My brother decided to help his African-American friend, who was a truly good cook, with his quest for good "soul food." Ron had heard about eating possum....

Tony went out and shot a possum for Ron. Now, Ron is blind, so he directed the preparation and cooking and Tony did the work.

Finally, when the possum was baked and ready to eat, out it came for a festive meal -- all of Ron and Tony's friends came, and, since the feast was prepared and served at our house, so did my mother.

The possum, well, it stank. The taste was definitely different, and it was not a good difference. And it was literally awash in its own grease.

Fortunately, the sweet potatoes and other accompaniments fed everyone. The possum was quietly interred in an unmarked grave.