The liver that wanted to be the king's dinner

When the king came to visit the city slaughterhouse, he was greeted by the butcher himself and shown around. Peter the liver-boy hung over the edge of the liver-tray and watched the king as he admired the filets, the entrecote, the chops, the rib, the ham and all the other pieces of meat. Finally the king came to the liver-tray. The butcher lifted Peter up in front of the kings face. "And here," the butcher said, "we have a first rate liver rich in iron and minerals."

Peter the liver-boy stared at the king's face that had always been so smiling and kind. But now his cheeks had turned pale and he turned away in disgust: "Yuck," he said. "I will never, never, never eat liver." The butcher threw Peter back on the tray, bowed to the king and said: "I'm so sorry, your majesty. I should have known that kings don't eat liver."

As the king and the butcher left the slaughterhouse, laughter filled the place. "The butcher thought the king would eat liver, ha, ha, ha," the chops said, while Peter felt his anger grow inside him. When he thought they had been laughing long enough at his expense he jumped out of the liver-tray. "Just laugh yourselves tender," he shouted. "I'll go to the palace and become the king's dinner tonight."

The meat-peices continued to laugh as Peter left the slaughterhouse, but not so much after he had gone. Peter found it was easier to be tough inside the slaughterhouse, than outside. He walked along the pavement with his back to the walls, hoping nobody would see him. I have to make myself delicious for the king, he thought and started to look for a good sauce.

Suddenly a restaurant door was opened in front of him. A few people came out along with delicious smells of food. Peter ran in after the smells and found himself inside the kitchen. The place was full of busy chefs in wooden shoes, plaid trousers, white jackets with black buttons and tall hats. As soon as Peter's eye fell on a plate with salt and pepper he jumped onto the bench and rolled himself in the spices. Then he jumped into a frying pan with boiling butter and fried himself on both back and stomach.

But as he was ready for a dip in the sauce-bowl the chef came. Also he became angry as his eyes widened and his face grew pale. "What is this? Have I not said that never, never, never will liver be prepared in my kitchen!" Peter rushed from pan to pan until he found the sauce-bowl and dipped into it. The Chef came hurrying after him and plunged his entire arm into it. He squeezed Peter's tummy so hard that he thought he would become paté rather than the king's dinner. Luckily Peter was so slippery after being fried in butter that he popped out of the Chef's tight fist and flew out of an open window. That was a close shave, Peter thought as he landed on the pavement. He got to his feet and headed for the King's palace.

A guard stopped him at the kings door. "Where do you think you are going?" the guard asked. "I'm on my way to the king's dinner-table," Peter replied. "Do you have an invitation?" The guard looked closely at him. "Yes," Peter said. "The King challenged me at the slaughterhouse, and now I have come to prove how tasty I am."

The guard had some sauce on his finger and tasted it. "Mmm, you taste really good," he said and opened the door. Peter entered a big room with mirrors along the walls. At the far end the King sat by the side of a little antique table. Peter straightened up and walked across the room.

"Who are you?" the King asked. "I am liver in sauce," Peter said as ingratiating as he could. "Liver!" the king said and stood up. "That's the most disgusting thing I know of, how do you dare to come here?" Peter swallowed. "I have come to show you that liver is both good and healthy if only you have it well prepared. I'm of good quality, well spiced, fried in butter and dipped in good sauce at the best restaurant in town. Please take a bite."

"You cheeky liver. I'll give you to my dog, that's all liver is good for," the King bellowed, and whistled for his dog. From a basket at the other end of the room, a hairy dog-face emerged. "Mmmm, another stupid liver that wants to be the King's dinner, the dog thought and started to run. Peter almost gave in when he saw the big, hungry dog-mouth approaching. But then he came to think about James the chop, who had become the butchers dinner in another story. Maybe the King would like him to sing a song?

As the dog span and slid on the varnished floor, Peter drew his breath and sang:
"Hey babeluba, she's my liver-baby. She's no chop or entrecote."

The King started to laugh when he heard that. He grabbed the liver-boy just before the dog and put him on his plate. "You are a good singer. Now, let me see if you taste good too," he said and had a mouth-full. The proud and happy liver-boy lay bathed in sauce and watched the King's startled face. He chewed and chewed and licked his lips like a child. "You are really very tasty," he said. "I must tell the butcher to deliver liver at the palace kitchen every Wednesday from now on."

And that's how Peter the liver-boy ended up on the King's dinner-table. If you meet a king some time you can ask him if it isn't right that Kings eat liver on Wednesdays.

© Martin Nygaard