Saturday, September 4, 2010

Southern Sweet Tea

I don't drink it. {gasp, I know} I don't like the flavor of tea in general, and I think at times my brothers thought I belonged to the milk man because I didn't share the Ponder love of my mom's sugary sweet caffeine. I prefer my sugary sweet caffeine in the form of Starbucks, and I'm not ashamed. ;)

I also didn't say y'all until I went to college four hours south of my homeland and figured out how much more efficient it is than to say "you guys." I don't cook much, and when I do cook it isn't with real butter or cream {I will most definitely eat food other people make with these ingredients, mind you}.

But I am Southern. I like being Southern. It is my region of choice, and despite a few of the quintessential Southern characteristics I don't exhibit, I will still always and forever be Southern.

Are you wondering yet where this is coming from?

Southern Living, of course {second only to the Bible according to my mom ;)}. I found a nifty new blog, Blue-Eyed Bride, and she posted a fabulous article from this month's issue about Southern stereotypes played in Hollywood. It is written by a woman named Amy Bickers, and I loved it!

Bickers explains how we have air conditioners so we shouldn't always be portrayed so sweaty, and she clears the rumor that we call all our police chiefs Big Daddy {I'm paraphrasing here}. But one of my favorite quotes has to be, "...You'd be shocked if we told you how few of us actually have verandas."

The article also reminded me that I have pictures from a fun little piece of The Ozarks {I'm thinking of The Ozarks as a subregion of The South so that my post flows...ok?} that I still need to share.

Mountain Home Berry Farm!

I've been eating these berries for years and years and have driven by the farm a countless number of times, but until earlier this summer I hadn't ever actually experienced it. It was so quaint and picturesque...better than I even anticipated from the fruits of its labor.

Just a tiny sampling of the some of the produce they grow. They'll even let you walk right up, pick, and taste. Oh, the authenticity.

The berries aren't all looks, either. They are crazy tasty. One time several years ago I was bringing a flat of strawberries to my mother-in-law on my way back from MH, and I made the mistake of keeping them in the front seat within an arm's reach of me the entire time I was driving. I ate so many strawberries that I had an allergic reaction. That wouldn't be any huge deal except that I am not allergic to strawberries. At all. {I do not know what compels me to tell embarassing stories.}

These are jams/jellies/ican'ttellthedifference made from the berries that were for sale at a tiny/delicious restaurant a few miles down the road.

And this is one of the signs that greets you as you enter the restaurant.

From Southern sweet tea to smokes. I think we've come full circle...y'all.

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