Tag Archives: eating

23. Sonic: In-Car Dining at its Finest

8 Feb

I I once had a friend in California who was telling me about this magical, mystical place she was planning to visit with her daughter: “You park your car, and they bring the food out, and you eat in the car.”

Me: “What? Sonic?”

For the uninitiated, perhaps Sonic offers a certain nostalgic charm. Kind of like you’re an extra on the set of “American Graffiti,” without all that god-awful 50s music. But, me, I’ve been going to Sonic since before I’d even heard of “Happy Days,” so the novelty has long since worn off. I mean, they don’t even come out on roller skates anymore. Still, I must admit, it’s hard to visit the South without stopping by Sonic at least once. Although my visits have been far less frequent now that they’ve done away with the Frito Pie.

Truth be told, Sonic’s food isn’t all that special. But the drinks…Hoo boy! First off, all the fountain drinks are served with crushed ice. And not the kind of half-assed crushed ice you get out of a side-by-side refrigerator. Sonic’s ice is about half way to sno-cone consistency.

Next up: flavors. They claim to feature 168,894 possible flavor combinations, but I imagine about 168,794 of them would be pretty nasty (Lemon/chocolate root beer? Orange/grape Dr. Pepper?). Still. They’ve got all manner of limeades, slushes, flavored teas, coffee drinks, and smoothies. Plus, they’ve got a bunch of flavors you can add to soft drinks (known generically as Cokes throughout the South. As in…Q: “What kind of Coke do you want?” A: “Sprite.”). I am partial to Coke with vanilla flavoring, in case you’re wondering what to order for me.

They’ve also got some pretty tasty shakes, although I don’t consider shakes a “drink” so much as a “dessert.” Save room. I’ve yet to try one of their floats or Creamslush® concoctions, but I’m adding that to my list of adventures to have.

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19. Frito Pie: Easy, Delicious & Low-Cal (2 out of 3 ain’t Bad)

29 Jan

It’s no secret that Southern folks are fond of casseroles, preferably those involving cream of something soup, but there’s one Southern delicacy y’all yankee types might have missed out on: Frito Pie.

Frito Pie doesn’t have a crust, and you won’t encounter any Cool Whip (one hopes), so I’m not sure how it came to be known as “pie.” (But then my mom’s cranberry “salad” features not one item commonly found in a garden, so I figure Southern recipe names are sort of arbitrary.)

Do not be tricked into accepting a soggy substitute such as “Doritos Casserole” or “Tostitos Stuffing.” Frito Pie can only be made with the crunch-retaining magic of Fritos. I must admit, it was a sad day when I discovered Sonic no longer traffics in Frito Pies. Chili-cheese tater tots will suffice in a pinch, but they lack a certain something. Namely Fritos.

Since you’re unlikely to encounter Frito Pie east of Texas or north of Tennessee, I’ll give you the basic recipe:

Frito Pie

Some chili

A bag of Fritos

Tons of cheese

Put the Fritos in a casserole dish. Top with chili and cheese. Bake at 350 degrees till nice and bubbly.

You could also add ground beef, onions, and jalapenos if you wanted to be extra fancy.

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16. Catfish (The “Deep-Fried” is Implied)

29 Jan

Ok, a lot of these posts feature food (or drink), and I reckon you can guess why: We Southerners loves us some food. Hey, Mississippi didn’t get to be the fattest state in the US for nothing!

So while folks here in Seattle are swooning over salmon, my peeps back home are loyal to the good old-fashioned fried catfish. With hushpuppies (which one of my Seattle friends mistakenly called “puff daddies.” Of course, the name stuck).

Though I now regularly buy organic produce and “hippie eggs,” I’m still of the opinion that farm-raised catfish is the way to go. Sure, maybe wild catfish live happier lives, but they are notorious bottom feeders. For me, eating free-range catfish would be akin to munching on a fried vulture. Ick. As an aside, when I lived in LA, I was extolling the virtues of farm-raised catfish to a work friend who said, “Farm-raised? I thought it was a fish!”

There’s a reason I’m writing this blog, people.

Now if you happen to be in the South and are itching to try some catfish, I recommend Jerry’s in Florence, MS. Not necessarily because it’s the best, but because it may be the one and only place you’ll eat catfish in an igloo. Yes, I said igloo.

Jerry's Fish House, Florence, MS

It’s been a long time since I’ve been there, and I can’t really remember whether the catfish or hushpuppies are anything special. But it’s one of few places where I, an avowed fish hater, will actually eat fish.

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14. Cornbread, Baked in Cast Iron the Way God Intended

12 Jan

If you’ve never lived in the South, chances are you’ve never eaten cornbread. Maybe you’ve ordered “cornbread” at a barbeque joint or some Southern-style restaurant, but nine times out of ten, you’ll get something that ought to be called “corncake.”

On line for dinner at a writers conference years ago, I noticed they were serving sweet cornbread. (And, yes, you can tell the difference just by looking at it.) The girl in front of me said, “that’s not cornbread; that’s YANKEE PONE.” And that’s what I’ve called it ever since.

When I was little, my mom made cornbread in a special pan so that it looked like little sticks of corn. Later, she moved on to the simpler cast iron skillet. This made the cornbread easier to butter, but the sticks were just so cute. However, neither of these iterations of cornbread contained a single teaspoon of sugar. And they were both made with self-rising white cornmeal, which I’ve yet to find outside the South.

My mom was never one to use a recipe when it came to making bread-like items, namely biscuits and cornbread. The one time she did follow a recipe – a three page one for my aunt tommie’s croissants – she swore she would never do it again. Her croissants were flat as folks used to think the earth was, but still they tasted pretty good.

I tried watching my mom to see if I could duplicate her recipes, and imagine my surprise upon finding that the secret ingredient to cornbread is bacon grease. (And people wonder why I’m leery of bringing my vegetarian with vegan tendencies boyfriend home with me.) Not only are all the vegetables seasoned with meat, turns out the bread is too.

Over the years, I’ve developed an appreciation for what passes as cornbread around these parts. Especially the mix they sell at Trader Joe’s. Though now that I have publicly declared this, they will probably discontinue the product. Still, no matter how yummy sweet cornbread can be, it just doesn’t go with chicken ‘n dumplings. Which I suppose is irrelevant considering how rarely one stumbles across chicken ‘n dumplings in the Pacific Northwest.

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12. Pigs–As Food, Not Pets

7 Jan

Oh, Pig, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my fork can reach…

I love thy ribs…thy chops…thy loin…thy, uh, bacon…

Yes, folks, Southern people love pig, but you’re not likely to find anybody sharing his couch with one of those potbelly pets. It would tend to distract from the pleasure of gnawing on a rack of barbequed baby backs.

Oh, sure, we’ll eat a hamburger, and no Southerner is going to turn down fried chicken, but pig is our preferred white meat.

Pulled pork sandwiches. BLTs. Honey Baked hams. Fried pork chops. Sausage gravy. Roasted tenderloin. Canadian bacon pizza. Yeah, we love Babe, but we’d love him better on a plate next to some mac and cheese.

Cut any part off a pig and there is some brave Southerner out there who will eat it: pickled pig’s feet…hog jowls…chitlins (a.k.a. intestines). Dry out the ears and toss them to the dog, then mash up whatever’s left and call it Spam. Oh, I almost forgot: fry up bits of skin and sell it at 7-11. Yes, people, pork rinds are actually pork…rinds.

Hey, do I smell bacon? Gotta run.

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5. Pecans: Don’t Make Brownies Without Them

17 Sep

First off, let’s discuss pronunciation. The word is “puh-CON,” not “pee-CAN.” Yes, there are a few rogue Southerners (Paula Deen included), who insist on “pee-CAN,” but the rest of us say “puh-CON.” Conversely, nearly everybody above the Mason-Dixon says “pee-CAN,” and I, for one, cringe when I hear it said thusly. (Not quite as bad as hearing Biloxi pronounced “Bee-LOX-ee” but close. Also, for the record, it’s “PRAW-leen” not “PRAY-leen.” Ok, enough with my digression, I could go on all day.)

If a Southerner is baking, you can be sure there’s a heap of pecans somewhere nearby. Brownies? Add pecans. Chocolate chip cookies? Add pecans. Rum cake? Add pecans. (And some extra rum for our Baptist friends.)

How my sister and I both wound up with pecan-hating men, I will never know. (Neither of them is Southern, which might be a clue.) This makes baking an exercise in frustration. Everything has to be half nutty, half not. And when they fail to go through desserts as quickly as we do, we’re left with nutless brownies. I can’t think of anything sadder.

Anytime anybody commenced to baking anything, my beloved late mother would always say, “You have to toast the pecans first.” As if we’d forget. She believed that anyone who didn’t like pecans just hadn’t had them properly toasted. Man, how I wish that were the case.

What’s your favorite pecan-laden treat?

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