by Caitlin
Three years ago, I moved from Boston down to DC. Though I've lived in a few different states (and even one other country! Can I get a what-what for study abroad? Nerd high five!), I'd never lived below the Mason-Dixon line.
There are a lot of things I love about living here, and even though much of the DC metro area is made up of transplants (including a shocking number of people from Massachusetts), it is still definitely the south. And the further away from the city you get, the more southern it becomes.
How is it southern? Well, the summers are swampy with humidity, and merely stepping outside makes you feel like you're wearing a wet wool blanket.(Refreshing!) People say y'all non-ironically. Sweet tea exists here. Grits are on menus. People don't look like they suspect you're going to rob them if you are kind/considerate to them in public. Coming from Boston, which is a rather hard city, this was shocking to me. In fact, early on I suspected many strangers of wanting to rob and murder me merely because they smiled and said hello when we passed by each other. It was very disconcerting, and made me feel I should hold tightly to my purse as I ran screaming down the street.
I do love it here, but I'm a New Englander through and through. I believe strongly in things like 40 degree temps in July, Yankee stoicism, lobstah rolls on picnic benches by the ocean, wool cardigans with leather elbow patches (worn in July), and real maple syrup.
Speaking of maple syrup, we need to have a talk.
I have tragically come to accept that south of, maybe New Jersey, no one understands what "real maple syrup" means. Which means I also accept that, sadly, if I ever want to eat pancakes, waffles, or french toast again it's going to have to be in the comfort of my own kitchen. This is not syrup:
Any institution that also generates something called "sugar free syrup" will never be okay in my book. What is even IN sugar free syrup?! Nothing good, that's what. [Photo credit Amazon]
Corn syrup with maple flavoring, aka Aunt Jemima and Log Cabin, is not maple syrup.
Do you hear me? Imitation syrup is a travesty of nature, is what it is, and I will not eat it, no I will not. It is unnatural and wrong. And it's so GROSS! I mean come on, does that actually taste GOOD to you? Do you really LIKE it, or do you merely eat it because you feel like you're supposed to, because it's what GOES on pancakes, waffles, and french toast?
Here is the thing. Maple syrup actually exists. Aunt Jemima and Log Cabin are imitation products because they are in imitation of a real thing. And you deserve better than a lame imitation that tastes like an afterthought. No one should have to drench their delicious breakfast sweets in corn syrup and fake 'maple flavoring'! Maple syrup is a product of the maple tree, wherein the sap is collected, someone boils the shit out of it, and you are left with a delicious, delicious natural sweetener. If you have never tried it (the very idea of which makes me recoil in horror), then you must. You simply must.
When you do try it, please don't make the mistake my Mom did in the early to mid-90s when she combined real maple syrup with some leftover Aunt Jemima (the origins of which remain a mystery. How did that ever get IN our fridge?). Let me repeat: She COMBINED fake maple syrup with real maple syrup. In order to get rid of a bottle and make more room in our fridge. There is no forgiving that. It's against the 10 commandments of being a Yankee. I checked. (Mom, if you're reading this, and I know you are, I love you a lot and I do forgive you. But I only forgive you like 87%, as I have sustained significant emotional trauma from this incident. Perhaps you can make it up to me with some of your delicious French Toast when I see you next month.)
My point, if I have one, which I often don't, is that I had no idea Maple Syrup was a regional thing until I moved here. Up north we HAVE fake maple syrup, but if you're out in a restaurant you can ask for the real thing. And, here's the key, they know what the real thing IS! Down here, every time I have asked for it, they bring me the fake stuff. Every time. Which is why I've given up.
I forgive the south though, much like I forgive my mother, because much like my mother, the south has many other lovely and redeeming qualities and is also beautiful, which has nothing to do with food but is nevertheless true.
The south has shrimp and grits, which I have fallen madly in love with. The south has Sonic, which I finally got to try for the first time when I moved down here. If you're a New Englander, you understand the pain that is growing up with Sonic commercials on the teevee when the nearest Sonic is actually about a 1000 miles away. The south has actual seasons, beyond just winter and July. The south has the beautiful Shenandoahs, and charming accents, and delicious biscuits with fried chicken on them. The south also has something that, until this past weekend, I had not tried: Chicken Fried Steak.
We had some cube steaks from the local, grassfed cow that is in our freezer, and my husband had been itching to make this for me for a while. My husband is also a Yankee, but he's a chef and had picked up the knowledge of the meal somewhere along the way.
He used Alton Brown's recipe as a guide, and served it alongside perfectly mashed potatoes, cornbread, and steamed green beans with the requisite cream gravy. I am still uncertain about what is in cream gravy and the name terrifies me a bit, but it was delicious and ignorance is bliss.
The whole thing was delicious in fact. Chicken Fried Steak tastes like two of my favorite foods -- burgers and chicken fingers -- got together and made a delicious baby. And it sure is hard to argue with that.
I will always be a Yank in my heart, but bit by bit that heart of mine is softening toward the south. That right there should tell you all you need to know: Yankees don't have soft hearts. It's against our very nature. I'm sorry, New England. I still love you.
Do you enjoy eating Fake Maple Syrup? Have you never tasted the real thing? What regional specialties have you been wanting to try?
PS: Seeing as my Dad is a regular commenter on these posts (which my Mom also reads) I'd like to take this opportunity to give my lovely parents a Happy Anniversary shout-out. As of today they have been married an astounding 38 years, AND still actually like each other. They like each other quite a bit in fact. 38 years is a really long time, and 44 years is even longer: They started dating 44 years ago. Doesn't that seem CRAZY? They've been together since they were teenagers: they've been together for most of their lives. I think that's pretty wild, in a wonderful way.
And so here is a picture of the lovebirds. As you can see, they are quite happy indeed. (And now you can put a face to Dad's comments.)
