Okra is a wonderful food and a direct link to my childhood. My mother cooked it all the time -- boiled, in soups, in salads. But the very best was sliced, mixed with egg. corn meal, chopped onion, black pepper, and fried to a lovely golden brown.
It was just wonderful! I ate the whole thing myself, which was a good thing because I could not get anyone else at the table to try it. It brought back summer vacation in Texas, where all the adults sat on the porches drinking whatever they were drinking (and it wasn't iced tea) while we kids played in the streets until midnight. Dinner was some meat or BBQ and at least a thousand sides. For some strange reason, what sticks in my memories are not the june bugs and chiggers, not the humidity and the incredible heat, not the tornados. What I call to mind are the food and the music.
This digression was prompted by Chocolate and Raspberries latest post. It is sad and maddening that we live in this incredible, cosmopolitan area, with people and languages, and accents from all over the world. BUT if you have a Southern accent, you are automatically classed as a mentally incompetent redneck from the lowest slime layer in the pond.
Makes me so mad I want to mount a gun rack on the back my truck.