Tag Archives: stuff southern people like

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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18. Pick-up Trucks: Tonka Toys for Grownups?

29 Jan

One good thing about living in the South is that you always know at least half a dozen folks with pick-up trucks in case you need to haul something somewhere. Even better, most folks are happy to help. I can’t quite explain the popularity of the pick-up because I figure that about 90% of the time 90% of pick-up drivers aren’t hauling anything anywhere. But then again, you can’t have a proper tailgating party without a tail gate, so maybe that’s reason enough. Besides, it’s hard to outfit a Volkswagon Beetle with a gun rack…

These days, my 5-year-old nephew must be properly strapped in his car seat before we leave the driveway, and I’m all the time reminding my sister that when we were five, we rode around in the back of pick-ups on a fairly regular basis. “Yeah, well, that was then, this is now,” she’ll say like an S.E. Hinton novel.

Driving in the South, you’ll see all sorts of things hauled around in pick-ups: firewood, mattresses, watermelons, four wheelers, dogs, whatever. I once worked for a small town newspaper, and during hunting season, folks would drive up wanting me to take a picture of the dead deer in the back of their truck. They figured it was news. And sadly, the town was small enough that sometimes it was.

The weirdest thing I’ve ever seen hauled in a pick-up was a dead Holstein. I had to ask myself 1: Where are they taking a dead dairy cow? And 2: How’d they get it into the back of that pick-up? I still have no answers…

Do you drive a truck? What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever had the occasion to haul?

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17. Air Conditioning: Don’t Stay Home in August without It

29 Jan

Folks back home are shocked to hear that I (along with most folks and businesses in Seattle) do not have air conditioning. The horror! The horror!

The thing is, Seattle gets unbearably hot for about two or three days a year, but in many parts of the South, the heat starts up in April and sticks around till October. (One of the reasons I love the state fair so much is that it almost always marks the transition into cooler temperatures. Hence the term “fair weather.”)

I am truly a child of the late 20th century and cannot even fathom how folks in the South could tolerate summers without air conditioning. Wearing hoop skirts and petticoats! Heck, I can’t even fathom how folks today go outside in business suits and/or pantyhose anytime after May. (A good argument for self-employment if I’ve ever heard one.)

Southern folks are not known for moving at a particularly rapid pace, but perhaps you’ve never seen them in the summer. It’s always a mad dash from the comfort of an air-conditioned car to the safety of an air-conditioned house. And by “safety” I mean safety. People die out there in the heat. Or wish they would.

One summer I was at my parents’ house when the air conditioner went on the blink. Within minutes, my mom and I were packed and headed to the family’s cabin on the Pearl River. Normally, I wouldn’t be all that enthused about spending time in the cabin, but that day we couldn’t get there quickly enough.

For the first few hours there, my mom and I lay on the bed underneath the air conditioner reveling in the glory of an icy cool breeze. I only wish I’d known at the time how precious that moment was. I’d be willing to endure any number of summers in the South if my mom were there with me. I’d love to hear her just one more time say, “It’s hotter than HELL!” (pronounced “Hey-You’ll.”)

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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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15. Shotguns: For Weddings and Whatnot

12 Jan

While the back window Confederate flag isn’t quite so prevalent these days, it seems that plenty of Southern folks’ pickup trucks are still equipped with gun racks. It’s not often you see a Dixie dweller charged with “carrying a concealed weapon.” In fact, you’ll be informed by bumper sticker which pickups are “protected by Smith & Wesson.”

Why all the shotguns? For one thing, one must be prepared at all times to bag a 10-point buck. And you never know when one will appear in the driveway. This is not hyperbole, people. I’ve seen it happen. Ok, I’ve never actually seen it happen, but I did hear it happen right outside my parent’s house.

While many Southern people enjoy shooting wildlife, many just enjoy shooting in general. Not a Christmas goes by without the men in my family outside trying out their new weaponry. Although I think my dad’s become a bit gun shy since shooting a hole in his dresser years ago.

My most unsettling run in with a shotgun took place when my sister and I were driving to our annual Christmas party. We took a wrong turn in the backwoods and were greeted by two gentlemen packing heat. They asked where we were going and we said, “Uh…Scott’s house?” They said, “Scott Williams?” (This was our first time meeting my friend Karen’s then-boyfriend, now-husband, and we had no idea what his last name was.) We said, “Uh…yeah?” Then they told us which way to go, but never did loosen their grip on said shotguns.

Every Christmas night, we go back to Karen & Scott’s place and are VERY careful not to steer off course. Something tells me those guys don’t believe in second chances.

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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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13. Big Ass Churches (With Comfortable Pews)

12 Jan

My sister lives in Memphis, which features the largest concentration of megachurches in the known world. All the world I’ve known, anyhow. It’s the rodeo-champ style buckle on the Bible Belt.

There’s one that’s got so many bells, whistles, and jumbotrons, my sister’s husband, Shawn, dubbed it “Six Flags Over Jesus.” Of course, after a visit to their church, I figure they ought to be pocketing those stones.

If a church has three or more of the following, you’ll know there’s too much “junk in the trunk:”

1. Parking lot attendants. Bonus points for trams.

2. Nosebleed seats in the sanctuary.

3. Coffee bar.

4. Cupholders.

5. Jumbotron.

6. Basketball court.

7. Ferris wheel.

8. Map.

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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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11. Perms: Not Just for the 80’s Anymore

7 Jan

While we’re on the subject of bad hair days, I might as well tackle the topic of perms. There was a time when perms were popular all across the U.S. (I believe it fell somewhere in between Bo Derek cornrows and the “Rachel” do.) Perms have generally fallen out of favor, as such things do. However, Southern women can be loathe to break a tradition, no matter how bad it may be.

I, myself, have never had a perm. Not that I think I’m above following trends. (I wore banana clips just like everybody else.) I just never needed one seeing as I have naturally curly hair. My curls and I have only been on friendly terms for the last two decades (since I discovered that growing them out saves me from being serenaded with the Monchichi song). In retrospect, I am grateful that a stray wavy hair gene saved me copious trips to the hairdresser.

From what I understand, perms are an exercise in masochism. You sit in the stylist’s chair for hours while your hair is rolled onto about 512 curlers then doused in foul-smelling chemicals. I’ve heard you have to leave in the stinky glop for at least a day or so. (At least that was the explanation I was given upon commenting on a friend’s odiferous head.)

Maybe perms have gotten more sophisticated over the years, but people still go in wanting to look like Debra Messing and come out looking like Richard Simmons.

After a lifetime of managing curly hair, I can’t understand why somebody would CHOOSE to deal with frizz. Oh, sure, curls are spunky and whatnot, but I’ve yet to meet a curly-haired person (real or fake) who didn’t suffer from the finger-in-light-socket look from time to time. Which is why I have a fairly large collection of hats. Though you will not find a baseball cap in the bunch.

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10. Baseball Caps: The Southern Man’s Toupee

7 Jan

As a general rule, Southerners greatly prefer football to baseball, so what’s with the proliferation of baseball caps? Heck, Southerners wear baseball caps that promote FOOTBALL teams.

Ok, people, contrary to popular belief, there is no hairstyle that can be improved with the addition of a baseball cap. Especially when you consider that you have to take the cap off at some point, and then you’re left with the dreaded hat head. Y’all know what I’m talking about.

Note to women folks: If you wear a baseball cap when you’re having a bad hair day, you will end up with a much worse hair day tomorrow. Ok, maybe not if you’re one of those folks who washes their hair EVERY day, but who has that kind of time?

Southern guys start off wearing baseball caps in high school, but you’ll see them more and more frequently as hairlines begin receding. It’s a vicious circle: you wear a baseball cap, which causes you to lose hair, so you wear caps more frequently, which causes you to lose more hair. In short, I consider the baseball cap to be the Southern man’s toupee. Which works out well seeing as even the spiffiest rug can’t promote your college football team.

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