okra fries

If any of you ever come to the Southern  United States, here are some foods that you MUST try. And if you happen to live in the South, I’m sure you’ll agree with me. ^W^ If you don’t that’s alright. If you have already tried these foods, Great!

CHICKEN FRIED STEAK-

FRIED OKRA-

BLACK EYED PEAS- (no not the band) 

SUGAR CURED HAM- 

And finally, 

BISCUITS AND GRAVY-

(all images from google)

These are just some examples of foods that are predominantly in the south :D however if any of ya’ll northerners or international people have had these dishes, great! If you like em, even better! 

REBLOG IF YOU LOVE COUNTRY COOKING! :D :D :D

TalesFromYourServer: Diary of a Petty Server: The Meatloaf that Got Away

With great service comes great responsibility.

It comes with the territory, pal. I mean, you’re dealing with one of the most hardcore life-driving forces in the fucking universe here: food. On top of that, you’re tasked with delivering this most sacred of nourishment to people in their most delicate state: hunger.

Hunger makes people do fucking weird shit. Like go to bed without eating and wake up as a different person shit. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hangrey type shit. I’ve seen outbursts of food-related madness that had me cowering in fear, fully expecting a demon made of cockroaches and hellspawn to erupt from a humansuit. I’ve witnessed a man go into apoplectic rage at the discontinuation of his favorite promotion, which led him to rip the offending menu to shreds with an assassin’s coldhearted efficiency. To shreds, you say? Aye, to absolute fucking confetti, which he then promptly stuffed into an innocent raspberry lemonade before bailing.

There’s a certain sort of primal anger that overtakes a person when they’re faced with a culinary crisis. But shit, all the world’s a stage, and all the humans merely players, and I’m about to play your mad hungry ass for a fool. Butter you up like a fucking biscuit and then set the record straight. This is me and you vs. the goddamn world, sir. You’re gonna have the epic experience you came here for if I have to douse hell and burn heaven to do it. That soup is cold? Of COURSE I’ll get you a freshie silly, and I’ll be fucking delighted to do so again in twenty minutes when you next extricate your head from your date’s ass. Your hot tea is too hot? I gotchu sir, I’m bout to beat this boiling water’s ass. There’s a stray piece of okra in your fries? We’re writing the goddamn Governor. And then you tuck them in and give them a binky, and they are none the wiser that you’ve successfully tugged the invisible strings connected to both the heart and wallet. Jedi Master of Bullshit strikes again.

I can deal with any fucker in a bad mood. At some point, you will leave, and you will either be touched by my efforts or utterly unmoved, in which case you were determined to be unhappy anyway. But you will be gone, and I will either chuckle or curse you, and that will be it.

If only Cowboy had gotten angry. That, I could nagivate. This…this was a new beast entirely.

Cowboy is a middle-aged gentleman at Table 122, dressed in a sort of bullrider’s chic. In the couple of minutes I spend with him at our introduction, I learn two things: he loves his horse Whisper, and he really loves our meatloaf. He and Whisper have been driving for six hours to get home from a competition, and for six hours he has impatiently looked forward to his prize. “You don’t understand, ma'am,” he says in a drawl. “I. Love. This. Meatloaf.”

Shit, everyone does, it’s fucking delicious. It’s one of the most popular menu items we have. There are days when I serve no other function than being a fucking choo-choo train for meatloaf plates. The more people love it, the more they order. The more they order, the faster we run out. The faster we run out…yeah, well, we’re still cooking the goddamn things at the same pace. The thing about food, it’s gotta cook.

I’ve already spent a fair portion of the day ruining people’s lives over the lack of meatloaf, and I’m not keen to do so again. I get Cowboy’s drink order, and tell him to think on his sides while I go touch base with the kitchen. I have a come-to-Jesus moment with the grill cook, making him bend down and look me in the fucking eye and tell me we have meatloaf. All’s well. Nine orders left for the night. Breathe a sigh of relief, hit up a sweet tea, scream for the 84th time for someone to bloody PLEASE get the To-Go phone, and make tracks for the table.

Cowboy’s tickled pink once I inform him that yes, sir, you can nom those meaty loaves until Kingdom Fucking Come. He fires off his sides and I get it on the books. Wait there, sir, we’re about to make some magic happen.

I return to the kitchen to enter the order, pleased as fucking punch that one of the lazy shitfritters has finally deemed to answer the phone. They finish up and I whip Table 122 into the system.

The ticket has barely chattered out of the machine when I hear the dreaded shout: “86 Meatloaf for the night!” I fly over to the window, mouth agape in horror…and I will be DAMNED!! Absolutely damned I say! Those lazy no-good ass-sucking To-Go creeps have ordered us out of meatloaf. Nine goddamned To-Go Meatloafs, already posing prettily in a line of black plastic containers. Surely eight of the fuckers could have cut off a tiny slice to assemble a decent hunk of meatloaf!

My panic is palpable. This man has been driving the highway for six fucking hours, with nothing to staunch the loneliness except the thought of our mouth watering meatloaf. I would rather be tied to Whisper, doused in lemon juice, and dragged through a field of cacti than go break the news.

Immediately I begin to think of a way out of this shithole. Do I bat my eyes and flirt up the cook? Jack one of the meatloafs and feign ignorance when questioned? Run shrieking out the back door into the night and never look back? All useless. As useless as the sad plate of okra, mac and cheese, and green beans that sits forlornly in the window, no meatloaf to be found.

Jesus hula-hooping Christ. This shit again.

I’m on the verge of a panic attack when the grill cook calls me over. He’s well aware of my everlasting battle with these pepper and onion stuffed fuckers, and in a fit of gallantry, he has found me a hunk of meatloaf. A smaller hunk than portion size calls for, true, but meatloaf nevertheless. I almost burst into tears at the news, and yes, fucking yes, I’ll comp the whole fucking thing and pay for it myself, as long as this man gets a couple of mouthfuls of his ketchup-coated desire. The cook slides the too-small loaf onto the plate of sides and sells the ticket.

I’m immediately aware of why this meatloaf was not counted in the original tally. I know meatloaf, and this meatloaf is all wrong. Not just small, but shriveled. Dry, crusted along the outside. I could have offered this meatolaf to the Donner Party and they still would have eaten each other. On my honor as a server, I cannot serve this to my guest.

It’s with a heavy heart I journey back to Table 122. Cowboy is smiling pleasantly at me, probably assuming I’m coming to check on his tea or assure him that yes, your meatloaf madness will soon be at an end.

There is no such happy ending.

I have the script memorized by heart. I’m insanely sorry, sir, but due to the fact that this meatloaf is, as you know, the best meatloaf fucking ever, we have unfortunately run out. Normally, there are two routes people take when I inform them that their culinary orgasm is not to be: nonchalant acceptance, or blood-vessel-popping rage.

But this…is new.

The denial sets in first. He stares at me blankly, head cocked quizzically to one side, as though unsure he has heard me correctly. “Are…you joking?”

“No sir,” I reply sadly. “If only Whisper had a few teammates, we could get the Delorean up to 88 miles an hour and go back to just before the To-Go phone rang. Can you believe it? Nine meatloafs spoken for in one To-Go order.”

I hope the half-hearted attempt at humor will break him from the haze, but his face remains impassive. “Nine? Nine whole pieces? In one order?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply, admittedly wrong-footed by the distinct disbelief to his tone. Visions of Whisper galloping alongside a minivan race through my head, and of course in the fantasy Cowboy is victorious, lassoing the whole fucking order through the open window. Reality, it seems, is far more dire.

I gently prod Cowboy for a replacement order; in his catatonic state, he rattles off a robotic backup, and I swear to God and sonny Jesus if we don’t have chicken and dumplings I’m burning this fucker to the ground. Ashes, I tell you!

It’s the fastest ticket we’ve ever sold. I shout down the cooks the moment I step into the back, and you can fuck yourself with the ticket for all I care, B. I’ll ring the bitch in when Cowboy is eating and not a goddamned moment before. Less than a minute later, I present Cowboy with his steaming hot dinner, an extra portion of mac and cheese on the side for good measure. He rouses enough to thank me politely, but shit, if I’d just been fucked by the meatloaf gods in such a cruel fashion, I wouldn’t be up for thanking me. Ten minutes minutes later, he’s to the point of a small smile and nod when I ask if everything tastes good. I top off his tea, leave the check, and sincerely wish him a great night.

I sadly return to the kitchen and join the team packing this thrice-damned meatloaf into the To-Go bags. A beep soon alerts us that the party is here to receive their order, and a coworker grumpily humps the three bags up to the cash stand. I trail out behind him, listlessly sorting menus, when I hear a wordless sound of despair. I glance up and freeze.

Cowboy is standing at the cash register, watching with sad eyes as Coworker pulls out and presents each meatloaf plate to the guest for his approval. Despite the fact that he has already paid, Cowboy waits and watches through the whole debacle. As do I.

As the last meatloaf is approved and paid for, Cowboy nods to the burly man now cradling the three steaming sacks. “Enjoy your dinner,” he says in a pleasant voice.

A god among mortals, this man. My heart cannot take much more…but It must, and as I hesitantly check my credit tips a few moments later, I am overtaken. A $10 tip on an $8 ticket. Over 100%.

Godspeed, Cowboy. Whenever you and Whisper may travel next, I fervently hope that there is meatloaf, more meatloaf than you could have ever dreamed possible.

By: DabblesInDirewolves

2

Hi There!! :)

I know I’m behind, and I have every intention of catching up this evening because the husband has a fancy manager’s outing tonight for work which means Conner and I get to eat cereal for dinner in our pajamas because we are not fancy (and we are 100% fine with that)! :) So, hearts to come–I just can’t lose this rare moment of silence at a real computer (SO much nicer for posting).

Yesterday was one of those spectacular days that makes you just SO happy to be alive–so incredibly grateful for simple pleasures and wonderful people.  I went to work for half a day and Conner went with me (LOVE how cool my work is about that always).  He was thrilled because he was given an old tape recorder and some tapes, so he was entertained by that for a few hours.  He was less entertained by my making him wear some of our read aloud props, but I bribed him with fried oysters at Quality Seafood Market for lunch, so he did it. ;) Those faces say “parenting done right,” I think? Yes? :D

My friend Shannon volunteers with me, so after work she joined us at Quality Seafood which was awesome–Conner got to ask her a million questions about South Africa (she moved here from there a year ago). Then, Conner and I took Walter for a long walk in the woods because it was a perfect and sunny, breezy 72 degrees.  We followed that up with dinner at a little country diner within walking distance of our house that we’ve somehow never visited. (How is that possible??)  They had a live band playing classic country music and even though the place was packed, we were easily quite a few decades younger than any of the other patrons. Several of the older people got up and danced, I had fried okra and sweet tea (indulgences I LOVE but rarely have), and I got to enjoy a wave of serious nostalgia since I was raised a country girl but don’t so much identify as such anymore.

Today, I’m off, and Shannon, Conner and I are going hiking and then walking over to the Greek place to have lunch on the patio. Tonight, we’re researching ticket’s/travel dates for our summer trip! :)  Life, man.  It’s awesome! :)

Thanksgiving with White families vs. Black families

White People Thanksgiving Dinner

Turkey
Stuffing
Gravy
Cranberry Sauce (w/ the cranberries in it)
Sweet Potatoes
Mashed Potatoes
Green Bean Casserole
Rolls
Congealed Salad
Pumpkin Pie

Total Amount Of Attendants: 4-10 people (Not including dogs and cats that sit at the table)

Black People Thanksgiving Dinner

Smoked Turkey
Fried Turkey
Fried Chicken
Catfish
Roast Beef
Chitterlings
Ham
Honey Baked Ham
Country Ham
Ribs
Dressing (w/ Turkey baked in it)
Giblet Gray (w/ eggs and some mo in it)
Jellied Cranberry Sauce
Turnip Greens
Collard Greens
Mustard Greens
Mixed Greens
Boiled Okra
Fried Okra
Cabbage
Green Beans
Baked Mac n Cheese
Black Eyed Peas
Broccoli Rice Casserole
Sweet Potato Casserole
Candied Yams
Carrot Soufflé
Potato Salad
Tuna Salad
Tossed Salad
Pasta Salad
Spaghetti
Lasagna
Shrimp
Crab Legs
Fettuccine Alfredo
Gumbo
Deviled Eggs
Rotel Cheese Dip
Corn Bread
Hot Water Cornbread
Rolls
Butter Rolls
Sweet Potato Pie
All Of The Sold Out Patty Labelle Pies
Pecan Pie
Egg Pie
Chess Pie
Chocolate Pie
Peach Cobbler
Punch Bowl Cake
Banana Pudding
Lemon Cake
Pound Cake
Red Velvet Cake
Cheesecake
German Chocolate Cake
Caramel Cake
Yellow Cake w/ Chocolate Frosting
Carrot Cake
Sock-It-To-Me Cake
King’s Hawaiian Savory Butter Rolls
Fry Bread
Enchiladas
Cous Cous
Strudel
Pho
Popcorn shrimp
Shrimp kabob
Fried shrimp
Pineapple shrimp
Shrimp and grits
Shrimp and gravy
Birthday Cake
Bean Pies
Little Debbie’s
Pot Pies
Dirty Rice
Ravioli
Pig Feet
Hog Maws
Cotto Salami
Jalapeño Poppers
Cottage Cheese
Old Halloween candy
Egg Foo Yung
Snipe
Trout
Vienna Sausage
Potted meats
Saltine crackers
Sardines
Ramen noodles
Taco salad
Salisbury steak
Hot pockets
Pickles
Frito Pies
Watermelon
Hot Dog Casserole
Pork Rinds
Broccoli & Cheese Casserole
Spaghetti
Spaghetti-Os
Black Licorice
Hamburger Helper
Chocolate Covered Raisins
Hot Cheetos
Spinach & Artichoke Dip
Guacamole
Fondant
Ranch Style Beans
Lil Smokies
Kool-Aid
Cases of Knockoff Soda
Seagram’s Gin
Crown Royal
Bud Ice

Total Amount Of Attendants: Anybody who likes Seasoning Salt and a 18 minute prayer over the food

what is fried okra?

One time I was in this cafeteria in the south and as I was going through looking at the food I asked one of the workers behind the counter “So, what exactly is fried okra, anyway?”

“I think it’s fish,” the guy replied, and the worker next to him gave him this incredulous look and said “No, it’s a vegetable,” and the first guy went “No, I’m pretty sure it’s fish…”

They continued like this as I moved down the line, and then, just as I was about to go to my seat, I heard the first guy go “Oh! I was thinking of orca!” 

2

Excellent patio dining decisions were made! Beef tongue tacos (not pictured) for brunch and fried chicken gizzards, salad, fried okra, and a margarita for dinner…and sweet tea pie for later!! 😁

Everything I’ve eaten today has been amazing!! Love when that happens!! Love it even more when I don’t have to cook and can eat on a patio enjoying perfect weather! 😉

4

Dinner. Theoretically Afghan-style fried okra with chahr masala, lemon, mushrooms, and acanonical oregano. Batata harra, aka the Arab world’s answer to patatas bravas. Halloumi with honey and sesame seeds.

All this is fucking excellent vegetarian fare, but in particular, shouts out to the potatoes. Honestly, cooking potatoes like this – waxy potatoes, fried at first with garlic and onions and plenty of olive oil, then, with seasonings added, roasted to finish – are fucking me up so badly of late. They’re the softest, sweetest, most comforting thing and I end up eating way too many of them.

(A shout-out within a shout-out goes out, also, to other combinations of flavours to be added to potatoes prepared in this manner: Greek-style, so with lots of lemon and oregano; and this apparently Albanian take on the technique, attributed to like 17th century bandits or something, who made something similar but tossed with honey, lemon juice, and lots of grated nutmeg at the end. That last one in particular is fucking life-changing. And I’m not even a particularly Potato Culture kind of person, ordinarily.)

TalesFromTheFrontDesk: This is gonna be fun....

So, I walk in for NA and I’m feeling pretty good because it’s my last day before 2 days off and I’ve got my delicious dinner from a restaurant that uses VERY fresh seafood. I’ve got redsnapper, softshelled crab, shrimp, okra, and fries. I’ve got my McDonald’s hot latte for later) .

But then my manager tells me when I clock in that I’m gonna have a fun night(sarcasm). Apparently, a 22 year old girl has won a free 2 night stay voucher from a local restaurant that she works at, probably from a company lottery draw that’s similar to what we do. The problem is that when she came in with her friends, she didn’t know that the age limit was 23. So, this girl calls her mom to come and check in the room for her. FYI, the mother is NOT HAPPY to have to do this. This sends alarm bells for my shift leader and she calls the GM. The GM says to make an exception, but she’s got one strike and one strike only to use. So, the girl is checked in and everything was calm for a while. Then all of a sudden there was a lot of noise(commotion) from her room on the second floor….then it was quiet. However, the noise was so great that it could be heard all the way in the back office(her room is on the second floor)…..and guest/s called to complain. The shift leader calls the GM(to see if this would qualify as a strike) and the GM says to evict them. Well, by the time the shift leader went up to the room, nobody was there(luggage was). *This is where I come in*The shift leader says that she locked them out of the room, and when they come back asking for a key, not to give them one and tell them that they are evicted. We would then allow one of them to go up with security to collect their belongings. NOW………….here’s the part that I REALLLLLY don’t like…………When my security was making the rounds, she saw a banner on the door saying “Happy birthday!”. I think that moment of a loud commotion was something to do with celebrating her birthday since it didn’t last that long. So, now when they come back from their night out to enjoy this celebration……I get the honor of telling the birthday girl that her voucher(that she won) wouldn’t be honored anymore and that she’s gotta getta steppin’(old Martin tv show reference)………all because they were too loud for a brief moment. And I don’t even want to know if and how the situation will go if the Mother gets involved. Here’s hoping that they stay out reeeeeeaaaaallly late and I’m gone by the time they get back.

EDIT(UPDATE)- Ok, so I got a call from someone in the party asking if they could get a new room key because they forgot theirs in the room. I then had to break the news to her about being evicted because of the noise complaint and my shift leader’s impression that the mother would not be staying in the room. Suprisingly, the girl was very cool about it like it was no big deal and just asked if they could get their things. To which I said, sure. At 4am….about 5 of the girls(probably not all staying in the room) came on behalf of the birthday girl to get the belongings(not strangers). They were livid…but they understood that it wasn’t my choice and that I couldn’t do anything about the decision made. They felt the shift leader was “targeting” them…..and to be fair….it didn’t sound like a easy going check-in and I can’t say who was or wasn’t in the right. A lot of them were talking at once, because of how mad they were, but I could understand why. ………………

After they got their belongings and left, guess what? The aforementioned mother? Security told me that she was dating the owner’s brother, which another security member confirmed as well. Let me tell you about the owner………his family is RIIIIIIICCCCHHH……they own 3 hotels and a mini golf place on this road alone. They own restaurants, law firms, etc……….even the local middle school is named after their last name. So, now because the girls were talking to the mother on the phone while packing up, the mother is HOT! The mother dating the owner’s brother may come down herself during my shift or sometime later. Another adult was soon in the parking lot with the girls(not sure who that person was) and that adult was angry too. It’s like a soap oprea in here………..

By: armycat23

I am on autopilot. Automatic Tay doesn’t freak out over pointless shit. Automatic Tay doesn’t sleep. Automatic Tay gets shit done. Automatic Tay will pull an all nighter and then take a bus to a different town’s Walmart just to buy a 4 pack of toilet paper.

Automatic Tay isn’t gonna put up with anyone’s bullshit.

Meet the player behind Iria <3

Rules: Tag 10 ( or not 10 ) followers you want to get to know better.

● Birthday: March 19
● Gender: Female
● Relationship status: Married for 8 years, together for 9
● Favourite color: OCEAN TONES!  Love deep blues and bright aquas.
● Pets: None currently
● Wake up time: 6:15AM weekdays, whenever I want on weekends :3
● Love or lust?: Love, actually
● Favourite food: Fried oysters, Jason’s Deli salad bar, fried okra, mushrooms, candied jalapenos, broccoli cheese soup, ribs, and my biggest downfall is asian food.
● Met a celebrity?: Not personally but talked over the phone with Nelly, Nicholas Cage, Hank Azaria, and met in person with Rob Zombie, David Draiman from Disturbed, and all the members of Pantera.
● Last song listened to: Walking in the Sky - DJ Encore
● First kiss: 14, stupid and in love with a total asshole of a kid
● Tall or short: 4′10″  (Yes, I’m a short little shit.  XD)

Tagged by: @isarmont-sorel Thank you for tagging me!

Tagging: @sibutum, @synaestry, @daedeye, @kouflake, @salem-nunh, @jadestormbrand, @trishelle, @chxsingthemoon, @fair-fae, @house-vexile, @housealderscorn, @punchycatte, @season-of-maha and anyone else that wishes to do the thing!

She Steals the Sun and Shuts Out the Light

“Are people in your realm truly so little-educated in dancing?” He seems genuinely curious. “It seems everyone learned in the Enchanted Forest.”

Post-5B, super-fluffy domestic… uh, fluff. ~2600 words.

AO3. FF.net.


Emma takes time off. They take time off.

The first few days are a haze of sleep and soft sheets and making love and fucking (Emma’s noticed a distinct difference between the two depending on how desperate they are for each other at any given moment and relishes them both). They hardly come up for air at first, scarcely leaving the bed for the odd shower or trek to the fridge, but it never lasts long before they come together again in a dance of lips and tongue and skin.

The fog slowly lifts. They drink in their fill of each other again and again and again until it’s nearly been a week and they realize they haven’t really seen the sun in days, only soft light filtered through heavy curtains. As loathe as she is to leave their house (their house – it’s such a big idea that settles so easily in her heart) there’s something to it, walking down the street hand-in-hand to meet her family at Granny’s and then a detour to the grocery store on the way home.

It’s so simple, family lunches and perfunctory shopping with the man she loves.

She’s waited 28 years for this, to do these things. It’s been far longer than that for Killian and her heart aches at the happiness on his face, at how he’s relaxed and easy in a way she’s never seen before, his kisses no longer desperate, his hand at her back less protective and more content.

It’s like they can finally breathe together. It’s like they were meant for this.

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