Parting Gift from the South

While living in the Deep South for the last two years I haven't come across too much blatant racism besides the Civil War deniers who claim that the War of Northern Aggression was fought purely over taxation.

The other day movers were at my house taking my stuff away, and one of them asked me if there had been any problems in the neighborhood. I said no and asked him why he was asking. He said he was wondering because he had seen a lot of "colored folks" around my street. I tried to ignore the comment and not engage in conversation.

My co-worker came up with what should have been my response: one of those colored folk is my mother.

And a few minutes later, I could hear the guy talking to another one of the movers saying "colored folk" over and over again.

I suppose it's a good think that this guy didn't realize that I was Jewish. I assume like everyone else down here, he thought I was Italian, and thus, connected.

Red's: The Final Meal

As my time in the south rapidly comes to an end, I put in my final meal at Red's -- my favorite southern comfort food restaurant.

Much of the fun of going to Red's is the drive there -- it's in the middle of no where: 20 miles down a state highway into farm country, then another 5 miles on county roads (so two lane roads, sometimes you go off the GPS map).

By far the best thing they make is their fried corn bread. I'm sure it's like 500 calories a piece, but it's amazing.

A friend bought me their cookbook so I could make the corn bread myself, and I was surprised to find that that secret ingredient is buttermilk, and apparently, buttermilk is used in everything, including fried chicken. Who knew? (everyone but me).