Confessions of a Girl Raised In The South.

I am a girl raised in the south, but I can hardly say that I'm a GRITS.

First of all, I don't really like grits. Or sweet tea. I didn't taste pimento cheese until I was 30. 

I do call all soft drinks "cokes," and I sure do like my Chick-fil-A waffle fries and lemonade, but I don't know the Waffle House slogan. 

I'm picky about my peaches and fried pickles, but I don't know anything about a fried green tomato. I own a cast-iron skillet, but I don't know how to use it.

I say y'all (mostly because I think it's much more efficient than "you all), I'm polite, and I wave to my neighbors. But I didn't grow up saying "yes ma'am" and "no sir" unless I was at my neighbor's house. 

I don't listen to country music, I don't swoon when a pick-up truck rolls by, I had to google seersucker and smocked, I don't care for monograms, I don't own anything with the outline of my home state drawn on it, and (here's my biggest confession) I can't name more than two SEC football teams.


Nevertheless, I was born and raised here, and now I'm raising my son here. I'll be interested to see what bits of Southern culture make their way into our home in the years to come. 

Here's a start-- I've got a biscuit recipe. One I'm pretty proud of. It's decently easy, definitely delicious, and it's freezable. Which means if I can get my hands on some good jam and learn how to make sweet tea, I'm ready to host anybody who knocks on my door.

Now that's Southern.