One of the most important things in the South is food. If you live here, you know that all too well. If you don’t live here, you’ll learn fast enough. Anyway, how can I write a blog about the South without having any recipes? I can’t. I would be a disgrace.
Here’s the thing though; I’m not even going to pretend to be one of those women with a God-given gift for creating her own recipes. I am not the perfect 1950s housewife. I’m a modern lady who has a 40-hour workweek, a husband in college, a cat that’s as needy as a child and some semblance of a social life. I don’t have time to be concocting these wonderful recipes that should be featured in the June issue of Southern Living. But here’s what I am – a DARN good recipe critic.
I want to feature the recipes from my momma, grandmomma and dad (he’s actually a DANG good cook/baker). Plus I’ll have some random recipes that I’ve found in Southern Living, Better Homes and Gardens, various recipe books, and on the back of Campbell Soup cans that I thought were quite tasty. Like I said, I’m no professional chef. I’m a girl plagiarizing the crap out of recipes that I think you’ll enjoy… because I did. The stuff I try that tastes like absolute frou-frou garbage won’t get a place on this blog, unless I’m warning you to stay away from some really interesting looking recipe in this month’s Southern Living that blew up in my face.
I’ll post them periodically with a commentary on that recipe. I feel like most recipes need a warning label anyway. For example: “don’t get the oil too hot” OR “if you sub in Splenda on this recipe you’ll gag yourself blue.” That kind of stuff. That way you know what you’re getting yourself into before you even start.
On a side note, I never make anything with Splenda because I feel like everything made with Splenda causes the reaction referred to above.
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