Farm to Table

Most likely if you actually grew up in the South, “farm to table” is not a new culinary concept. It’s not a trend. It’s a way of life.

My parent’s organic produce section was my grandmother’s backyard. Their butcher was my Uncle Jimmy and fresh eggs weren’t far from the door of my Aunt Nancy’s kitchen. The hospitality wasn’t found in one meal on a checkered tablecloth, but in the basket of fresh produce sent home for the week.

In our family, fresh Tennessee tomatoes and strawberries still warm from the sun were the only kid friendly options. Before there were kale chips and wheat grass there were lima beans that actually tasted good. We may have pronounced all the letters in jalapeno, but we canned the best salsa and we didn’t even know that it was organic.

I remember a summer night spent shucking a truckload of sweet corn outside with my uncle and daddy. My sister and I would walk the corn inside to my aunt and mama to be cut off the cob. If we lingered too long in the air, it wouldn’t be long before our dirty little feet were shooed back out the door for more. In the winters, that creamed corn sure did hit the spot.

Another summer, daddy brought home a TON of strawberries from Portland. As mom got everything ready to freeze those little jewels, dad and I raced to see who could cap the most. I won. Nothing beats strawberry birthday cake made with Portland’s finest in February.

It excites me to see “farm to table” becoming popular. It’s just so good. It’s like seeing God on a plate. Can you imagine Him creating a strawberry? He truly does love us. 

ImageThose are Calvin Klein jeans, baby.

 

 

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