Southern Comfort

My family tries to get together at my parents' house for dinner once a week. No big productions, just a chance to see one another and catch up. Sometimes dinner is simply ordering a couple of pizzas, but this week we were in for a surprise.

When I walked through the door, I was greeted by the smell of frying okra. I knew good things were to come! You see, although we live in Nebraska now, my parents are from Tennessee. Lucky for us, they brought along some of their Southern cooking heritage. We grew up eating cornbread, grits, black eyed peas, and fried okra and squash.

My great grandmother ('Alabama Grandma', as we called her) had a huge garden that she worked by hand. I remember hearing stories of shelling peas and snapping beans on the porch, sweltering days spent canning in a house without AC, and the big bonnets and aprons she wore while spending hours in the sun, working in the garden.

Every once in awhile my older sister and I will try to rehash all the memories we have of her and her home, consulting our parents about things that are fuzzy. I feel very attached to this woman I only met a few times as a young child, and I always think of her when I'm in my garden or eating a good, Southern meal.

And on Sunday, I was treated to such a meal.

My parents made pinto beans with pork (and some without pork, for me), biscuits, mashed potatoes, and fried okra. These were served with slices of fresh tomato, pieces of raw onion, chow-chow relish, and honey (for the biscuits.) And to wash it down, none other than sweet tea. Divine.