This very day I received the following statement in my email:

Every Southerner knows that tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful; that red eye gravy is also a breakfast food; that scrambled eggs just ain’t right without Tabasco, and that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.

There has been since the beginning of American history a distinct difference between the northern and southern parts of our country. Many of these differences are God ordained, such as the geographical features. Allow me to provide a very simplistic view.

It was in great part those very geographical differences that led to the north’s industrialization and the south’s agricultural base. And that agricultural base led to the use of slavery as basically free labor to support the great cotton crops whose harvests were sent to the northern textile mills for the manufacture of clothing.

There were other crops raised in the south, and there were many other industries in the north. But the issue of slavery became a major debate between the two sections during the mid-1800s, climaxing with the United States Civil War. Slavery was not the only issue resulting in the Civil War, but nevertheless it became a most critical point.

Sadly, the Civil War is still being fought 155 years after its end on many fronts. Have you as a southern native ever traveled to or worked in a northern destination and made to feel uncomfortable by your culture? Perhaps you are a northern native who has relocated to the south and have felt that your neighbors were hostile, particularly if you participated in civic activities and voiced an opinion that differed from the regional status quo.

This what I will term for the purpose of this article “cultural superiority” can become very specific. Sometimes a distinction is made even within different sections of the same county. I remember when I was the principal of Sharps Chapel Elementary School. An elder member of the community that I had known from my youth was talking about all of the school staff who were not native to Sharps Chapel. I said to this dear lady, “I’m not from Sharps Chapel.” She replied, “Well, at least you’re from the COUNTY!”

There is nothing wrong with a person being proud of his/her native home. The quote above that came from my email is a humorous attempt to voice pride of the southern United States. I was born at St. Mary’s Hospital in Knoxville. Guess what? I’m Baptist, and St. Mary’s was affiliated with the Catholic religion. I have lived my entire life in Union County. Since I was born in Knoxville, does that make me not a native Union Countian? I attended Lincoln Memorial University in Harrogate, Tennessee and lived in the dormitories of the fine educational institution for the better part of four years. That was in Claiborne County. Does that mean that I forfeited my rights as a native Union Countian? It wouldn’t appear so, at least in the eyes of the government. I still voted in Union County, always in the first district, though for seven years I lived in the third district.

Back to the quote above. Let me examine it, using myself as an example. “Every Southerner knows that tomatoes . . .” Stop right there! I despise tomatoes. I don’t mind very small pieces of tomato in my vegetable soup or chili, and I love ketchup with the correct foods, such as French (not American) fries, fried potatoes, and occasionally chicken nuggets. I don’t like ketchup on my hot dogs. Yet I don’t go to grocery stores and destroy and loot their displays and stock of tomatoes just because I don’t like them. And I don’t discriminate—I don’t like tomatoes in any form, regardless if they are grown in the north or south, or in another country, for that matter. I don’t like tomatoes in combination with any other food, either. I have nothing against those who dearly love tomatoes. My Aunt Duskie told me, “You’re not a Mincey if you don’t like ‘maters’.” I don’t like tomatoes, I am indeed a Mincey, and I love my Aunt Duskie still, though she has been in the grave for almost two decades.

More examination—“tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful. I love eggs. All during my growing years my mother and I (and later, Dad) went to church every Sunday morning. For lunch every Sunday, I had a fried egg sandwich on white (not wheat) light bread with mayonnaise and some flavor of red Kool-Aid. The flavor didn’t matter, as long as the Kool-Aid was red, what I used to call “poor man’s wine”. For breakfast (on the rare occasions that I ate breakfast) I wanted scrambled eggs with light Karo syrup (I don’t like dark syrup with eggs—that is for pancakes or waffles). And I didn’t give a dang whose picture was on the egg carton or the syrup bottle, either! (God bless Mrs. Buttersworth, as long as her syrup didn’t wind up on my eggs!) I was just glad to get to eat what I wanted. I have nothing against those who dearly love eggs and/or light Karo syrup. I don’t go to public places or people’s homes and vandalize their kitchens and dining rooms because they don’t agree with me concerning eggs and light Karo syrup. And I don’t discriminate—if you don’t like eggs and/or light Karo syrup, I can still respect your right to differ in your opinions because I know there is more to life than total agreement and tolerance for eggs and light Karo syrup. I personally agree wholeheartedly with the end of the quote: “. . . that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.” In my book, they are not a fit food for any meal or occasion.

Bacon is a food I like. I get along fine with people who like their bacon very crispy, though I prefer it to be less well done and chewier. I also get along with vegetarians. I don’t make fun of people who don’t eat meat, no more than I expect them to belittle me for eating as much as I can find.

Not to belabor the point, I don’t like grits at all. No form, no fashion. I don’t even know whose picture might be on a box of grits. If you like grits, God love your heart! The closest I ever came to possibly eating and liking grits was when I was very young, before I even went to school. I was at one of my brothers’ houses, and his wife served Cream of Wheat with lots of butter and white sugar. That I could eat and enjoy.

I have been a coffee drinker all my life. Before I can even remember I was drinking coffee (half a teaspoon of instant coffee to a lukewarm cup of water, just hot enough to dissolve the instant coffee powder). I never cared for JFG brand—I always found it bitter. My favorites were Nescafe and Folger’s, though the brand matters less to me when the coffee is brewed. Over the years I graduated from this “unleaded” version to full strength, from instant to brewed. I still prefer my coffee hotter than lukewarm, though not so hot that it burns my mouth. I feel no animosity toward those who don’t even like coffee. I don’t find it necessary to protest and riot over the fact that some people are thus deluded.
For those who might not know what red eye gravy is, Wikipedia defines it as,

“. . . a thin sauce often seen in the cuisine of the Southern United States and associated with the country ham of that region. Other names for this sauce include poor man's gravy, bird-eye gravy, bottom sop, cedar gravy, and red ham gravy. The gravy is made from the drippings of pan-fried country ham mixed with black coffee. Red-eye gravy is often served over ham, grits or biscuits. (Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red-eye_gravy, Retrieved July 6, 2020)

I have never had actual red eye gravy, though this definition makes me want to have some right now. There are those, even southerners, who would not “fain fill their bellies” with this “swill”. I bear none of them ill will, nor would I bash their brains with the pan in which this southern delicacy is prepared. I know that there are people who don’t consider red eye gravy just a breakfast food, and there are many of us who at various times have eaten breakfast for either dinner (lunch in the north) or supper (dinner in the south).

I got my fill of Tabasco when I was in college. During a dare at lunch, I turned up a bottle and drunk Tabasco sauce straight. Immediately my eyes poured water, my mouth felt like a coal furnace, and every pore in my body exuded sweat. I thought I might die right at the table. I suppose that’s the reason I prefer Tiger Sauce today, though I would put neither Tabasco nor Tiger Sauce on my eggs, no matter how the eggs are prepared. I personally would never eat breakfast that contained Tabasco as a condiment; however, I have quite the collection of Tabasco ties, just as I have golf and fishing ties, though I participate in neither sport. If you choose to wear clothing that makes light of either Tabasco, fishing or golf, the mere fact that you wear such clothes will not harm me in the least, no more than my choice of clothing will harm you.

Notice I have not capitalized either “north” or “south” in this article unless it began a sentence (or unless I made an unintentional error). This reflects my belief that all Americans, regardless of our origins and culture, need to respect and have tolerance for differences in culture, unless such differences cause a threat to civil liberty. Tolerance is not acceptance, an important distinction that so often so many of us forget.

As I take my leave from you this week, I leave you with yet another tidbit from my world of email.

Only a Southerner knows instinctively that the best gesture of solace for a neighbor who's got trouble is a plate of hot fried chicken and a big bowl of cold potato salad. If the neighbor's trouble is a real crisis, they also know to add a large banana puddin'!