There is no denying that our food in the south is like no other. Clay and I have traveled the world over, well, we've been a lot of places and there is seldom a comparison. In fact, there is usually a bit of a letdown. This past week some of my girlfriends and I took a trip to the beach and only ate out one time. We had brought our own food and decided the next trip we may not eat out at all. It was a hurry up and wait situation with overpriced food that was not as good as the garden-grown tomatoes waiting for us back at the condo.
I guess we do not have the healthiest diets at times, but we do know how to slow cook a roast, fry up a chicken, cook down some greens, and grow fresh vegetables that have yet to lose their sweetness. Many people in other regions believe us to be a bit deranged, popping the heads off shelled creatures and pinching out the meat that was boiled alive in spices and seasonings. Put that way, it sounds archaic, but makes the mouth water come March.
I have written on this topic several times over the years because food is a primary part of our daily lives. And as every wife and mother strives to carry on these traditions, they also work to keep a healthy balance of not too much gravy or fried food. Not too much salt or pepper. Not too many carbs without healthy greens. But one thing was said to me recently that shot me back to the dinner table of my youth with a tradition that carries on to this day.
I was sitting with a friend over in St. Francisville. She is almost a couple of decades my senior, yet our friendship has lasted longer than two decades, and we share many things in common. As we ate fried fish with homemade tarter sauce and chomped on maque choux, she commented on the need for some bread. As refined as she is, she scoffed at the idea of using a knife to move her food around with her fork.
Yes! We sop in the south! The glorious tradition of enjoying the last of the married flavors left on the plate. All those juicy bites pushed around can only be topped off with those last bites of cornbread or a sweet roll soaking up the last morsels of goodness. And we do this with no shame because it is far ruder to pass on the last and best part of the meal.
I remember as a child sitting down at the dinner table each night to a spread of southern foods. There was meat, a starch, and one or two vegetables. And amid it all was a small saucer with a stack of white bread. We sat straight in our chairs. We said the blessing that was short and sweet. We didn't put our feet in the chair or our elbows on the table. There was a cloth napkin because paper products were wasteful. We passed around the dishes. And as the meal came near its end, the bread was used to wipe up any last evidence the food was even there.
I had never even thought about this southern way of dining until that comment was made and this weekend with my girlfriends, we broke the French bread and enjoyed the last of Tamara's homemade lasagna. We sopped up the last of her flavorful red gravy as we laughed over past memories and current memories in the making. And many of those from other regions would likely balk as greatly as they would watching us pinch the tail off a shrunken lobster! But hey, Southerners were not the first to "break bread." I never read in biblical times where they sopped up their food with it once broken but leave it to the south to make traditions collide with being resourceful and efficient.
