Op-Ed Columns

I regularly read the food section of the newspaper, mainly because I love to eat — evidence of which can easily be seen when I tuck in my shirttail.

I am also drawn to articles on food that appear in other parts of newspapers — warnings not to eat tomatoes, stories of how the fuel crisis is driving up the cost of corn, and the discovery that watermelons "deliver Viagra-like effects to the body's blood vessels and may even increase libido."

Huh?

Right.

Me, I've never been a big watermelon fan. I'll eat it if it is there, but given the choice I'll take a tomato, which used to be called a "love apple" but not anymore, I guess.

I only eat watermelon because, well, it's what a Southern boy does, libido benefits notwithstanding.

Turns out this summer has been pretty rough on Southern food.

White Lily Flour is leaving Knoxville for the Midwest, much to the distress of Southern housewives who fear something will be lost when it crosses the Ohio River. My buddy John even sent me a Web link where I could go to protest the move, which I did.

However, I'm not as upset about this as I ought to be, probably because when I think of Southern flour I always think of Martha White, which long ago sponsored the Flat and Scruggs TV show. Lester sang and said "fly'er" the way it ought to be sung and said. (Besides, Martha White had "Hot-Rize Plus" — which sounds like it might contain the same properties as watermelons.)

And how about potato chips?

Though not a Southern invention, one taste of Golden Flake (original or barbecue) and I get Bear Bryant flashbacks and a craving for a Coke.

Or a beer.

Only now I have learned that folks out in Portland, Ore., have invented a beer-flavored potato chip, and all I can say is, "why"?

"A pleasant, if subtle, taste of beer," according to an article.

Who wants a "subtle" taste of beer?

Probably the same folks who won't eat mullet because it tastes "fishy."

What do you want fish to taste like?

Chicken?

Probably.

As long as it is fresh, ain't nothing better than fried mullet.

Or fried anything.

My buddy Brad believes there is no food the taste of which cannot be improved by catsup.

I believe everything is better fried.

Which is why I may just vote Republican this year.

Nothing against Barack Obama. He seems a nice enough young man.

As for John McCain, I like everything about him but his stand on the issues.

But this time around I am leaning Republican because the Democratic Party, the party of my yellow-dog daddy, the party of my solid South ancestors, has gone out and rejected Dixie as completely as any party since 1856. That's when the Republicans mentioned that if they got in office they might just free the slaves.

Yessir.

This summer, when the Democrats gather in Denver to confirm as their candidate a man most Southern states wouldn't have even let vote 100 years ago, the folks who make the rules have decreed that the food served there must be "at least three of the following colors: red, green, yellow, purple/blue and white."

I kid you not.

And if you will note, brown is not there.

And fried food is brown. Golden (not yellow) brown.

Back when the Olympics were about to be messed up by Atlanta, the New York Times ran a snotty piece on the city in which it observed that there really wasn't much Southern to it (which is true), and if visitors went out looking for Southern cuisine (a word I deplore) about the best they could do was order food fried.

Well, at least that was something.

Not sure what.

But now the Democrats have said Southerners who come to Denver will have to bring their own.

Now, I like cold, fried catfish for breakfast as much as the next guy, but I'm not sure how it will travel. Or get through airport security.

"What is that in the bag? The one with the stains?

"Catfish."

"And hushpuppies."

"Please step over to the side."

I'd just as soon stay home.

It is discrimination — a topic with which Southerners are more than familiar.

You want Kosher — Democrats will get it for you.

You are a "veggie" — so long as you peel the potato (peeling is brown), you are home-free.

You want fried — outta luck.

Reason enough to go with the GOP.

Then my friend Carla reminded me of something that might just keep me in the party of my forefathers.

Southeastern Mills White Gravy Mix.

Right.

Southeastern Mills of Rome, Ga., makes a white gravy mix. Comes in a package you can slip through airport security. Southern Democrats can smuggle it to the Mile High City, and once there can mix it up and ladle it over biscuits , which you can get in Denver. I checked.

Just like home.

And in one of the "approved" colors.

Won't have to vote Republican after all.