Tastes Better On a Stick

Meat_on_stick

I’m not from these parts. When I left my native Massachusetts to take a job at Cooking Light in Birmingham, Alabama, people asked me if I experienced  culture shock. When I told them I hadn’t, they honestly seemed a little disappointed.

Of course there are differences, some of them profound. When it comes to festival street meat, for instance, the South has it all over the North. I first tried chicken-on-a-stick at a fair in Montgomery one summer. Like a gateway drug, it led directly to alligator-on-a-stick. Loved that so much I went straight for pizza. Yes, pizza–on-a-stick. Which is just as ridiculous as it sounds, and worth every penny.

I haven’t yet hit one of the "meat-and-three" joints in town (where mac and cheese counts as one of your three "vegetable" sides), but I bet I’ll love them. I may just save that experience for my birthday. Grab some cake-on-a-stick afterward.

In the beverage department, I’ve been introduced to some mighty
seductive concoctions down here. I’ve had margaritas made with peach
juice. I’ve had them with watermelon juice. I’ve even had them made
with bourbon. Called "bourbaritas." Heavenly. I’ve considered naming my
first daughter after them.

And then there are the little lifestyle differences. I’ve learned,
for instance, that an electric bill can grow to a couple hundred
dollars if you have central air conditioning and like to use it to
stave off the soul-sapping heat that blankets the South from June
through September. Consequently, I’ve learned that while fans don’t
work as well as AC, soul-sapping heat builds character.

I’ve learned that in the South, when someone says "bless your heart"
to you, it’s not exactly a benediction. They mean, "I feel bad for you;
you’re kind of a boob." Learned that one the hard way.

I’ve had to unlearn a few things, too. Just before I left
Massachusetts, I was working as a sous chef at a fine dining restaurant
in the Berkshires. Since moving South, I’ve had to kick the habit of
saying "behind you" when I’m walking past people who can’t see me. It’s
a precautionary measure in a professional kitchen, and helps prevent
collisions and injuries. But in the office, well, it’s just a little
creepy.

Still, none of this amounts to culture shock. A few new discoveries,
a handful of lessons learned. And one revelation: Everything tastes
better on a stick.

COMMENTS

  1. Kam

    Welcome to the south! There are so many things waiting for you “on a stick”!

    August 1, 2008 at 9:55 pm

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