My (Eastern Euorpean) South

It seems I was working harder on this My South post than I had to.  This was from the very first OkraCola.com post:

My paternal grandfather's family came over from England before this country was founded. He married a lady who was born in India to a very posh British family. So I'm only half Southern by blood. My maternal great-grandparents (all 4) came over from Slovakia in the past 100 or so years so I grew up on fried okra from her backyard as well as pirogies.  So I'm only 1/4 southern by having family down here for a long time depending on how you count it, but my Slovak grandparents adapted quickly to southern living and ideals so I consider myself 100% southern! 

That was eaiser than I thought; but wait, there's more!

Brookside, Alabama is not known to everyone as an Eastern European treasure trove of delicacies and traditions, but that’s what I think of when I go there.  My Great-Grandparents immigrated from what is now the Republic of Slovakia and raised 10 kids in Wylam, Alabama.  My maternal Grandmother married another son of another Slovak immagrant family and they settled in the small town of Brookside.  It is such a small town that when there was still a Catholic Church there my Mom and her whole wedding party got ready at my Grandparents house and walked to the wedding. 

I would always go to my grandmother's house (My grandfather died before I was born) where she would fix fried okra from her garden, make meatloaf and banana pudding, fix me chocolate milk and bake tradtional favorites from the old country.  Most of them involved cheese, potatoes and onion; plentiful and relatively cheap staples.  Pagachi, halushki, pirogies, real food.  Every Christmas she would pack a paper grocery sack full of baked goods and remind us that if we left hungry it was our own fault.

Pagachi is everyone's favorite.  (Here's a recipe that looks close.  Scroll down 2/3rds) It is a yeast bread dough filled with a potato and cheese mixture (sharp cheddar) then rolled flat and round like a pizza, and brushed with oil that had been cooking with onions.  She would always make a special batch for my Uncle Joe because he liked dill baked in his.  To this day pagachi is still part the traditional dinner in our family after Christmas Eve Mass.  We go to my mom's and eat ham and pagachi sandwiches.  Once I made a huge mistake by saying I didn't like the pagachi that was served at a cousin's wedding.  It was too thin and nothing like my grandmothers.  My mom's first cousin heard me say it and said, "don't let Momma (my Great-Aunt) hear you say that."  Oops.

My Paternal Grandmother was born in colonial India to a physician, so it was a whole different vibe.  She never really cooked.  We call it the Allan gene.  People say, "what is the Allan gene?"  Well, it took 6 Indian servants to run the Allan household of 4, so the Allan gene is laziness.  If you visit this blog with any frequency you can attest to the presence of this gene.  My love of sweet tea obviously didn't come from that side of the family.

Eating Christmas Pudding with brandy butter and having Christmas crackers were also normal and expected during the holidays in our house in Walker County, Alabama.  Not only that but also weekly calls from my father's first cousin in Edinburough and yearly visits from him with the cool and tasty stuff we couldn't get.  Now we can get most of it from World Market and Whole Foods.


Thanks again to Wade and Rachel to their contributions and let me know if you have a uniquely Southern raisin'!  drew [at] okra cola (dot) com

My South: Greek and Proud of it!

By Rachel

My Great-Grandfather immigrated from Greece near the turn of the century into our country that, at the time, was quite prejudiced against Greeks. Despite the general feelings of animosity, however, he must have been somewhat charming – he convinced my Great-Grandmother to marry him before he knew a word of English or she knew a word of Greek.

I never knew him, but his belief in the value of Greek culture must have been magnificent. they had five children, all who had a very firm grasp on what it meant to be Greek, and how to pridefully carry on the traditions of our culture.

Our holidays, especially Easter, were always celebrated with Roasted Lamb, Spanakopitas, Greek Easter Bread, and Kalamata Olives and Feta Cheese.

(The real olives and Feta Cheese, bought where they should be, in a plastic bag from Nabeel’s Imported foods.)

All of this was delightfully mixed with my Great-Grandmothers truly southern Macaroni and Cheese, my Grandmother’s famed biscuit recipe, Chocolate cake, and Chicken and Dumplins’, of course. I found that Greek Food and Southern food made a delightful combination.

My Aunt Helen was infamous for her ability to read your fortune from the coffee grounds in the bottom of your cup, and loved to spice up a family gathering by cranking up the Greek music and breaking out into dance.

My Granddad, while being truly proud of his Greek heritage and sharing his Greek roots with anyone he was around, was also in the Hillbilly Brigade with the Zamora Temple Shriners, where he dressed up in overalls and a straw hat and drove around acting as southern as possible in his 1920’s Model T.

In proper Greek fashion (and made famous by the movie “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”), I was made to go to Greek School. Despite several years of study of the Greek language, I don’t remember much, except for the Greek girl Penelope who sat next to me, and the boy who sat on the other side of me with thick, black, oozing earwax.

(Sorry for that. I don’t know if thick, black, oozing earwax has anything to do with Greek culture or not, but it is certainly associated in my mind.)

But, much more than earwax, Greeks are known for their food.

My Father went into the Air Force as a teenager, and when his platoon formed, the commanding officer yelled out, “Who in here is Greek?” Dad was the only one to raise his hand, and so was immediately assigned the job of being the cook for the entire platoon.

My Mother is not Greek and did not know how to cook when they got married, but my Father taught her well. I am so thankful that she learned to cook like a Greek woman, and taught me all of those amazing recipes as well.

(Some of these Famiy Recipes can be found on my blog, if you’re interested.)

Besides cooking Greek, I am thrilled beyond measure to live in a city that is full of amazing Greek and Mediterranean restaurants, such as Dodiyos, Nabeel’s, Taziki’s, Zoës, The Fish Market, Jim N Nicks (did you know they were Greek?? I told you all good cooks are Greek.), all of the Sarris family restaurants, and I’m sure a ton of others that I’m not thinking about right now.

So, if you haven’t tried some Greek food lately, you might want to. I promise – you’ll want to get up and dance, and maybe even read someone’s coffee ground fortune.

Rachel writes at Grasping for Objectivity . . . and Alabama Bloggers.

My South - Wade Kwon

East meets South: The Korean-redneck dinner table

By Wade Kwon

Most of you did not grow up as I did. Asian. American. Southern. Non-Baptist.

Perhaps the best way to show a glimpse of my unique childhood is to have you sit at our dinner table at our suburban home in Hoover, Ala. One night, we'd have American food. The next night, Korean food. This is how I thought other families ate, until I noticed a distinct lack of kimchi at friends' dinner tables.

So we'd have spaghetti, with sauce from a jar. Or tacos, from the kit. Or roast beef, scalloped potatoes (from the box, which I loved) and green beans (from a can).

Other nights, we'd have bulgogi (marinated barbecued beef) and rice. Or mandoo (which you probably call wonton), or ttok kuk (rice cake soup).

We ate in the kitchen, almost never the dining room. And the TV set would be on.

Keep in mind that my mom prepared just about all the meals, and that was after a long day of work and sometimes a 2-hour round-trip commute. Dad was not in charge of the grill; we didn't have one, save for a small hibachi that was never used. We didn't cook out.

And sometimes, we'd have both Korean and American at the same meal. I thought nothing of it, just enjoyed eating and eating and eating. Saturday nights, we'd go out to eat, and every so often, we'd bring home two Little Caesar's pizzas.

I didn't eat kimchi as a child, nor did I ever learn to speak or read Korean. A friend's mother insisted I must have picked up some by linguistic osmosis, until I pointed out that I didn't speak dog either despite having our family pet bark at me enthusiastically for years.

Sometimes, my friend Kenn (who blogs at Dairy of a Madman) would join us for dinner. He was game, despite the odd sights and smells on the table (and the occasional surprise tub of tiny dried fish heads in the fridge). He best recalls what I took as normal.

When he and I go out for hot pots and rice (sadly, I don't know how to reproduce the dishes of my youth), the experience takes him back to our Korean-redneck dinner table decades ago. It is a needed reminder that Southern hospitality extended across ethnicities for a shared experience.

Wade Kwon is a communications consultant and writer. He shares news and features about his hometown on his site, Wade on Birmingham.

My South

My South is a series I've invited a few bloggers to take part in.  (So I stole the name from Turner South, but it doesn't exist anymore so I'm gonna use it.)  Many people in the South have a normal Southern heritage.  Many have Native American blood, others are just generically German or English.  But there are a few that grow up with a very unique heritage.  I am one of those Southerners and I wanted to hear about everyone else with an interesting background that grew up in the South or have spent a great deal of time here.

Next week, Okra Cola is proud to have Wade Kwon as the first guest post!  This is big for me because it was an idea I pitched and somebody dug it as much as I did and actually wrote it! 

If you are interested in telling the world about your heritage and growing up in the South drop me a line at drew [at] okra cola [dot] com and we'll see what happens.