No Place Like Pimento

It's been nearly seven years now since I left the South and I'm still continuously surprised by how much I miss it. Sure it's the drawn-out ackseeyuhnts and pleasantries in the form of contractions, ma'am. It's the humidity that suffocates Yankees, but to us has all the comforts of a warm blanket. And the pop-up thunderstorms that startle others, but beckon us out to sit on the front porch and smell the rain.

But I have a secret for you. Above all that, it's really about the food. The fried chicken and biscuits. Butter beans and low country boils. What others call Soul Food, we just call food. That's what I believe I've missed the most.

When I first visited Los Angles in New Years of 2000 is when I learned that people didn't always drink tea with tons of sugar in it, over ice. Anywhere in the South, from Wendy's to the Ritz Carlton, you can ask for sweet tea and get it. I was appalled to learn that all my meals from then on would have to be accompanied with some other, lesser beverage (sometimes I still order iced tea and try to drown packets of Equal in it, but it's just not the same).

A couple years after living in Hollywood, I tried to make an old-fashioned, country breakfast. I was pretty much able to recreate everything - except the most important ingredient: grits. They were nowhere to be found in the grocery stores. Grits are absolutely essential to a Southerner and there are a hundred ways to eat them. My dad used to come around the kitchen table on Sunday morning's, forking tuna from a can into our grits proclaiming, "here eat this, it'll put lead in your pencil." I was 22 before I realized what he actually meant by that.

But the clincher came just recently when, on taking a couple days vacation at home, I wanted to surround myself with childhood comfort foods. And what I wanted most was a pimento cheese foldy. Light orange, fluffy pimento cheese spread over a single slice of white bread (Colonial, but of course they don't have it) and folded in half. Mmmmmmm. I went to the grocery store and searched the deli section (where it should rightfully be), the cheese section, the bologna section....all to no avail. I stopped dead in the middle of frozen foods before it hit me: there would be no pimento cheese for me today. Pimento cheese was yet another food I could only find in the South.

I went home frustrated and a little ashamed that I still sometimes didn't get it...that not everybody grew up with the things so essential to my childhood. Poor souls.

Just to confirm what I already knew in my heart, I went to the internet and googled "pimento cheese." On the first page, fourth link down was a link to the Augusta Chronicle, my hometown's newspaper. I clicked the link and read the first paragraph:

"When true Southerners are asked about pimento cheese, a smile creeps across their face as their minds and palates fill with memories of childhood. Memories of running into the house barefoot, slamming the back screen door, opening the refrigerator and filling their mouth with a scoop of the homemade spread. It is an exceptionally emotional food for Southerners."

With that, I wiped one, small tear from my eye, let out a long, silent sigh...and went to make a fresh batch of sweet tea.