When I was a young girl living in Greenfield, Wisconsin, my mother used to make a beef dish that had a particular cut of meat with a bone. The meat, when slowly roasted in the oven, would create a rich, savory and delicious bone marrow. The only problem was that the marrow was very small – only a bite; definitely not enough to share amongst a family of six.
As a result, my mother would keep track of whose turn it was to have the marrow next time she made the dish, between me and my three older sisters. We were always elated when it was our turn, and admittedly, just a tad envious of the other sister, when it wasn’t.
