Take the pitcher, Joo-yawn...
The mysterious Ta'er sent me this article 'bout how boiled peanuts and southerners are huge trendy in NYC nowadays.
There's a couple boiled peanuts on the observation deck of the Empire State Building in nineteen and eighty five. We were college sweethearts and she visited me in NYC a year after we graduated. We were holding on to the relationship but it was slippin' away fast what with the miles between her Georgia and my new love, Manhattan.
I don't think you can understand southerners without being one. Except for South Dakota, my birthplace and home for less than a year, I lived in the south or southwest until I was 26. In 5th grade I went to school with kids whose parents worked in textile mills and lived in houses with dirt floors and wax paper for windows. I grew up with Uncle Boots and Aunt Ona. Uncle P.E. and Aunt Beulah. They were my blood. But so was my father and his people from Duluth, MN. I didn't really belong to either.
I took what I loved from each and walked from what I didn't like. I adored grits heavily buttered and salted but left the kale cooked with ham hocks. I caught bass out of a man made pond on my great grandparent's N.C. farm one summer. They drank a lot of sweet iced tea. The next summer I lunched at Toots Shor in NYC and hung out in Greenwich, CT with the Duluth grandparents and an aunt and uncle who had worked for Joan Crawford. They liked to have high balls at 5PM. I still don't know what a high ball is.
I'm happy boiled peanuts are easy to find in NYC. But, like southerners, they've always been here - you just had to know where to look.