Cajun and Creole cuisine is known and loved throughout the world but native Louisianans have a dirty little secret – they love fried foods.  From fried oysters to fried turkey, there is little they haven’t tried to fry.  One of my favorite dishes that my Mother prepared almost every Sunday was fried okra.

Roll the okra in flour then dip in a mixture of egg and buttermilk.  Batter the okra with corn meal and then fry in hot oil until brown all over.  Salt and pepper to taste.  Serve hot.

My Mother had a large cast iron skillet she used to fry things in.  While my Grandmothers fried with lard (pig fat) my mother began using vegetable oil once it was widely available.  Personally, I prefer the vegetable oil.  Try it and enjoy.

Louisiana Mystery Writer

I am a fiction writer but I am blessed, or perhaps cursed by also being a scientist of the Earth.  Years ago I visited a road cut in Arkansas near the tiny town of Caddo Gap.  What I witnessed that day truly blew me away, both metaphorically and metaphysically.  I stood on the side of the road, staring for what must have been many minutes, or perhaps hours, at what could only be described as a visual slice of the Earth’s core.  It called to me with its siren’s song as I stared in lust at its naked earthen breasts.

As a geologist I may never again experience such a visceral feeling as I did that day, but three destinations beckon to me and I hope to visit each one before I die.  They are: Iceland, a land created by sea-floor spreading, dominated by geysers and ice floes; the Afar Triangle, a place in southern Africa that is the site of a triple juncture, a spot where three plates intersect and truly one of the rarest geologic places; Jamaica, an island I believe is Atlantis reborn – perhaps the most exotic geologic location on earth.

I’ve never visited any of these places.  The closest I have come is Nassau in the Bahamas.  I was there years ago with my deceased wife Anne and friends Ray and Kathy.  We hailed a cab and had our cabbie, an islander name King, drive us around and show us the sights.  King was quite the character – loud, direct, friendly and informative.  He took us to a little café beneath a bridge where only the locals ate.

“Mon, you have to try the conch fritters,” he told us.

We tried them and they were wonderful.  I have no recipe for conch fritters for you tonight but I wish I did.  I guess my mind was somewhere else.  While the Bahamas isn’t Jamaica I was in the Caribbean and the bowels of the earth were calling to me.  And yes, it was nothing short of visceral!