This morning I was busy writing my response to the New York Times about why a cornbread recipe could not be called cornbread when it uses ¾ cup of sugar. I was riled because last month they published a recipe that used peas (that’s right, your and my favorite, green peas) in guacamole; then followed that by having the gall to say that this was the “only” cornbread recipe that mattered.
I commented, this was not cornbread it was cake, giving my evidence and carefully worded reasoning that included saying the NYT was full of IT. I explained that two cups of flour was being heretical. They had after all insulted my heritage, my Grandmother had rolled over in her grave, my Grandfather was at this moment loading a shotgun, my Dad had he been alive would have been laughing hysterically at those “Damn Yankees”… Apparently I had hit a nerve for as I watched the comments in reply roll across the screen on FB 50,75, 100+ there was not one dissenting opinion.
It was then I realized to make church that morning, which I had promised twice to do, I needed to leave immediately. No shower, no time to dress up or shave, just pull on a pair of shoes and go. After all it really didn’t matter, everyone in our church was casual; so was my reasoning. Alas, not so quick Michael, for that morning sitting in church with “her” were “her” parents. So forgive me my friend for meeting your parents looking homeless, it was after all, All About The Cornbread.