Metaphorically Speaking

Since I moved to the South 20 years ago, I have eaten things I would never have dreamed of eating, though I've always considered myself to be gastronomically adventurous.

As a teenager, I was a hardcore Francophile and so, in an effort to completely embrace the French culture, I deigned to eat snails at a French restaurant where we journeyed on a field trip. They weren't bad. A little chewy, a little....bouncy. But deliciously seasoned. If I hadn't known I was eating snails, I could have enjoyed it a lot more. As it was, I couldn't get past the idea of eating snails, and thus, it was a singular experience. I did not eat snails when we were actually in France. I did eat cheese that smelled and tasted as if it had been scraped from between the toes of a hobo.

I grew up in Wisconsin and anybody who lives there will tell you that Wisconsinites eat some darn peculiar stuff. One of my father's favorite indulgences is pickled herring. I don't know who came up with the idea to submerge raw, very fishy tasting fish in a substance that could strip the chrome off a Buick, or why people thought it would be a good idea to then eat it. But it is quite the delicacy. The store shelves are bursting with it during Christmas and New Year's.

Headcheese. Now there's a concept. Boil a head. Eat the resultant gelatinous mass. Re-volting.

Braunshweiger. As a child I thought this was possibly the most disgusting things I had ever been made to eat, with the exception of peas and tongue. I still can't stomach peas or tongue, but surprisingly, I quite like the taste of Braunschweiger as an adult. I don't know if I would slather it on bread and make a meal of it, but spread thinly on a Ritz, it's amazingly palatable.

As long as I can remember, my parents have hosted a New Years Eve party. And for as long as I can remember, someone has brought cannibal sandwiches. For those not in the know, cannibal sandwiches are sort of like steak tartare, Wisconsin style. It's simply raw seasoned ground sirloin, usually served on rye bread, and topped with sliced onions.

It's amazing what people will consume based on the regional availability.

I've eaten Crawfish. Once. If you don't know, the way to eat Crawfish (which are amazingly ugly creatures) is to boil them whole, crack them in half and then suck the offal out of them.

I've eaten squid and enjoyed it, although admittedly, that was before I was given to understand that "Calamari" was in fact, deep fried tentacles. Again, the taste was eclipsed by the concept.

But in the deep South, there are culinary practices that really make no sense whatsoever, particularly since they are widely regarded as gastronomically delightful.

Collard greens, which are usually cooked until they are the consistency of papier mache, taste like feet. I don't care how much fatback you put in there. Giblet gravy looks and tastes like organ flavored snot. In the truest sense of the word, I don't think it really even qualifies as gravy. Cornbread dressing has the texture of sand. Boiled peanuts are simultaneously slimy and mushy and they taste like dirt. Pork skins...I don't even understand why someone would do that to skin. Chitlins (hog stomach and intestines) are quite beyond my ability to contemplate as a foodstuff as are pig's feet and hog jowls. And I'm mystified by the belief that anything can be improved by the liberal application of Barbecue (BBQ, Bar-B-Que) sauce.

But, there is one dish that I have been able to fully appreciate and indeed, form a profound fondness for. I even learned to prepare it myself, which is really saying something since usually, I eschew recipes that don't involve Cambell's soup and/or breadcrumbs. I loathe cooking.

What is this culinary wonder? It is the fried green tomato.

The crisp tartness of the early tomato combined with the delicate flakiness of the breading is a contrast that is delightful and delicious. Unfortunately they are, frankly, a huge pain in the ass to make. The dredging is messy, the frying is a delicate matter. The oil must be just the right temperature to prevent greasiness, and one must know exactly when to take them out of the pan so as to avoid overcooking the tomatoes and turning them into deep fried mush. For that reason, I don't often afford myself the pleasure.

We ventured to SmallSouthernTown this weekend, and patronized a place that looked as if a visit from the Health Inspector might be in order. It features a buffet, and I usually avoid buffets like the plague, for a variety of reasons, most of them having to do with communicable diseases. But we had eaten in this particular establishment before, so I knew that the food really is home cooked (as opposed to home cooked in an industrial kitchen, flash frozen, transported 700 miles, stored in a walk in freezer for an indeterminate length of time and then blasted into edibility with microwaves) and amazingly good.

And I knew that their fried green tomatoes are absolutely out of this world; perfectly seasoned, cooked to flaky perfection, without a hint of greasiness,tart and crisp and wonderful.

I can't tell you how many of those things I ate. Enough that my father in law laughed at me.

Why I am I writing about the fried green tomato? I don't know. In some ways I think they are a metaphor for my life in the South. Most of it is either mushy and flavorless or wholly distasteful. But sometimes, there are moments of pure, perfect deliciousness that I try to replicate not in the kitchen, but on the written page.

I'm inspired, because I have finally, finally had an epiphany about how to write my book. I finally know what to do with this story.

I hope, in writing it, I can do justice to the Fried Green Tomatos of Southern heritage. And I can only hope, that someday, it will be consumed with as much relish as they.

To make this fun, tell me about the most unusual or disgusting thing you've eaten.