The summer picnic gave the ladies a chance to show off their baking hands. On the barbeque pit, chickens and spareribs sputtered in their own fat and a sauce whose recipe was guarded in the family like a scandalous affair. Next to fried food, the South has suffered most from oratory. When the taste changes with every bite and the last bite tastes as good as the first, that's Cajun. Paul Prudhomme True grits, more grits, fish, grits, and collards.
Life is good where grits are swallered.
Gin with a wad of cotton in it. What you need for breakfast, they say in East Tennessee, is a jug of good corn liquor, a thick steak and a hound dog. Then you feed the steak to the dog. The tragedy of the redneck is that he chose the wrong enemy. Yes, charisma is the middle name of scads of Southern cads.