Back to my Southern roots

I did something today that I never do when my husband is around......I fried a batch of okra.

I don't know why Mark doesn't like okra, maybe its for the same reason that he doesn't like grits or chicken fried steak, which are dishes native to America's southern states. I suppose that in itself rubs against the grain of his roast chicken, potatoes and two veg, English upbringing. Whatever.......

Okra was a popular dish in my household when I was growing up due to the large vegetable garden which my dad planted every year. Although we ate it every way imaginable: fried, with or without tomatoes, poached in milk or pickled in a brine, my favorite variety was always dredged in a flour/cornmeal mixture and fried with tomatoes and onions straight from the garden. It was my vision of nirvana, xanadu and manna from heaven, all rolled into one.

My particular reasons, for being totally selfish and indulging myself, was due to the simple fact that yesterday I'd just picked up fresh, organic okra, tomatoes and onions at our bi-weekly market, and Mark was out of town on business so................ need I say more?

I saw a program on television not long ago that featured "real people" confessing as to what they ate when they were alone. They revealed gut-busting combos of banana and mayonaise sandwiches on (gasp) white bread or mac and cheese mixed with tomatoes and sliced weiners. My own father had a famous concoction of tinned okra, pickles and mayonaise, which he ate until he was advised that his sodium levels were out of control and he was forced to give it up. He was also well known for drowning his peach cobbler in milk, which I always believed that he did merely for the gross-out factor, while my sister and I sat gagging nearby.

Back in my "bad old days", even I could be found eating mustard and white bread sandwiches or bowls of cereal laced with a handful of chocolate chips or M&Ms. Nowadays, my guilty pleasures consist of whatever fresh, colorful vegetables that I have available, mixed with brown rice or quinoa and topped with a handful of rehydrated arame seaweed, maybe an avocado, a squeeze of lemon and a drizzle of olive oil. I think that I may sometimes do this for the gross-out factor as well, just because I like to see Mark screw up his face when he sees some of my masterpieces.






Mike and Emily's organic produce stand.


The only down side to letting me loose in the kitchen to do my own cooking (when the chef is away) is the occasional mishap involving frying pans and smoke alarms. Take today for instance. I let the pan get a little too hot with just a teensy drizzle of olive oil and soon the apartment was billowing with smoke. I quickly tossed the pan outside, turned down the a/c, cranked up the ceiling fans and opened all the doors and windows to a blast of mid-90 degree heat. Maybe that's what they mean by going from the frying pan, into the fire!