I used to think that when I grew up, I’d be a butcher. I had no interest in running a store nor providing any kind practical service, but I liked that food as a raw material, when turned into a prepared meal, could be transformed into almost anything. I would prepare meals with my mother, the jobs that my sister thought too gross to touch. Working together, I learned how to remove a turkey gizzard, how to prepare liver, how to clean a squid, about shrimp paste and fish sauce. This stuff is honest even in its pieces. These pieces, even when dissected from the whole, connote something too important to be politely omitted.