On the menu

As much as I love the south and my cultural heritage, I have a few dietary preferences which damn near make me a traitor. Old fashioned southern food was poor people food. The vegetables and seasonings were grown in the back yard. Flour, meal and sugar were treasured commodities, and every edible piece of meat was used. Miracles grew from that simplicity, but so did a few nightmares.

The traditional southern New Year's Day meal is hog jowl, black eyed peas and greens for good luck and prosperity in the coming months. Greens are generally stewed to death until they have a texture that somehow manages to be both slimy and chewy, a combination that I simply can't abide. I can tolerate black eyed peas if they're slathered with Tabasco sauce or dressed up in a recipe I have called Dixie Caviar, but they'll never be a preferred food.

As for hog's jowl, a memory still makes me shudder. Most of the time, it comes pre-sliced, looking like thick bacon, but the first time I remember eating it, it had been cooked like a roast. The smell was incredible, and then I saw the meat falling off the bone, normally a sign of juicy tenderness. I couldn't eat it. The teeth were still in the jaw bone, and my own smile just disappeared.

Tonight at my mother-in-law's, I had a bite or two of greens for politeness sake. I dressed my peas in vinegary-peppery goodness and waited in dread for the meat to appear. I sighed in relief over real bacon. Some traditions need to fade away.