That's the noise my heart made when I saw this small plastic bag in a local health food store this afternoon. I've made my peace with Kenyan cuisine these past 19 months, and try to satisfy my cravings for down-home African American soul food with hearty local fare. I've found a few places that serve really tasty Kenyan greens, or "sukuma wiki," and I've learned to tolerate the glutinous ground corn-based substance call "ugali." The savory stews of beef and chicken often hit the spot, and I've appeased my barbecue Jones with roasted goat or "nyama choma."
But you can't even buy the basic staples to try and perpetrate Dirty South cookin' over here. These were the first black-eyed peas I've seen since I got off the plane in June of 2008, and I felt my pulse racing as I grabbed the bag. It doesn't even matter that I'd never be able to find smoked neckbones or ham hocks to cook these bad boys with. Hell, I'm probably not even going to try and cook 'em. I just wanna to cradle them, lovingly.
Sigh. Can't wait to haul my ham hocks to Raleigh, Charlotte, Atlanta, N'awlins or Memphis, SOMEWHERE below the Mason Dixon, later this year. Y'all break out the Jiffy Cornbread, the Sweet Tea and the Red Velvet Cake, too! And the Mac and Cheese! And the Peach Cobbler! And Catfish Nuggets! And the Turnip-Mustard Green Medley, with a side of Collards! And do not even get me STARTED with the chitlins! I'll Make the Sweet Tater Pie myself!
"Dear Lord, please stop me before my ass needs its own Social Security Number....."
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