As a child, I learned to love the succulence of a marrow bone. They were a rare treat, usually only one at a time with whatever piece of meat was being served, but easy to obtain at the local butcher’s. I don’t think I’ve seen a decent one for 50 years or so.
Later, at college, I learned wisdom at the hand of Rabelais who admonished his readers, “Il faut rompre l’os et sucer la substantifique moelle” (one must break the bone and suck the substantial marrow.) From this I took that wisdom is never found on the surface; particularly true today with so much disinformation and misinformation hurtling around the internet. Anything worth knowing is worth researching to its core, if one wishes to judge its relative merits in the endless ocean of encyclopedic knowledge.
It’s a good lesson. But I still miss a succulent, greasy marrow bone, always saved until last.
The Old Wolf has spoken.
My mother loved them, too. (Probably still does. I haven’t asked.) I thought they looked gross and disgusting then, but I love them now!