Boiled? BOILED? ? ? ?

Well, y'all. . . . I do think . . . ?

Okra is frahd, son. Frahd as in a cast iron skillet on a hot day in August, no air conditioning, and (ah might add) in the South.

Accompanied by fried corn (which is not actually fried, as anyone knows), blackeyed peas fresh from shellin' and bein' cooked with a slice of salt pork, and a plate of sliced homegrown tomatoes. Maybe even some homegrown green onions (or scallions to the ones on summer break from college).

And invite me to dinner (dinner being the meal that is served at noon).

Been too long. . . .

A lifetime ago.