Tuesday, December 4, 2007

You Want Fries with That?

Why yes, I am from Dixie. Since I grew up on the Gulf Coast of Texas, many people would contest that point under the foolish belief that the swamps of my childhood are not a part of the South. Let us examine these salient facts:

My aunt, blessed with the romantic and lovely name Marguerite, was always addressed as “Sister” by everyone in my family.

The high school I went to? Robert E. Lee. The band in which I played such a miserable tuba entered every home football game to the toe-tapping tunes of a minstrel show, playing “Come Down to the Levee,” “Waitin’ on the Robert E. Lee” and “Are You from Dixie?” I only missed by a few years the horrifying fate of performing in uniforms modeled on those worn by soldiers in the Confederate army.

I regard fried foods with a side of gravy as an essential food group.

And that’s really the point here, not my exasperated, conflicted emotions about life in the South, but about trying to overcome a lifetime of heart clogging menus to help R Man and me start eating in a more healthy way. I have always cooked the same way my sainted mother did, convinced that there is no food product some mayonnaise cannot help. So now when we have baked salmon on a bed of lentils, I still look around for the tarter sauce.

Still, I’m getting better. Since R Man’s operation, we have been terribly virtuous about cutting back on the fat, with nonfat sour cream and fat free butter substitute and no deviled eggs and braised ribs for Sunday dinner, no way. You know what? It’s not bad, it’s just different. And soon my little arteries are going to be singing. I just know it.


  1. Glad you're back to blogging, bitch! The internet is far too quiet without you.

    This post reminded me that when I was a Cub Scout (all in all, a traumatic experience), one of the things we did was put on a minstrel show! That's right, our faces were blackened with burnt cork, and we shuffled around singing "Old Black Joe". Ah, the 1960s...so much like the 1860s.

  2. After all that, I think your arteries will be singing
    "I wish I was in Dixie"

    The land of tartar sauce and lard.....where mayonnaise drips from the moss.

    Look away....look away...

  3. Sorry, I can't hear you, I have a carrot in my ear.

  4. Pay attention to Tante next time she's in the kitchen, waxing poetic about brussels sprouts. In return, she promises not to tempt you with Cowgirl Creamery.

  5. My kin are from the country-club, debutante South (in North Carolina) and would have said Texas isn't in the South, if they hadn't been so busy drinking themselves blind. I'd much rather come from your South than mine.

    And I do like my collard greens cooked with a little fat back or bacon, and my rice with a little (just a touch more please) gravy. Sigh. Middle age is a bitch

  6. Mr. Peenee.....You by chance didn't grow up in Baytown Texas did you?

    Your REL sounds alot like MY REL. Graduated class of '80 and couldn't get out of there fast enough!

    Remember Mr. Forque?

  7. omigod, honey, of course it was Baytown. I grew up in Brownwood, on Bayshore Dr. And of course I remember Forque, the goddam nazi. The bane of my youth.

    As for escaping, the organizers of my high school reunion sent out a questionnaire that inlcuded "High point since graduating?" I replied "Got out of Baytown." and then had to face the astonishing number of fellow alumni who still live there. Eek.

  8. LOL...too funny!
    I knew from your description it HAD to be Baytown. I too packed my car the day I graduated and never looked back. I grew up in Roseland Oaks.
    FYI...my friends and I started the rumor about Forque being a pedophile (who KNEW it was true). Asshat literally disappeared under cover of midnight. I wasn't ever invited to my reunions...I wonder why?


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