friends from Mississippi - Billie and Deborah aka HAZ.
Thank you Billie for sharing this with me.
~by Robert St. John~
Thirty years ago I visited my first cousin in Virginia. While
hanging out with his friends, the discussion turned to popular
movies of the day. When I offered my two-cents on the
authenticity and social relevance of the movie Billy Jack, one
of the boys asked, in all seriousness, "Do you guys have movie
theaters down there?" To which I replied,"Yep, and we
wear shoes, too."
Just three years ago, my wife and I were attending a food and
wine seminar in Aspen, Colorado. We were seated with two couples
from Las Vegas. One of the Glitter Gulch gals was amazed, amused,
and downright rude when I described our restaurant as a fine-dining
restaurant. "Mississippi doesn't have fine-dining restaurants!"
she demanded, as she snickered and nudged her companion. I fought
back the strong desire to mention that she lived in the land that
invented the 99-cent breakfast buffet, but resisted. I wanted
badly to defend my state and my restaurant with a 15 minute
soliloquy and public relations rant that would surely change her
mind. It was at that precise moment that I was hit with a
blinding jolt of enlightment, and in a moment of complete and
absolute clarity it dawned on me-- my South is the best-kept
secret in the country. Why would I try and win this woman over?
She might move down here.
I am always amused by Hollywood's interpretation of the South.
We are still, on occasion, depicted as a collective group of sweaty,
stupid, backwards-minded and racist rednecks. The South of
movies
and TV, the Hollywood South, is not my South.
My South is colorblind. In my South, we don't put a premium on
pigment. No one cares whether you are black, white, red or green
with orange polka dots.
My South is the birthplace of blues and jazz, and rock-and-roll.
It has banjo pickers and fiddle players, but it also has B.B. King,
Muddy Waters, the Allman Brothers, Emmylou Harris, and Elvis.
My South is hot.
My South smells of newly mown grass.
My South was the South of the Partridge Family, Hawaii 5-0
and
kick the can.
My South was creek swimming, cane-pole fishing and bird hunting.
In my South, football is king, and the Southeastern Conference
is
the kingdom.
My South is home to the most beautiful women on the planet.
In my South, soul food and country cooking are the same thing.
My South is full of fig preserves, cornbread, butter beans,
fried
chicken, grits and catfish.
In my South we eat foie gras, caviar and truffles.
In my South, our transistor radios introduced us to the Beatles
and the Rolling Stones at the same time they were introduced to
the rest of the country.
In my South, Grandmothers cook a big lunch every Sunday.
In my South, family matters, deeply.
My South is boiled shrimp, blackberry cobbler, peach ice cream,
banana pudding and oatmeal cream pies.
In my South people put peanuts in bottles of Coca Cola and hot
syrup on almost everything.
In my South the tea is iced and almost as sweet as the women.
My South has air-conditioning.
My South is camellias, wisteria and hydrangeas.
My South is humid.
In my South, the only person that has to sit at the back of the
bus is the last person that got on the bus.
In my South, people still say "yes,ma'am," "please" and "thank you".
In my South, we all wear shoes... most of the time.
My South is the best-kept secret in the country. Please continue
to keep the secret... it keeps the idiots away.
Robert St. John is the executive chef/owner of the Purple Parrot
Cafe, Crescent City Grill, and Mahogany Bar in Hattiesburg, Mississippi.
He writes a weekly syndicated column in several newspapers throughout
the South. If you have any questions or comments, he can be reached
at stjohn@netdoor.com or at 601-264-0672.
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