Confessions, Obsessions, Okra, and the Good Life

I was born and raised in the south. With the exception of 5 years spent in Buffalo, NY and a year in Texas, which although south, is definitely not southern, I have always lived in the south. Food is a big deal down here and while I consider myself an eater of many varieties of food, I have never liked the mushy overcooked vegetables that you often find on many a southern table. One of my particular food nemesis during childhood was okra. My mother loved okra which in turn meant it showed up on the dinner table frequently. She would stew it with tomatoes, batter and fry it, or hide it in soups. No matter the preparation method, I could not bring myself to eat it. I do not like nor have I ever liked okra. There I said it. A few more blasphemous confessions from a southerner - I also do not like iced tea, rice and gravy, corn bread, butter beans, watermelon, cantaloupe, or tomatoes. I so despise melons that I won't eat any other fruit that has been touched by a melon. While one bad apple may not spoil the whole bunch, for me, one piece of melon does spoil an entire fruit salad. I realize that my not liking these foods in not very southern of me. Normally this would not be a concern to me, however, I am trying to eat more locally produced foods. I am doubting whether this will be possible for me living in the south. If it weren't for grits, peaches, and collards I would have all ready given up.

But back to the okra. Recently we had dinner with some friends who fixed the most amazing Indian feast for us. One of the dishes was a grilled okra dish. I saw the okra and instantly thought "oh no". Wanting to be polite, I put one on my plate. As I ate, I cut the okra up and scooted it around on my plate in an effort to make it appear as if I had eaten it. Somehow a piece of it managed to make it onto my fork and into my mouth. I cannot begin to describe the experience. My taste buds were tingling and my tongue a tappin'. The combination of spices was heavenly. The okra was crisp and crunchy. There was not a hint of slime anywhere. I was suddenly sorry that I had not put more on my plate.

I have been thinking about this okra for weeks now. I have been eagerly awaiting the arrival of okra at our local farmer's market. Last week's market bulletin finally announced that the first locally grown okra would be available on Saturday. In three short days I would have okra. I could hardly wait. You know you are getting old when the idea of getting your hands on a vegetable makes you feel like a kid a Christmas.

Our bounty from the farmer's market this past Saturday did indeed include okra. I hesitated in cooking it for a few days for fear that it would not be as delicious as I remembered. I finally took the plunge on Tuesday morning. I prepared the marinade and grilled the cute little guys. I am happy to report that it was as scrumptious as the first time. I am now completely obsessed with okra. I am counting down the days until Saturday when I can get my hands on some more of those delectable green slender lady's fingers. I am scouring cookbooks for recipes. (Apparently a dry-heat cooking method like grilling is what is necessary if you prefer crisp over slime.) I am dreaming of okra. I am driving my family crazy with okra talk. I am planning where in the garden we can grow lots and lots of okra next year. I have not felt this way about a vegetable since brussel sprouts in 1996. I blame that obsession on account of being pregnant with Mr. Edwards. I ate brussel sprouts morning, noon, and night for months. I have no such excuse this go round. I have never thought of myself as having an addictive personality, however I am beginning to understand what a junkie looking for his next hit must feel like. I suppose obsessions and addictions when they involve locally grown produce and intoxicating spices may not be such a bad thing. If we all only had it so bad. It really is a good life. Watch out tomatoes, you're next!