A few weeks ago D and Alex made a trip to Mississippi without me. At some point while they were there D and Mama determined that a supper of fried catfish was in order, and as a result of that decision Alex made his inaugural trip to the fish camp.

Quite frankly I was a little teary-eyed about missing such a huge milestone in my child’s life.

I’m still trying to get over it.

According to D, Alex was initially a little uncertain about eating a fried food that had, you know, BONES, but eventually he realized that OH MY WORD, THIS FISH IS DELICIOUS, WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME ABOUT THIS BEFORE, and he proceeded to eat a whole piece of catfish off of his daddy’s plate.

If you’re a Southerner, you know that’s a memory book moment right there.

Well, this past Friday, just as Alex and I were crossing the Mississippi / Alabama line, he piped up from the backseat and said, “Mama? Can we please go to the fish camp tonight?”

I don’t know when I’ve experienced a greater swell of maternal pride.

So I quickly picked up my phone, called my mama and made all the necessary arrangements.

I don’t mess around when it comes to large quantities of food fried in peanut oil, my friends.

Later that night we went to a fish camp on the outskirts of my hometown. It’s a no-frills kind of place: cement block walls, long picnic-style tables, and plastic tableware.

But when you’re eating this…

…who really gives a rip about the atmosphere?

Alex was WOUND UP, to say the least. We went to the fish camp with both of his grandmothers, my aunt and uncle, my cousin Paige and her family, and having SO MANY! RELATIVES! IN THE SAME! PLACE! was just about more than his little four year-old heart could bear.

This is the little man with his cousin Joseph. Joseph is almost a year old, which pretty much means that he’s at that stage where I COULD JUST EAT HIM UP, OH MY WORD, HOW CAN THE WORLD CONTAIN SO MUCH CUTENESS?

Alex had big fun snuggling up with Martha / Mother / “Martie,” and I’ll have you know that Martha, the woman who can eat one Pringle and be completely satisfied, ate two whole catfish filets, hush puppies, French fries and cole slaw.

So clearly she is done with all her eating for 2007.

She’ll probably have a half a grape at the beginning of 2008.

If she’s even remotely hungry by then.

Not even my mama could calm down the the little man. She usually is able to work her dial-it-down-a-notch magic on him, but he’d have none of that at the fish camp. He was far too busy throwing cracker wrappers and crawling underneath the table.

And also: there was a lot of fake burping.

He did pause mid-cracker to take a picture with me.

Yeah. I know. I haven’t been this blonde since 1982. When it was my natural color.

And I really do like it. I do.

However, it does make me feel a bit like a local news anchor. Or perhaps even a sideline reporter on ESPN.

I mean, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the phrase “BACK TO YOU, CHRIS!” has been playing non-stop in my head for the last three days.

I’m also fighting the urge to buy an array of Sensible Suits in colors that would hold up well under the glare of TV studio lights.

See? My child wanted to look at Joseph. He really did. But he was hypnotized by the blinding glare of my hair. He literally could not turn away.

But that’s okay. I was affected in much the same way by the fried catfish.

You know, perhaps my hair and the catfish could co-anchor the five o’clock news.

It’s certain to be a ratings bonanza.

The last time I was at Mama and Daddy’s house, the Bulldogs played a road game at Auburn and won.

This morning I decided to stay a little longer at Mama and Daddy’s than I originally planned. The Bulldogs played a road game at Kentucky. And won.

I now have no choice but to come back here in three weeks when the Bulldogs play Arkansas in Little Rock.

You can’t argue with science, people.

And in the meantime, we celebrate:

AP Photo / Ed Reinke
Beloved Bulldogs – 31
Kentucky – 14

I’m just so proud of our boys.

Go Dogs!

From time to time I get emails from people who want to know what’s so distinctive about the Southern region of the U.S. I’m always surprised by how difficult it is for me to articulate all the traditions and eccentricities that make this part of the world so special; the way of life down here is such an inextricable part of who I am that it’s nearly impossible for me to analyze it.

And on the odd occasion when I do try to capture the uniqueness of the South with words, I’m always reminded of Scout Finch’s explanation of her fondness for books: “…I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.” That’s exactly how I feel about this place, this part of the country that has always been my home.

Being Southern may not be genetic, but it’s most definitely in my blood.

And that is why, when I received the following email yesterday, I was utterly delighted – all the way down to my painted-with-bashful-pink-polish toes:

Boomama,

My dear friend from south Georgia informs me it is inappropriate to wear open toed shoes after Labor Day. What?? Of course I won’t wear white, but open toed too? It’s too hot in TX for that. She also won’t wear open toes until after Easter. She got the evil eye from her mama for doing that very thing this year. So what do you think?? I LOVE for my painted toes to show, and I’d wear open toed shoes all year round if I could!!

Jen

Y’all, I clapped my hands when I read Jen’s email.

Why? Because I know how much Southern women talk about this very issue.

And because we love us some old-fashioned etiquette in our neck of the woods.

For example.

We love saying (and hearing) yes ma’am, no ma’am, yes sir, and no sir.

We love to have the door opened for us and don’t think for one second that it’s patronizing. It’s kind.

We love to take the good china out of the cabinet and use it year-round.

We love fresh flowers when company’s coming, handwritten thank-you notes on monogrammed notecards, and baking a pound cake for your neighbor’s second cousin’s daughter whose dog just died.

And last but not least, we love appropriate seasonal attire.

In fact, when I was growing up in Mississippi, there were several hard and fast Southern Fashion Guidelines:

always wear hose to church

red shoes are for harlots and children

pearls in the daytime, diamonds at night (with the exception of wedding rings, of course)

no hats after the sun goes down

no white below the belt before Easter or after Labor Day

no linen clothes before Easter or after Labor Day

no sandals before Easter or after Labor Day

So you can see Jen’s dilemma.

Now there’s no doubt that the rules have relaxed considerably – in the last ten or fifteen years, especially. I personally haven’t worn hose to church or otherwise since 1998 (with the exception of black tights in the winter), and if all goes as planned I’ll never wear them again. Also, red shoes are fun and funky regardless of age or, um, harlot status, and as far as diamonds go, wear ‘em if you’ve got ‘em. By all means. Whenever you want.

However, the hat rule still stands, y’all. It stands forever, and it stands proud. Because why in the sam hill do you need a hat in the dark? To protect your face from the glare of the moon?

But as far as the last three rules – the pre-Easter / post-Labor Day wardrobe trio, if you will – today’s Southern women are all over the place, honestly. Some wear white shoes or white pants or even WHITE LINEN PANTS year-round with all manner of devil-may-care fashion abandon. Some (*cough*MARTHA AND SISSIE*cough*) stick to all the rules all the time and will continue to do just that until they’re called home to Glory because why, why would you break the rules, why?

As for me, I wear sandals well into October (yes, Jen – OPEN-TOED) because it’s hotter than sin down here until then and I don’t really care for the look of capri pants with, you know, boots. I’ll wear linen after Labor Day if it’s a dark color, but any light-colored linen goes into the summer clothes closet just as soon as Labor Day hits. And I don’t even own white shoes because, well, I have some issues about white shoes, but we’ll just leave those issues alone for now, ‘kay?

So in conclusion: Jen, I think you should feel free to wear your open-toed shoes after Labor Day. Since it’s a bit of a gray area, I like to apply what I call The Tacky Test. And bottom line: I think it’s way more tacky to let your feet sweat based on principle than it is to wear a cute summer shoe into the fall months.

Plus, it’s like Mama used to tell me: “What’s inside is more important than what’s outside. People will forget a pair of tacky shoes, but they won’t forget a tacky heart.”

Or something like that.

She also used to say that tacky is as tacky does, but I’m still not really sure what that means. And I’m in my 30’s now.

However, I do know that I’d rather show up to a late-night New Year’s Eve party wearing an all-white ensemble with a hat AND open-toed shoes than to be tacky on the inside.

And that is one Southern rule that will never, ever change.

Alex spent part of this morning and afternoon with Martha, and apparently when she fixed him a delicious homemade lunch of carrots, green beans, and rice, he proceeded to tell her that he doesn’t really like those things, thank you, but he does, however, like brownies.

So I think it’s pretty much a given that he’s in Official Spoiled Rotten Mode. Which is perfectly fine by me.

When Mama went by Martha’s house to pick up the little man later this afternoon, Martha mentioned to Mama that she would really like to come visit D. and me. She still hasn’t seen our new house because for the last six months she’s had her hands full taking care of D.’s grandmother, and Martha told Mama that she’s “dying! just dying! absolutely dying!” to come visit.

Since Mama and Daddy are planning to meet us in a couple of days (if in fact Alex decides that he’s ever coming home again), Mama suggested that Martha should hop in the car with them and instead of meeting us halfway, they’d just come straight to our house and spend the night. That way Martha could have a little time away from home, she’d finally see the house, and she’d have even more time with Alex.

Martha replied – AND I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP – that unfortunately Wednesday won’t work for her because that’s the day she’s planning to take her recently widowed friend Rubena to eat fried catfish at the church.

I’ll pause for just a second so that you can really soak up that last sentence.

There’s a whole lot of Southern in there, my friends.

And I have laughed my head off all night long as a result.

Really, y’all, I almost feel like Martha has laid down some sort of gauntlet in terms of Terribly Southern Ways To Decline An Invitation.

And, as any good Southern girl would do, I’ve spent a good bit of time tonight trying to rise to Martha’s unintended challenge.

So here are a few of my own, though I think it’s pretty clear that I have a lot to learn from my mother-in-law…and for those of you playing at home, you can preface each one of my polite refusals with this phrase:

Oh, Sugar, it’s so sweet of you to ask, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you because I…

- have to make mint juleps for the Kentucky Derby party.

- have to wash Bubba’s clothes for the tractor pull.

- have to polish my silver service before the Wesley Circle’s tea.

- have to bake a pound cake for my neighbor’s nephew’s ex-wife’s cousin who’s having a terrible time with her bursitis.

- have to stock up on real butter for Paula Deen Theme Night at our supper club.

- have to get the crepe myrtles pruned before the Southern Living photo shoot.

- have to get my hair fixed before I go to the Winn Dixie (OH WAIT, MARTHA ALREADY DOES THAT).

I could go on and on. But I won’t, because I want to hear from y’all.

Now granted, Martha may have taken the grand prize what with working a recently widowed friend, fried catfish and church into hers (it’s like a Southern etiquette trifecta, really), so we’ll just consider her the standard-bearer and have ourselves a little contest.

So if you’re a Southern girl – or even just an observer of the South – come up with what you think is the epitome of a polite refusal, Southern style. Make up as many as you want, in fact, and post them in the comments.

I’ll take all the “entries” that have been posted by 6:00 pm Tuesday night (and that’s CENTRAL TIME, THE OFFICIAL TIME ZONE OF THE DEEP SOUTH), and I’m going to get three friends to judge them. I won’t announce those friends’ names until after the fact because, well, I still have to ask them to do this and all, but I’m sure they’ll be more than willing because my friends are sweet like that.

After they pick the “polite refusal” that they deem the most Southern, I’ll send the author of the comment a copy of this book:

Of course, I haven’t actually read this book, but I thumbed through it this past weekend in Mississippi and it looks absolutely adorable. You can read more about it here.

And in the meantime, I’ll get my friend Lea Margaret to tell me ALL about it, because one of the authors is from Greenville, Mississippi, and quite frankly there’s not a soul in Greenville that Lea Margaret doesn’t know.

As Martha would say, this is going to be more fun, y’all! Just more fun! We’ll just have more fun!

I may have to eat me a little fried chicken to celebrate.

Today after church we ran by Walmart, a habit we developed shortly after Alex was born because it always seemed like a good time to buy diapers.

Now that Alex is no longer wearing diapers we still feel compelled to make a post-church Walmart trip, and my only explanation is that perhaps we subconsciously think that the first Sunday we don’t run in and purchase a container of Softsoap or a 12 pack of diet Coke or some Hanes Her Way yoga pants, the entire Walton family will fall into financial ruin and I don’t know about you people but I can’t live with that kind of guilt.

I actually was armed with a list today because I’m taking supper to some friends of ours this week and needed to pick up all my ingredients. And somewhere along aisle four I realized that I have never shared my favorite green bean recipe with y’all, and oh my word how could I possibly have been so negligent?

I found this recipe in a Memphis cookbook called Heart and Soul. Whether you’re serving six or sixty, these green beans are delicious no matter how many times you double or triple the recipe.

The version you’ll see below will serve around 12 people, and while I use canned green beans because I am lazy, you could certainly use frozen or fresh with equally tasty results.

Green Beans Y’all Won’t Believe

1/2 lb. bacon, chopped into bite-size pieces and fried, reserving 3 Tbs. grease
6 cans whole green beans, drained (I actually use the Sam’s brand)
6 Tbs. sugar
6 Tbs. white vinegar
2 packages slivered almonds

Place drained green beans in a casserole dish.

While bacon is draining on paper towels, mix 3 Tbs. bacon grease with sugar and vinegar over medium heat until sugar dissolves and mixture is heated through.

Sprinkle bacon on top of green beans, then pour liquid mixture on top and garnish with slivered almonds.

Bake at 325 for 25-30 minutes.

And they’re even better the second day.

Also: that whole draining the bacon on paper towels step is pretty much irrelevant since you are in fact stirring bacon grease into a mixture of vinegar and sugar, but maybe it’ll make you feel better to think you’re escaping a few fat grams.

I like to serve these green beans with my very favorite pork tenderloin recipe – and that’s exactly what I’ll be taking our friends this week:

Asian Pork Tenderloin

from Southern Living:

1/3 cup lite soy sauce
1/4 cup sesame oil
1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons lemon juice
4 garlic cloves, crushed
1 tablespoon dry mustard
1 1/2 teaspoons pepper
1 1/2 to 2 pounds pork tenderloin (I use Tyson tenderloins from Walmart – each package has two tenderloins and weighs about this amount)

Whisk together first 8 ingredients. Place pork in a shallow dish or Ziploc bag; add marinade, turning pork to coat. Cover and chill 8 hours (just FYI – I marinate meat for at least 24 hours in a gallon Ziploc bag).

Remove pork from marinade, discarding marinade. Place in a foil-lined roasting pan or foil-lined baking dish.

Bake at 425° for 40 minutes or until a meat thermometer registers 160°. Let pork stand 5 minutes before slicing.

And then, to finish out the meal, I make the easiest casserole in the free world and pick up some rolls.

The best thing is that I can make everything in the quantities that these recipes indicate and have plenty for our little family and plenty for our friends, too. I’ll take them one of the pork tenderloins, half of the green beans and half of the casserole, and everybody will have enough for at least two meals.

Bon appetit, y’all!