When you go to Georgia

There are things you should do. First, start out with a beer at the airport. Prime the pump, if you will.

Then arrange to be greeted at the airport with a cooler-full of homemade buttermilk-and-tabasco fried chicken. I shit you not.


Since most things you consume while in Georgia tend toward the fatty, start your mornings with fresh figs - nothing gets you going better!


Sloth (it's a verb now) by the pool with your bellyfull of figs and drink gin and tonics. Instead of fretting about the inevitable ill effects of your sun exposure, end the day at the best seafood shack in Georgia - Jim Shaw's.


There are some dishes you must try:

Hushpuppies. This is a hushpuppie (Technically, I suppose it's about half a hushpuppie. Delayed gratification is not among my strong suits.):

These are what grits look like... Or is it, "This is what grits looks like"? I believe public opinion is divided. Nonetheless:

Fried pickles, odd but good:

Blackend oysters - soooo delicious:

Fried crab claws:

The next day, get yourself some peaches. Procure them here, since this, um, enthusiastic stand is conveniently adjacent to the gas station:

Eat peaches and drink gin and tonics. Inexplicably, your hunger will return. Eat ribs (cooked for 18 hours) and mac and cheese.


When you return home, step on the scale with trepidation. Be pleasantly surprised to discover that you gained nary a pound. Know that it's from all the limes in the gin and tonics - cuts the fat, you know.

Hey Y'all

We're on a mini-break. We've eaten buttermilk-tabasco-soaked fried chicken, blackened oysters, stuffed crabclaws, and steak. Tonight, we'll have slow-cooked ribs and my mac and cheese. On a healthier note, the figs are sweet and heavy, so every morning I take a cup of coffee to the fig tree and pick my breakfast. The tomatoes are exquisite - ugly, fragrant and dripping with juice. I have not yet pickled myself, so things look good.

My little brother Keb'm arrives this evening, and high debauchery generally ensues. Since n.o.c. committed a slight breach of etiquette yesterday by requiring a nap after two stiffish gin and tonics, I feel certain that there will be a reckoning.

Vacationing can be demanding.

Give me your ears.

When I was a young thang, my granny would shuck corn and let me race the corn worms around the dining room table, which is remarkable, since the idea of touching larvae now makes me a little sweaty with discomfort. She would also peel me huge bowls of fat, sweet figs, and I have been hopelessly spoiled ever since. Anyway, in a nod to my granny and summer suppers everywhere, we bought a dozen ears of sweet, Maryland corn from Sunday's Farmers Market.

Because I believe that I am a fearless badass, despite all contrary evidence, I decided to shuck 'em myself and make creamed corn. (Note: There is a contractual clause in my relationship agreement with n.o.c. stating that he handles all things tall, dirty, or potentially disgusting. While corn shucking may not be an explicitly tall, dirty, or potentially disgusting activity, n.o.c.'s from Iowa, so it has always fallen within his perview.) Things went fairly well until I came across a corn spider. I was prepared for worms. I was prepared for huitlacoche (I know it's delicious, but I can't. I just can't.). I was even prepared for worms in huitlacoche, though the thought of that makes me nauseated. I was not prepared for a corn spider. Hate spiders. Loathe them. Tooooo many legs. F*ck, f*ck, f*ck. So, despite a brief bout with a full-bodied case of the willies, I shucked all the corn, since it turns out that I am, actually, a badass.

And then I cut off the kernels and scraped out the juice.

Then I did what any normal human would do - I browned half a stick of butter, threw in a few shallots, added the corn and finished the whole shebang with the merest drizzle of heavy cream.
Can I get an amen from the amen corner!?! This shit is worth a corn spider encounter. Derlicious.