Fried Southern Roots

Camille had lived in the South all her days. She was twenty-nine years of age and still single, which was a near unheard of occurrence in the small town she called home. All of her friends had been married for several years and most were parents of at least two children. Camille did not understand. She’d finished college, never married, and decided to return home three years ago because her mother had fallen ill, but since doing so, she’d been chastised by family, close friends, acquaintances, and even strangers whom she did not know, for not ‘settling down’.

“My goodness, Camille,” they'd all start. “I don’t understand why a pretty gal like you hasn’t already found a man, settled down, and had children.” And it was always followed by a “well, bless your heart,” comment when she replied that she had no interest in marriage until she met someone who met all her prerequisites. Camille was far too used to these reactions and had blissfully grown immune to them.

Despite not being interested in settling down, Camille chose to pacify her family and friends at times; thus, she had agreed to a blind date this very evening. Her good friend, Mary Dallas, had insisted she knew the perfect man for Camille: Duncan. Her friend believed Duncan was perfect in every aspect – except, that is, for his struggles with passing the bar exam, which he'd failed three times even though he had a degree in law. Mary Dallas had attended university with Duncan, who would be traveling through town and staying with her for a few days on his way to Florida. Mary Dallas was sure Camille and Duncan's meeting was predestined, and Camille did not have the heart to argue the point. It was much easier to simply go on the date with Duncan. Hopefully, it would be over shortly anyway.

So, this evening, Camille sat, patiently awaiting Duncan’s arrival at the Salty River Grill. It was only March, but the air was already humid out on the patio. Fortunately, there was a breeze this evening coming off the water, so it was pleasant enough. The waiter had just brought the bottle of Chateau Blaignan she'd ordered. As Camille lifted the glass, she could smell blackcurrant, cherries, and aromatic spices. It was lusciously rich in color, its taste embodying the mixture of velvety flavors that made it so delectable.

Camille slowly slipped the wine. As she waited, her mind touched upon a memory from childhood. She smiled to herself as she remembered her first experience with wine while growing up in the heart of the Bible Belt. Her Mother had opened a bottle of an overly sweet nectar when Camille was ten years of age; it had elicited quite the reaction from her daughter.

“Momma!” Camille had screamed in horror born of pure disillusionment. “Mimi and Pastor Brown say wine is the fruit of the Devil!”

Her mother had simply ignored her, smiled, and proceeded to pour the wine into a juice glass. Looking up once she'd done so, amusement etched across her face, she'd said, “Camille, as much as I love your Mimi and Pastor Brown, wine is not the fruit of the Devil. As with all things in this life, things are exactly what you make of it. And, of course, with wine, it can also be how much you drink. A glass of wine is not a forbidden thing. After all, Jesus turned the water into wine, didn’t he, Camille? Now, you don't think Jesus would want us to drink the fruit of the Devil, do you? Now run along and play. and remember what I've told you because wine isn't the only thing about which you need to form your own opinion.”

Indeed, no truer words had been spoken in her twenty-nine years. Her momma had taught Camille much more about life than about wine. Nearly everything in life was rooted pretty much in the way one perceived it or however someone made. For example, she was a huge Harry Potter fan when she had been young. Everyone in her hometown had insisted the books were all about witchcraft and should be banned. Again, Camille had chosen to read the books (mostly out of curiosity because they'd wanted to ban them), and she had deduced on her own that they were about good and evil, much like the Bible. More to the point, the good had come out on top. So what the devil had been such a big deal? She didn't really understand that way of thinking. Yes you could always put an evil slant on pretty much everything, but you'd sure miss a lot of 'magic' (she smiled, pun intended) in doing so. Her Mother had been a very wise woman, and she was thankful she’d listened to her - more than thankful she’d applied those wise words to so many different things over the years.

Camille glanced up to find an attractive man approaching the table. Was this Duncan?

The tall man stopped beside her and gave her a charming smile. “Camille?” he asked, obviously pleased with the woman seated in front of him.

Camille quickly rose and extended her hand in greeting. “Hello. Yes, I’m Camille. It’s very nice to meet you Duncan.”

“Same here,” Duncan replied while he shook her hand and attempted to inconspicuously give Camille the once over. She noticed immediately that there was something to which she could not lay a finger, but whatever it was, this man already did not sit well with her. How long would it take for her to learn what it was?

Once settled in their seats directly across from one another, Camille smiled across the expanse of white tablecloth. Duncan was attractive and had beautiful blue eyes. Was it possible she was wrong about him? Perhaps he would surprise her and the evening would be more enjoyable than she anticipated. Regardless, she felt a tinge of wariness creep inside her.

“I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of wine. Would you like some?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Duncan said, almost too enthusiastically. “I love a really good merlot. I much prefer it to that awful iced tea you guys like to drink,” he laughed at himself and shook his head, ignoring Camille’s look of surprise. Not waiting for the waiter, he picked up the wine bottle and poured a generous measure of the Merlot into his glass. “This is delicious,” he said after he took his first sip. “Full-bodied, fruity, with a hint of aromatic spice,” he noted.

Well, at least the man appreciated good wine. “Yes, I agree. It’s a lovely, mellow wine and pairs easily with most dishes.”

“Speaking of which, have you eaten at the Salty River Grill before?” Duncan asked. “What’s really good on the menu? I've been looking forward to fresh seafood all day.”

“Yes, there are a great many things I love here,” Camille began. “The Sea Island Shrimp & Grits is always a favorite, but I prefer the Benne & Poppy Seed Crusted Salmon.”

“The salmon it is,” Duncan said and then gave a look of distaste before adding, “I don’t understand how anyone can eat grits. They're pretty much tasteless and gritty.” Camille could see a dimple peeking out in his right cheek, as if he found himself amusing and was sure she would, too. Camille was beginning to think that the fact Duncan wasn't bad looking was his only attribute. Then again, looks could be quite deceiving.

“So, I’m guessing you don’t much care for iced tea or grits?” Camille asked, feigning ignorance of his implications.

“Are you kidding? Only in the South. Tea is always better when it's hot and why the devil do you guys have to put mayo in and on everything? Don't even get me started on where the idea came from to cook grits. You might as well cook sand. Grits are utterly and despicably disgusting!” Duncan said emphatically, making a face. Did this man really think he was making endearing observations with his Southern date? The idiot. Camille’s annoyance increased by leaps and bounds.

Just then, the waiter stopped by for their order. Completely ignoring her date, Camille leaned forward and eagerly rushed ahead with a deliberate list of appetizers and entrees she'd chosen from the menu for just such an evening - and such a date.

“We'd like to order several things please. May we have the fried catfish, the fried green tomatoes, the fried green beans, the pimento cheese and pretzels, hush puppies, coleslaw, and....oh yes, a side of shrimp and grits with extra grits please? And please bring some of those wonderful dipping sauces, especially lots of the tartar sauce." As an afterthought, she added, "And we'd also each like a huge slice of your special Southern Pecan Pie with vanilla ice cream and whipped topping for dessert.”

"Yes, mam," the waiter responded. "I'll get these appetizers out to y'all right away!"

After the waiter left, Camille took a sip of her wine and innocently looked over at Duncan. She shrugged at his dumbfounded look. "I'm a tad bit hungry," she lied.

“Yes, you must be very hungry, Camille. Are you sure though that you want to eat all that fried, rich food? And the sauces, too? All that food can't exactly be good for you.” Duncan was frowning with obvious distaste. He looked at Camille and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Aren't you afraid you'll gain weight if you keep eating like that?"

Camille muffled a much desired scream of frustration and smiled sweetly at her date instead. “Well, goodness,” she said with a lilting, overemphasized Southern accent, “all that’s just a little sample of our wonderful Southern food. I know you'll love every bit of it, but if that’s not enough for you, we can always add more!”

Duncan shook his head in disbelief and then looked about the restaurant, obviously uncomfortable.

“Have you any other observations you’d like to note about our lovely Southern culture, Duncan?” Camille asked, eager for his response. She could go toe-to-toe with this idiot all night long. “You’ve already made such a distinct impression.”

Duncan gave a derisive snort before he turned back to her. “Yes, you guys seem to love everything fried and with Mayo or whipped topping. To be frank, I am very surprised you don’t already weigh 300 pounds, but you surely will before the year’s end if you keep eating that kind of food. Frankly, I'm a bit surprised we aren't drinking moonshine with our meal instead of wine. However, I'm guessing there's a good chance we'll be eating with our fingers to make up for it.”

Much credit to Camille, she maintained her composure and the smile on her face did not falter even though it was a ‘well, bless your heart’ kind of smile. “Anything more to add, Duncan?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, “But I think it’s time to make my exit.”

Camille barely gave him a glance as she agreed. “Past time, I do believe. I wish I could say it has been a pleasure, but instead, I’ll just say goodnight.” Relieved, Camille smiled as she looked out across the water, refusing to further acknowledge Duncan’s departure. He rose and quickly exited the restaurant.

Moments later, the waiter brought every appetizer Camille had ordered, along with bowls of dipping sauces; they easily filled the small table. Camille graciously thanked him and filled her plate with a little of each of the items she'd ordered. Munching on a hushpuppy, she contemplated her first – and thankfully, her last – date with Duncan.

Her Mother had been exceedingly perceptive and wise about both life and people. In the case of Duncan, there was no doubt whatsoever that you got exactly what you perceived: a buffoon of a man who had no respect for anyone who exhibited differences when compared with him. She supposed Duncan thought there was nothing left for him to learn about himself or others, but he couldn’t be more wrong. She was thankful it had taken very little time to discern this fact, and also thankful she hadn't wasted time attempting to converse about nonsensical matters. It had been obvious from the start that the two had pretty much nothing in common.

Nibbling contentedly on fried catfish while generously dipping the fried green beans in sauce, Camille agreed with her momma: life was what you made of it in most instances. Right now, she was making the best of a poor situation. She was content in her own skin, too. No, she did not have a man, but she knew that she didn’t require one to define her. She was happy sitting alone, eating fried food, and drinking delicious wine. And soon enough, she would be enjoying a huge piece of pecan pie all by herself.

The serenity of the moss swaying from the massive oaks was soothing as the moon rose high in the Southern sky. Camille lifted her face and felt the coolness of the evening breeze lightly caress it. Who could ask for more than good wine, delicious fried food, pecan pie, and such soothing, beautiful scenery?