Overcooked. Greasy. Fried. Those were the words I would have used to describe my impressions of Southern food if you had asked me my opinion of it a few months ago. I have always considered myself an open-minded person and try to avoid pre-judgment without sufficient knowledge or experience. However, I realized that I have unconsciously retained several culinary biases, one of which was ignorance of the depth and breadth of Southern cuisine. One of my 2010 "food resolutions" is to explore new foods. As a recent arrival to the South, I had overlooked an obvious place to further my understanding of Southern food—my newly-adopted hometown. Growing up, my only exposure to "Southern" food was indeed of overcooked, greasy, and fried meals at the ubiquitous and meticulously-spaced highway chain restaurant (hint: rhymes with "tracker peril"), which did not serve as ideal ambassadors of Southern cooking. As I matured, I honed my food preferences and generally avoided this gastronomic genre. Thankfully, a few months ago, the confluence of my increasing culinary curiosity and meeting a new friend resulted in my initiation into a true understanding of Southern foodways. Having spent my formative years in a region without discernable and cohesive culinary traditions, I was pleased to meet a gracious person, who, as both a Southerner and chef, gently erased my preconceived notions of Southern cooking one biscuit at a time.
"In the South, cake is practically its own food group."
The above quote, uttered by my new friend, confirmed that I not only had found a personal kindred spirit, but also solidified my affinity to Southern culinary heritage. Aside from discovering the dessert-centric philosophy of Southern food, I was also pleased and surprised to learn that this cuisine has been at the forefront of an emerging culinary trend: "locavorism." In 2007, the Oxford English Dictionary declared "locavore" as its word of the year, defining locavorism as "the movement toward committing to eating only locally-grown food." Far from being a contrived way of eating, consuming local fruits and vegetables has always been embedded in the Southern culinary consciousness. Despite its stereotype of being comprised of unhealthy foods, typical Southern cooking includes multitudes of vegetables, such as all manner of greens, peas, butter beans, sweet potatoes, and fresh fruits. When I asked my chef-friend to distill the ethos of Southern food, she replied: "eating what is grown in your garden or available at the market in the season that it’s grown." No, she is not a dictionary word of the year lobbyist—she is simply privy to the rich traditions of a region whose residents do not need a formal definition to describe a commonsense way of eating that has endured for centuries.
"Local Food for Local Folks."
Now that I possessed a greater understanding of Southern cuisine, my next conundrum was where to procure an authentic local meal. While Charleston has a surfeit of traditional restaurants, my friend assured me that she knew just the place for me to experience fresh Southern food without pretention: Okra Grill in Mount Pleasant (www.pagesokragrill.com). I had driven by Okra many times on my sojourns up and down Coleman Boulevard, but always dismissed it as an option because frankly (and unfortunately) I had not heard of it in my readings of the Charleston food scene. Given my pre-judgment of the restaurant and the type of food that it serves, I was skeptical upon arriving at Okra with my friend.
The moment we stepped inside, we were greeted with what I can best describe as a multisensory hug: the scent of food wafting through the air conjured memories of comforting family meals, the sight of a chalkboard filled with fresh vegetable options delighted the produce-lover and locavore in me, and the din of the patrons’ conversation and the banter from the kitchen was lively—bordering on, but never crossing into, cacophony.
One of my great joys is discovering a new restaurant, temporarily keeping it to myself, and then slowly advertising it to my friends—relishing that "in-the-know" feeling and sharing in others’ delight when they too love the place. Alas, I quickly felt my only disappointment in connection with the restaurant. The almost full parking lot (on a Wednesday night to boot!) should have been my first clue—I felt like an explorer on the precipice of what I believed to be a momentous discovery who then found out that the treasure had already been unearthed and dispersed. Feeling like a latecomer to a rollicking party, I hid my disappointment and sat down.
Unlike a tardy guest however, I felt immediately welcomed. This sense of instant hospitality is evidence of the restaurant’s philosophy, shared with me by Okra’s Tony Page. Seeming equally comfortable in the kitchen, behind the cash register, or greeting loyal patrons at their tables, Page stated that to him, "food is so social. If I am feeding people in my home or at the restaurant, I want them to enjoy what they are eating, and I would like them to know how it was prepared and where the food came from."
He is passionate about sourcing quality ingredients that are sustainable and seasonal, not only "because they are local [but] they are just fresher and taste better." Very few of the restaurants I have visited have maintained a balance between quality food and a pleasant dining atmosphere. Okra has found this equilibrium and for the fist time in almost two years of residing in Charleston, I truly felt like a local.
Deeply-rooted tradition, or history, love, and comfort, are the words I would now use to describe my newfound understanding of Southern food. In one of my recent article surveys, I asked readers to share what would comprise their final Earthly meal. I was surprised that rather than responding with esoteric requests, many cited classic Southern dishes for their culinary farewell. With Native American, African, and West Indian influences, Southern cooking has evolved, yet has retained its foundation of locality, seasonality, and tradition. In a world of increasing impermanence, this legacy of steadfastness is the ultimate comfort. As with life, cooking is a process—enjoy being "in-progress."