"That has no place on the table," Phylicia Rashad told me firmly, in that distinct Huxtable Mom voice she is known for.
I was setting the table, or rather, reorganizing the leftovers according to color. There were bowls of yams, cut into wedges like oranges, next to roast beef smothered in cheddar cheese. I was separating the the beef from the yams when Phylica called me out for including a rather large T-bone in the mix.
"I beg to differ," I said, turning over the bone to display the marrow-filled underside. "This guy is a gravy boat. Full of marrow and cheese."
It was true. There was a deep channel of savory marrow, with an outer coating of cheese, a river of rich flavor following the inner contours of the bone. To prove how worthy it was, I scooped out a spoonful of the delicious filling and smacked my lips triumphantly before popping it in my mouth.
"Mmm. Mmm. MMM!" I exclaimed, like Andy Taylor tasting Aunt Bea's gooseberry pie. "That's some mighty fine marrow."
She looked disgusted, and we left it at that. The point was moot. Now that I'd sampled it, it wasn't fit for the table. It was all mine. I guess we both got what we wanted, although I made it clear that in the future, cheese-topped marrow bones would be served along with the rest of the roast.
"As long as you're the one eating them," she said coolly. She always had to get in the last word.
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