Drinks, Drinks, Drinks, and Not a Drop of Water

There’s an old Georgian joke that goes something like this: When you come to Atlanta, folks want to know where your people are from. When you come to Augusta, folks want to know where you pray. When you come to Savannah, they ask you” “What would you like to drink?”.

Like most jokes, beneath the veneer of exaggeration and fun lies real substance. We in Savannah like to drink. Don’t believe me? Just go into a local liquor store 3 or 4 days before a hurricane is even rumored to be blowing our way and you will see a run on alcohol as if there literally will be no tomorrow. Forget extra batteries and plenty of bottled water and that shit. It’s all about hooch.

Which creates a bit of a dilemma for our soul food kitchen here in Tel Aviv, as we try our best to provide an authentic southern experience. I’d like to send out a complimentary sample of our ginger syrup and bourbon as a thank-you gift, but I think the local authorities might take a dim view of that. I’d like to lace my pecan pie with bourbon, but I’m guessing desserts here have to be G rated. Same is true with my sauteed broccoli, which has a jigger of port wine thrown in. And also the crabmeat chowder, with its liberal dose of fine sherry.

Which leads me to wonder: Why has my small part of the world always been partial to drink? Is is really more so than other parts of the country (I’d say yes to that, but then why?).? And how does one square the strong presence of southern Baptists and their emphasis on total abstinence with the obvious, historical tendency to flout — and I mean really flout - the rules?

I don’t really have any smart, incisive answer here except perhaps to suggest that we are asking the precisely wrong question, which is (rhetorically): Why the hell not?