I love southern cooking! It really doesn’t get much better than a plate of southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans (slow cooked with some ham hock), corn-on-the-cob, cat-head biscuits with Georgia cane syrup, a tall glass of sweet tea, and a bowl of banana pudding waiting on the side!
Put a plate of that on top of your head and your tongue will beat your brains out trying to get to it!
I love almost everything that is cooked southern style—everything, that is, except for what I was served this past Saturday afternoon. Let me explain.
I wasn’t feeling very well for some strange reason. One minute I was watching the Georgia–Alabama game, and the next thing I knew paramedics were working feverishly over me.
As I began to revive, I noticed my family gathered around with looks of concern on their faces. Someone mentioned that I had had a black out, and I immediately started feeling queasy again.
My wife suggested that I needed something to eat just around the time that the doorbell rang. Moments later my son ran into the room with two platters in his hand, and the thought of a home-cooked meal began to perk me up.
A card had been delivered with the platters, and I wondered who could have possibly known so quickly that I had been ill. The note simply said “Enjoy” and was signed, “Your Bama Buds: Timothy Croley, 12, and Cameon Shiflett.”
Wow! What friends! I was already beginning to feel better!
My son handed me the first platter, with steam crawling out from under the silver lid. As soon as I lifted the lid my wife screamed and dropped like a bad habit. One of the paramedics began to feel sick and had to take a knee.
On that platter, bruised and battered and still simmering from the smoking it had taken, was my caboose. My Bama Buddies had handed me my rear end on a platter. No wonder I felt so bad—I had been debuttitated! I was grateful that at least they had the courtesy to leave my Bulldawg boxers on.
Next platter, please. I lifted the lid, this time knowing what to expect. Sure enough, there it was—a big fat slice of humble pie, cooked Alabama style!
At least it was just a slice. At halftime I thought I would be eating the whole dang pie.
Now, I don’t mean to leave the impression that humble pie is exclusively a southern food. My California friends tell me that up in Oregon State they can find humble pie cooked the same way by the same chefs anytime they’re passing through.
Rumor has it that Ole Miss delivers to your door if you live in a Gator Swamp. Talk about service with a smile!
You can find humble pie in Ann Arbor, in South Bend, in Columbus...shucks, you can find humble pie anywhere college football is played. Guaranteed!
Truth is, every team cooks it and every team has tasted it—and that goes for the fans too. Laugh at me if you will, but chances are at some point this season you are going to be served your own fat slice of humble pie.
To some it will be just an appetizer. Choke it down and move on to the good stuff.
To some it will be the main course. Better get used to it, because that’s all you’ll be getting!
To others it will be dessert. You’ll find it served in a bowl at the end of the season.
I’m hoping mine is just an appetizer, but only time will tell. I reckon if I must eat it, I might as well “enjoy,” as my Alabama friends suggested.
Would someone please pass the sweet tea?