So here I am, half a century later, linking the title of a book by an infamous Savannah drag queen to memories about quasi-forbidden fruit
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Pictured here with barbeque tofu
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Are people more likely to die from binging on sweet stuff or savory
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When does a twist morph into confusion?
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How many times can you make even a really good dish before going stir crazy?
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I think my mom would feel vindicated, like she had finally taught me a critical life lesson.
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The taste of Brunswick Stew for me is hardcore childhood Savannah: in-your-face, unadulterated, good-to-the-last drop goodness.
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Sometimes, a lump of clay can be life-changing.
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One of my absolute top frustrations about cooking soul food in Tel Aviv is that the vocabulary, not to mention the interest in and tolerance of all things spicy is VERY LIMITED.
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