Belle in the Making

I've never considered myself a "Southerner," though by virtue of living in either Texas or Arkansas for the past 30 years, I suppose others might disagree.

My parents hail from California, so I had never eaten a fried vegetable until high school, when one of my mother's friends introduced her to fried okra. It was a completely foreign dish, and I distinctly remember almost gagging from the grease content the first time she made it for me. Never before had I consumed a vegetable that had not been steamed - as that is the most perfect way to retain all the flavor, crispness and vitamins. I also had never eaten a vegetable served from a can - the BLASPHEMY of such!!

My friend prides herself on being a true Southerner, and I'm constantly reminded of her prowress in all things domestic, horticulturistic, etc. (Did I just make up a word there?) She brought me some freshly picked blackberries this week, and I decided not to let them go to waste, but instead to make a cobbler. My introduction to the cobbler came a few years after I moved to Arkansas. One of my agents brought one to my office and was just flabbergasted that I had no clue what one was, nor how to make one. "It's so SIMPLE," she professed, and immediately, I could tell she had lost a great deal of respect for me. Well, to redeem myself, I purchased one of those "Southern" cookbooks (one compiled by locals) - and found a recipe that looked as simple as could be. The "magic" of cobblers appears to be the dumping of the chosen fruit onto the batter, and the batter magically rising around the fruit, forming a crust on top. I refused to believe this phenomenon, until tonight. It's not quite done yet, but as evidenced by the picture to the left, this is indeed the case. (And yes, my anal retentive nature required me to check on the process, every five minutes during baking.)

Though Songbird may disagree, I am well on my way to conquering this strange Goliath that is the "Southern Culture!"