read that this very dish was a Cork delicacy, a delicacy I avoided during my stay in the city.
From here to there 
I just can’t eat tripe. My mother cooked it but we all refused to eat it. Fortunately she didn’t insist that we did.
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I couldn’t either but unfortunately because my mother had gone through the depression and couldn’t bear to waste food, it was a battle of her stubbornness against mine.
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