Well, after the "Easter Past" post, I enjoyed hearing about your personal experiences with pear salad. Seems like it struck a chord as the infamous pear salad appears to have made quite an impact on so many of our lives. Some good, but, mostly, painful. I even received some pictures of the pear salads that graced your tables on Easter Sunday. Bless your hearts. I'm happy for all of y'all, who can find pleasure in such, but I'm also glad to know I'm not the only one who's never known what to make of the puzzling concoction. And, yes, I was also reminded that, on really special occasions or when company was coming, my mother did accessorize each of the loaded pears with a cherry. Oh, so fancy.

Here in the South, we have such a love relationship with our food. I mean, when it comes to eating, we don't play. We all have a long culinary heritage, down here. Each of our families has its own rich, savory written history of gourmet treasures, which are scribbled down on old index cards or note pad paper and passed from generation to generation. These secret formulas are among our dearest and most valuable possessions. Dog-eared and torn and splattered with grease, they hold the key to our most scrumptious memories. They protect the sacred Thanksgiving cornbread dressing recipe from ever going to the grave with grandma and safeguard against the old, sacred caramel icing secrets from ever from getting lost right along with great-granny's memory. These are the main, flavorful characters we expect to see on our holiday plates, each year. The dishes that awaken our deepest memories of the all the love that has happened around our families' tables.
    
I made a quick road trip, yesterday, and had lunch with Michelle. She asked where I wanted to eat and I told her I was craving real food. Real food is code for a meat and three vegetables. Well, she took me to this local place I'd never heard of that is known for its good ol' southern food. The choices were endless. Never mind that Michelle had a little tablespoon of this and a little teaspoon of that, while my mounded plate looked more like the truck driver's Thanksgiving special at Earline's Gas-n-Grub.

I had fried chicken, turnips (sometimes, referred to as greens), black-eyed peas, and a squash casserole that was just divine. That's what I love about our food in the South. We can take a vegetable like squash and mix it with cheese, some version of cream soup, butter, and cracker crumbs and still feel good about having eaten a vegetable. We also don't consider vegetables that have been dredged in flour or corn meal and fried to be any less of a vegetable. We just don't discriminate in that way. Furthermore, we don't question it, but macaroni and cheese also qualifies towards your daily vegetable count when in the South....just so you know. It's listed there with the other vegetables on menus everywhere and we're just fine with that. Starchy field peas and white potatoes also hold as much merit as the leafiest of green things around here, too.

Even surrounded by so much deliciousness, there are a lot of Southern dishes that I just don't get. Some might even require that my southern girl card be revoked despite my rather lengthy southern genealogy. The surname council may even rescind my maiden name and all ties to my mother's maiden name due to the defamation of some of these long-standing delicacies that I'm about to question. But, I mean, with our reputation for such rich, delectable cuisine, down here, I think there may be a few of our dishes that just don't represent us all that well. Of course, this is an opinion piece and I'd love to hear your arguments in favor of any of the following:

Carrot raisin salad- This one really baffles me. Ok, so whose ancestor can we thank for having this great idea- I'm gonna grate some carrots, throw some raisins up in there and cohere it all with a jar of mayo. My mother loved to make this when we were growing up and I am still at a loss for words.
Tomato sandwiches, pineapple sandwiches, and banana sandwiches- Cold, thick slices of fruit between Sunbeam bread (or light bread as we call it, sometimes) with mayonnaise gushing out on all sides. I know I'm going to lose a lot of friends on the tomato one, especially, but come on, people. What that sandwich is missing is some meat, cheese, and a trip through the panini press.
Cornbread and milk- This is where my maiden name is in peril. This was one of my daddy's favorites. Why? I don't know. After his Sunday nap, the leftover cornbread from lunch was going to be crumbled up into a glass of cold milk. Buttermilk, if available. I can't explain it or defend it.
Ambrosia- This was a special occasion dish. It was colorful and, for some reason, my mother always considers the colors of dishes when meal planning. There has to be a pop of color somewhere on the table. No matter how radiant or flashy, I'm not a fan.
Congealed salad- the obligatory food of southern funerals and family reunions. You take fruit, marshmallows, cottage cheese, nuts, or whatever you can find and suspend them in a lime or strawberry Jell-O. When molded into the shape of a bundt pan, well, nothing says we're so sorry your mother died like that does. Um, none for me, thanks.
Hummingbird cake - Ok, well, first off....the name is disturbing. It conjures up memories of that nursery rhyme our mothers read to us about blackbirds being baked in a pie. So, even though no hummingbirds are harmed in the making of this spice cake, they are about the only ingredient omitted from this chunky baked good.
Deviled eggs- The few friends, who remained faithful after the tomato sandwich remark, will fall by the wayside here....and right here after Easter. But, people. Boiled eggs smell to high heaven. Fancy them up with paprika and a cute serving dish all you like, but it does not change that.
English pea salad- My dear, sweet Grandmother, who I loved with all of my heart, made this all the time and if you'd like a copy of this dark blot on my family's rich culinary history, I'd be happy to share it. She loved it and so did both of her sons-in-law, so not everyone agreed with my assessment of the dish.   
Seven layer salad- also known as let's clean out the refrigerator and layer it in a fancy bowl salad. It requires no culinary skill to prepare. Just an aptitude for stacking. Come on, southerners. We're better than this.
White gravy- should not exist. Gravy is not white. Gravy is brown as it is colored with pan drippings from the meat for which the gravy is being made. No meat drips white. Why would you ruin a perfectly good piece of country fried steak or chicken with this unnatural, pale gravy imposter?
Crawfish- And the very last of my friends will get off the bus here, I'm afraid. I'm all about eating some crustaceans, but I'm not much for eating the ones we used to catch in the drainage ditch after a hard rain. They're called crawdaddies if you're 10 and you and your friends are hunting for them in the culvert under your driveway with your sand pail. They're called crawfish if someone is inviting you over to have them for supper with corn and potatoes. The yellow substance is where it all ends for me.
In all fairness to the dishes listed, I have to mention that I am not a fan of cold, crunchy, uncooked food. I am also not a partaker of mayonnaise. Considering those aversions, it's no wonder I have these questions about our southern cuisine as we seem to have a real affection for holding cold, crunchy things together with the popular white adhesive, down here. But, to each his own and if that's your thing, then eat up, I say!

Did I forget anything?

I hope you all enjoyed some of your family's traditional culinary delights, last weekend. We just killed off the rest of the strawberry cake, tonight. Merciful heavens!

Y'all have a good rest of the week.