I’m not super fond of heights.

Not much of an adventure seeker, either.

So, let’s just say that my camel ride across the Egyptian desert, although very exciting, could be considered WAY out of my comfort zone. Every photo-op required dismounting in order to strike poses alongside each of the Giza Pyramids and Sphinx, after which I had to clamber back up into the saddle of my 7-foot tall camel, who was becoming increasingly agitated with each stop.

Let’s just say that as my journey drew to a close and my adrenaline supply began to wane, I found myself utterly famished. Crazy hungry.

As I climbed back into the car, I turned to my driver, Ahmed, and asked if we could get some lunch. He responded with a slight tone of condescension and suggested, “Would you like Pizza Hut or Kentucky Fried Chicken?”

Now, I’ve made it my sole purpose to fully immerse myself in the local cuisine of every country I’ve been fortunate enough to visit. Having said this, I was highly offended by his hasty generalization of me, causing me to offer up the suggestion that he take me to where all the local people, such as himself, would have lunch.

Seriously, how bad could it be? I was besotted by falafel, baba ganoush, chicken shawarma and any typical middle eastern fare, and would try rabbit or pigeon with no misgivings at all. Maybe some baklava for dessert. Easy peasy.

With a sideways look and a sly grin, Ahmed announced, “Okay, my queen. We shall eat special Egyptian delicacy. I take you to one my favorite restaurants.”

“Sounds perfect, Ahmed. Shukran.” As I fiddled with my phone to check out the vast number of pictures that had been taken during my desert odyssey, our car came to a stop in front of a restaurant and Ahmed signaled that we had arrived at our destination. I glanced up at the entrance of a very small eatery as I exited the car and followed him inside.

As we entered the dining area and took our seats on floor cushions around a low table, we were greeted by a server who brought a bottle of water and a basket of fresh, warm pita bread. He and Ahmed conversed animatedly back and forth, both of them gesturing towards me and laughing. Our waiter gave me a final glance and walked away.

“Will he bring us menus? This bread is delicious but I’m starving and can hardly wait to order.” I said excitedly, to which Ahmed emphatically replied, “This place does not have a menu since it has only one specialty. Camel liver. I ordered a large portion for us to share.”

My insatiable hunger was replaced with an anxious pit in my gut, as I began to frantically navigate how I would make it through the meal. How not to lose face, or my stomach, for that matter.

In a matter of minutes, a sizable platter of shiny, dark brown chunks covered in a gelatinous gravy was placed between us. Ahmed motioned for me to dig in, with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. Standing over his shoulder, in the background, was our waiter and various members of the kitchen staff, all anxiously waiting for me to take that first bite.

As I searched for utensils, Ahmed handed me a pita and instructed me to use it as a sort of scoop for the liver pieces. With all eyes upon me, I dipped my bread in and, pinched a piece between the folds. I popped it in my mouth and chewed the rubbery meat until I could gag it down. Staring at my audience, I proclaimed it very different, yet very delicious.

Now, anyone who knows me will tell you that I don’t have a poker face and that I can’t lie without people knowing, but I must’ve given a stellar performance, since my proclamation caused the sea of onlookers to disperse quickly, leaving me with a somewhat mollified Ahmed, and a big ol’ plate of camel liver for us to share. Which we did. I gave up chewing and basically swallowed 5 more bites before rubbing my belly and feigning satiety.

As we left the restaurant, I noticed a sign with the restaurant’s name emblazoned across it.  The words “The Liver King” appearing alongside a drawing of a camel. It was then that I wondered if I should’ve just taken him up on his offer of a bucket of the Colonel’s Original Recipe with some coleslaw. It certainly would’ve saved me from future gastrointestinal distress….

But then I wouldn’t have such a fun story to tell, right?!