Okra

This morning, a New Orleans friend invited me to participate in an online note called the "ABC's of Me." One question asked folks to name a vegetable they detest. I finally named turnips only because I never taste anything, but plenty of other people said "okra" without hesitation and with vehemence.

Why would anyone dislike this beautiful, hairy, southern (by way of Africa), summer delicacy?At the Farmer's Market this morning, I offered my chair to an elderly lady waiting for her son to pick her up. She sat for quite a while, and we chatted like old friends. She had bought okra from one of the farmers, and we started talking about our favorite way to cook and eat it. We discovered that we share the same preference: cook fresh okra, onion, tomatoes, and corn cut right from the cob all in one pot. She told me she always adds a little sugar "because of the tomatoes," but I add only salt and pepper as I remember my mother doing. We agreed that okra stew, black eyes or field peas, pork chop, and cornbread make a fine dinner.

Miss Helen and I had a fine time imagining supper, and I'll be making mine from pickings in Ronn's garden. So many people in one stew -- new friends, old ones, parents, and one of the positive legacies of the importation of Africans as slaves. That's some rich meal.