I'm not from these parts. Six months ago, after taking a job at Cooking Light, I left my native Massachusetts for Birmingham, Alabama. People here often ask me if I've experienced culture shock. I tell them I haven't. And honestly, they seem a little disappointed.
But I can say I've seen some new stuff. I'll start with food. Birmingham restaurants offer some truly tasty fare, and I've had several first-rate fine dining experiences here, though nothing terribly different from up North. But it's the street meat at festival kiosks where the South has it all over the North. I first tried chicken-on-a-stick at a fair in Montgomery this summer. Like a gateway drug, it led directly to alligator-on-a-stick. Loved that so much I went straight for pizza--yes, pizza--on-a-stick, which is just as ridiculous as it sounds, and worth every penny.
I haven't yet hit one of the "meat-and-three" joints in town (where mac and cheese counts as one of your three "vegetable" sides), but I bet I'll love them. I may just save that experience for my birthday. Grab some cake-on-a-stick afterward.
In the beverage department, I've been introduced to some mighty seductive concoctions down here. I've had margaritas made with peach juice. I've had them with watermelon juice. I've even had them made with bourbon. Called "bourbaritas." Heavenly. I've considered naming my first daughter after them.
And then there are the little lifestyle differences. I've learned, for instance, that an electric bill can grow to a couple hundred dollars if you have central air conditioning and like to use it to stave off the soul-sapping heat that blankets the South from June through September. Consequently, I've learned that while fans don't work as well as AC, soul-sapping heat builds character.
I've learned that in the South, when someone says "bless your heart" to you, it's not exactly a benediction. They mean, "I feel bad for you; you're kind of a ninny." Learned that one the hard way.
I've had to unlearn a few things, too. Six months ago, I was working as a sous chef at a fine dining restaurant in the Berkshires. Since moving South, I've had to kick the habit of saying "behind you" when I'm walking past people who can't see me. It's a precautionary measure in a professional kitchen, and helps prevent collisions and injuries. But in the office, well, it's just a little creepy.
Still, none of this amounts to culture shock. A few new discoveries, a handful of lessons learned. And one revelation: Everything tastes better on a stick.
Tim Cebula, associate food editor