15 January 2007

January 15 (frying)

This is the fish that has haunted the waking dreams of The Ancestor for nearly nine years: fresh Atlantic flounder. Add all the food in Utah up together, including Krispy Kreme donuts, and it would barely register on her edibility scale in comparison to this. Well, The Ancestor's best friend from North Carolina overnighted her a care package filled with all sorts of southern delicacies, on ice, and it was all still well-chilled when it arrived here, as promised, by noon. O, rapture! O, bliss!

But no. The collards weren't cooked right. Nix on the okra and side meat. The cabbage looked just like Utah cabbage. And so on. I hoped that at least the flounder would do the trick. Can you guess? "It just ain't good like it used to be. Maybe that fish was old."

Or could it be that The Ancestor's taste buds are old? Yes, I think that's it. Nothing ever tastes like it used to because her yummy sensors are no longer doing their jobs properly. A common affliction among the elderly—sad, but true.

At least there's still some Ellis Davis corn meal in the freezer, waiting to be used—a small consolation for a lonely-for-country-cookin' lady.

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