At the time that the original law was passed, it was necessary. Sanitation statutes in dairy operations weren’t strict enough or inspected frequently enough. And that’s where listeria comes from. Today’s dairies, even small dairies, are clean and safe. The milk sold by these dairies, even raw, won’t hurt you. But if it’s going to cause problems, why wouldn’t a farmer just pasteurize the milk and keep selling? Well it’s not as simple as that. Pasteurization equipment is expensive, think anywhere from car to house expensive. For small farms, it’s not an investment that they can afford without getting loans that they’ll have to repay, and when they already work on tight profit margins, and they might actually lose some customers if they weren’t selling raw milk… Well, you see where that’s going.

While the amendment to state law (the amendment that allows cow shares) covers raw milk, it does not include raw milk products like butter, buttermilk, kefir, whipping cream, or half and half. While a farmer can sell whole or skim milk, skim milk is unprofitable because the cream removed to make skim milk is useless and becomes a waste for the farmer. Unless of course, you want to buy whole milk and skim it yourself and make your own butter and buttermilk. Yeah, I didn’t think so.

On a large or diversified farm, not being able to offer all of the extras isn’t that much of an issue. While selling the milk alone doesn’t generate much profit, the other products they can offer make up the difference as well as drawing in other customers who want the health and flavor benefits that raw milk offers. While farms always work on tight profit margins, for small dairy-only farms, a significant portion of the profit required to keep the farm going comes from those value-added profits.

In Memphis farmers markets at both the Botanic Garden and downtown, Evergreen Farm has done really good business because they could offer more than just milk. If you’ve had their butter, you know that it’s a completely different product from anything you can buy at any store. Their buttermilk isn’t the cultured kind you can buy there either; instead it’s real buttermilk that’s a by-product of making butter. But the state has decided that those products aren’t legal to sell in Tennessee. After all, they’re not covered by the amendment or protected by any federal law.

Evergreen Farm is a victim of this. We’re losing them because of financial reasons. Tight margins are one thing, but not being able to sell the more expensive products puts the farm in the red. We’ll be able to enjoy what they sell for a month or two while they’re finding buyers for their cows, but after that, they’ll be gone. In the announcement on their web site, they give their customers some options, but for those of us who live in the city, having a family cow at our house just isn’t feasible no matter how much we might like the idea. And yes, considering that I am the crazy chicken lady, you know I want one, but I really doubt that the city would go for the organic lawn mower and compost angle.

So what can we do? Well, the sad part is that we can’t do a lot, at least not in time to save Evergreen. You can send emails to your state legislators asking them to further amend bill HB0720. There’s a federal bill that could protect farms like Evergreen, but being a federal bill, it will take time to go into effect as law even if it’s passed. This is bill HR778, and there is an online petition that you can sign. I know, I don’t usually like online petitions either, but this is something that directly impacts me, our city, and some very nice people who had a great idea that a lot of people liked.

Jan and Walt Haybert are just that. If you’ve met them, you like them. They’re the kind of people who make friends easily. They definitely don’t seem like dangerous criminals or even scofflaws like those of us who drive 9 miles over the speed limit or drive for a couple of days with expired tags because we didn’t have time to wait in the inspection lines. But that’s not how the state sees them. Jan and Walt could basically ignore the call from the state that they received, but getting an official cease-and-desist letter was not something that could be ignored. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And so, they’ll be gone, not because people didn’t like or want what they sold, but because an outdated law says they can’t be a successful small farm.

Yes, this pisses me off. It’s stupid. It’s pointless. It’s irrational. But that doesn’t matter. I’m one person, and I can’t make a difference in this no matter how badly I want to. But maybe I’m not the only one, and a group of people can accomplish things that one person can’t alone. It’s a pain to send emails to people who probably won’t read them or to sign online petitions that probably won’t matter, or to make comments on state and federal websites that are probably going into the ether, but when it comes to something legislative like this, it’s really the only way.

I’ll miss Jan and Walt. I’ll miss the opportunity to enjoy the products they sell. But most of all, I’ll miss my friends.

Post from: From the Southern Table
(C) 2009 Paul and Angela Knipple

When the Laws Get in the Way

To be honest about it, you can probably tell by blog posts when I’m having manic time. Things like this happen. Or I don’t write at all because I can’t trust what I might say, or it is too rambling for anyone to have to read. We just don’t have enough readers to risk alienating people.

When I’m manic, I get a lot done. It’s unfocused sometimes, but sometimes it can be useful. I’ve cleaned the kitchen to the point of taking a toothbrush to the underside overhang of the granite counter top. That may have been a little too much, but the kitchen was very clean. I’ve cooked all day for days at time to freeze things to eat later. I’ve had really great ideas of what to cook but been totally unable to focus enough to cook anything. Along the same vein, I’ve thought about things to cook, but then by the time I get around to doing it, I can’t remember what it was.

It also makes for interesting writing. If I’m not just writing for me, I have to keep that rambling instinct from coming through (I’m lucky enough to have Paul to edit me). Sometimes I let it come through enough to be humorous, and that’s ok. That’s just the way I am. Sometimes writing is very difficult because I get ideas on what I want to write about, but I get too many ideas, and then, just like with cooking, nothing gets done.

I do write a lot when I’m having happy fun manic time. I can crank out 5 1,000 word short stories in a single day. I can get huge chunks of larger works done. (If you’re actually interested in what I’m working on, shoot me an email, but we’re not going to talk about it on here.) I don’t sleep; it’s not that I don’t need to, but I really can’t. I’ve gotten to be great friends with sunrise. I’ve stayed awake much longer than 24 hours. Paul and Patric can tell pretty easily when that’s happened even though I do always say, quite honestly, that I’m not sleepy and I’m ok.

Then there are the bad parts. So many things come into my head that my head actually hurts. My tinnitus turns into background music (never good music, though) that only I can hear. Lights seem to dim and then brighten again. When I close my eyes, I see patterns behind my eyelids that look almost like letters, and I would be able to read them if I could just get my eyes lined up right. I know this is not good, and I am working with my doctor on getting these things under control.

But just like with the manic parts, the depression parts of this tend to go a little too far. I don’t cook, not because I can’t focus well enough to cook one thing, but because I can’t make myself get motivated enough to get up and make anything. There are times when it actually seems pointless to cook. I either don’t sleep again, or I sleep too much (16 hours solid has happened). The thoughts don’t come into my head at all, and writing is very hard. I have to try not to be melodramatic; I have been known to actually cry when I write something that wouldn’t normally get to me. Of course, I can also cry just because I’m breathing.

When I’m on the depression end of the spectrum, I don’t care about much of anything. I don’t care about the fact that I don’t cook, don’t clean, don’t watch TV, don’t write much, don’t get out of bed even if I’m awake. The cats don’t get fed as often as they would like; the dogs end up spending more time in their kennel than they deserve; Paul and Patric end up fending for themselves. My productivity goes from 150% to about 5% on my good depression days. Less than zero on my bad days.

I’m luckier than some. Paul understands and will talk me down into sleep when the mania is bad. He will get me to get up and at least shower when the depression is kicking my butt. Patric sees the signs. He will say that sometimes I’m more fun when I’m manic. (He doesn’t so much care for it when it gets to toothbrush cleaning the kitchen level, though.) If I’m depressed, he makes real efforts to cheer me up.

The point of this is not to ask you to excuse it when there are dry spots in blogging here. It’s not to make you feel sorry for me–I don’t need or want sympathy. I talk about this because I’m far from the only person out there who goes through this to one degree or another. While I’ve told you what it feels like for me, it’s honestly a very personal experience; some people may have some of the experiences I go through, some may have none.

Those of you who don’t go through it or personally know someone who’s been willing to talk about it, can possibly understand a little better about why a co-worker, friend, relative, or someone you deal with on a regular basis isn’t always the same. I wouldn’t recommend that you try to talk to them about it; if they haven’t talked to you on their own, they may not feel comfortable with it. Or that may not be what’s going on with them at all. But it’s not always something that they can help. It’s not always even something they’re always aware of–I didn’t know that’s what had been going on with me for a long time until earlier this year.

Just don’t make assumptions. If someone does talk to you about it, even elliptically, understand that it doesn’t mean they’re crazy. It doesn’t mean that you should stay away from them or push them out of your life. Sometimes we can be difficult to deal with, but there are rewards. We tend to be creative people. We tend to be interesting. We tend to take on careers and projects that make us stretch our minds. We really are just like you.

Post from: From the Southern Table
(C) 2009 Paul and Angela Knipple

The Interesting World Inside My Head

For those of you unfamiliar with the process of submitting a completed manuscript, let’s just say that we made Kinko’s very, VERY happy yesterday.

When we first started this project, we had huge plans for chapters that would cover immigrants from almost every country in the world. After research, we had a database of over 1,000 people. We really thought that we could talk to all of them, or at least most of them. We were thinking not just one recipe from each person interviewed, but maybe 2 or 3. And then we were thinking that we could do some nice Southern riffs that would use the flavors of the different countries and bring Southern ingredients and cooking traditions to the table along with them. Yes, we were very ambitious. We were really worried about fitting everything we wanted to do into a thousand page manuscript.

When we were told that we would get 350 pages, we were really sad. We had to cut down our plans. We had to choose more carefully who we would talk to and why. We had to limit our recipes to only the recipes we were given by the people we talked to, and even then, we had to choose which recipes we could include if they gave us more than one.

Paul and I both remember a time when being told that we had to finish a 10 page paper was a nightmare. It was so hard to get enough information to fill 10 pages. I’m sure you’re all familiar with that. I know that I resorted to giving my margins that extra 1/8 of an inch because that was a small enough change that maybe the teacher or professor wouldn’t notice it. If you did that on sides, top, and bottom, it could really help. I remember getting that one line, or maybe even two on the 10th page so that I could turn in 10 pages. And I was an English major who actually enjoyed writing.

Life changes over time. It was actually really hard to cut what we wanted to do down to 350 pages. We had to leave out some really great people. And some really great food. But we did it. When it’s all on computer, 350 pages doesn’t seem like a lot, especially when it’s broken down into individual chapters that are only 20-30 pages each. (And we were tempted to fudge the margins, only this time we wanted to push them out. We thought there was a better chance of professional editors noticing that than our teachers did way back when.)

Yesterday afternoon we printed out and sent off 3 years of our lives. Over 10,000 miles of driving. Conversations and people that we’ll never forget. People that we really hope we’ll get to see again. Food that we really want to taste again.

Printed out, taking up almost a ream of paper and more ink than I even want to think about, 350 pages looks like a lot. It’s heavy. It doesn’t fit in one of those nice little FedEx boxes, especially when you’re sending off 3 copies. You have to go for one of the boxes that is actually a specific size. The lady at the counter actually has to weigh it. It actually weighs 12 pounds. (Seriously.)

But now, it’s gone. No more editing and reading and re-reading until 3am. No more weekends spent on the road hoping that people remember that they agreed to talk to us. No more deciding which cheap hotel to stay at based on our experiences with the chain’s mattress quality. (Comfort Inn is one of our favorites for that; Quality Inn will do in a pinch if it’s cheaper; EconoLodge is a cheap place to stay, but I can’t say that we ever had a comfy mattress at one.)

To be honest, we don’t know what to do with ourselves today. We both feel like we should be writing something–hence this blog post. We’re actually lost to be completely honest. There’s a big feeling of relief and accomplishment, but at the same time it was like sending away our toddler who we’ve been coddling and feeding for the last 3 years; sometimes we regretted that we had chosen to have this baby; sometimes we loved our baby more than ourselves; the terrible twos were rough, but we made it through.

So, now what?

Post from: From the Southern Table
(C) 2009 Paul and Angela Knipple

And They’re Off!

Quit planning the intervention. I’m not addicted to alcohol or drugs. No, my addiction is one of a different form.

Over the last few weeks, we’ve been frequenting the Cooper-Young Farmers Market. And it was there that we met temptation that we (that’s right – Paul and Patric have it too.) just couldn’t resist. That’s right. The guys selling the good stuff from the Las Delicias booth.

Now, we do like tortilla chips and salsa around here. For the sake of our waistlines, we’ve tried not to indulge too often. Except for Patric who could live on them and always begs to if he’s responsible for feeding himself. But from the first bag of those crunchy chips all warm from the sun with pico de gallo nice and cold from the cooler and guacamole that will make your eyes roll back in your head, we were hooked. We had found our fix.

But this week, things were different. We looked to spot where the booth had been before, and the panic set in. There was no booth there. What had happened?! Did they not come this week? Had they already sold out because we slept in unintentionally? (Really, I didn’t intend to turn the alarm off.) We almost went into mourning. But that’s when the miracle happened. They were there! They were just on the other side of the market where the shade was better. We were saved!

So, no, they weren’t out of anything. But that’s when our hopes and dreams came to a crashing halt. They weren’t out, but we were. Out of cash that is. And because we didn’t get up all bright eyed and bushy tailed, there was no time to go get more before the market closed. We weren’t going to get our fix this week after all.

I will admit that for a brief second I thought about grabbing chips and pico and guacamole and making a run for it. But then that mean old sanity came back, and I decided that not only would that be unfair to them, but I also don’t run that fast (those guys could totally take me), and our zippy getaway car would be a red Prius. No, that wouldn’t stand out at all or be a little bit slow on the takeoff. Stupid sanity.

We shuffled away, our heads drooping, our hearts broken. We got in the car and headed back to the house. We figured we would just go to sleep and hope that the depression would pass.

But then we had an idea. We hadn’t had lunch yet. (Or breakfast for that matter since it was past the hour for that sort of meal when we crawled from our comfy bed. I seriously blame the dogs for that since they were all snuggly. Yep, it’s their fault.) But anyway, we decided that we should go somewhere for lunch. And where better to go (hoping all the while that we could maybe get our fix after all) than the Las Delicious restaurant at Getwell and Park. Maybe we could stave off withdrawal after all. And besides, the food there is really tasty, and we would at least get some their chips and salsa to tide us through the next few hours.

We got there and found the only open parking spot. Hmm, maybe we weren’t the only ones with this idea. We stepped inside into the merciful cool and saw, to the right of the register, the beautiful sight of bags of golden tortilla chips. I swear they were glowing. Hope returned to our saddened breasts. The panic ebbed.

So we sat down in the nice comfy chairs. We ordered drinks. (Paul got boring unsweetened tea. I got delicious, thirst quenching jamaica.) We studied the menu, and the chips and salsa arrived. Oh, happy day! Now about those chips. Like croissants or phyllo in baklava or Napoleons, these chips have layers. Since they’re made from freshly made tortillas, they open in the middle to create light triangles of crunchy goodness that scoop up salsa (or pico or guacamole) just right and then they just crunch in your mouth like no other chips we’ve found in Memphis.

We decided to start with the molletes. If you’re not familiar with them, think Stouffer’s French bread pizzas (I loved those as a kid, but they just don’t taste the way I remember now.) only with really good fresh bread, creamy refried beans instead of pizza sauce, a nice thick coating of gooey melted white Mexican cheese, and a side of the most beautiful condiment in the whole world – fresh pico de gallo. Yes, they were really good.

We figured then that since we had chips and salsa and molletes we should probably be good and share an entree. We unanimously chose the enchiladas Suizas. And two tamales, one pork and one chicken. Shortly after, our waitress came back to the table to tell us that the pork tamales weren’t ready yet but should be in 17 minutes. We were offered the option of having two chicken tamales or waiting for the pork. We decided to wait since it was highly unlikely that we wouldn’t still be eating in 17 minutes.

Our enchiladas came out first. They were so beautiful. Three corn tortilla-wrapped tubes of perfectly cooked chicken covered with more of that glorious cheese floating in a sea of light tomatillo sauce. Unlike most tomatillo sauces, this one was thin and didn’t overpower the flavors of the enchiladas at all. More of those creamy refried beans were on the other end of the plate, sprinkled with a different cheese. We dug in. They were good – really, really good.

Then our chicken tamale arrived still wrapped in its corn husk. Tamales can go one of two ways. The good ones are moist and soft. The other ones are dry and the masa is tough. This was a good one. There wasn’t just chicken in there, either. There were flecks of green mixed in, and when I took a bite, I immediately tasted a light smokiness – nothing overpowering. I chewed, I swallowed, and then I felt it. A nice spicy heat that hit right at the back of my throat. And I wasn’t imagining it because Paul tasted it too. That tamale went pretty fast. I might have been full, but I wasn’t that full. Apparently Paul wasn’t either because I actually had to share it with him. Dammit.

Then the pork tamale came out. Our waitress warned us that it would be soft since it had just come out of the steamer. We opened it carefully, smelling the intoxicating aroma of rich, corny masa. We decided to let it cool for a few minutes since it literally had come out of the steamer just before it made it to our table. Okay, we waited for maybe one minute, but we had good intentions. The smoky flavor was more pronounced with the pork, and there wasn’t that shot of heat at the end. And the masa was a little soft. But that was really okay. Actually, it was better than just okay. It was like eating a glorious pudding that just happened to taste of corn and pig. Oh yeah.

We were really full by this time. But when you eat food that good, you can practically feel your belly smiling. Seriously, it makes for happy bellies. But we were still wanting our fix.

We walked to the register and asked the all important question. Do they sell pico and chips at the restaurant? And the powers that be smiled upon us and there was much rejoicing because they do! Woo-hoo!

So now we know (and you do too). If you can’t make it to the Cooper-Young market for some unfathomable reason like a comfy bed and dog snuggles, you can still get your fix. Or, if your house is like our house and you have the bottomless pit that is a 15 year old boy, so your chips and pico and guacamole have somehow magically disappeared by Monday (or Sunday afternoon even though you’re pretty sure you didn’t eat that many of them), you don’t have to go for days without more.

So now we get to the moral of this long story that I hope you’ve kept reading. Go to Las Delicias. Eat a tasty meal. Have a cooling drink (They sell beer and margaritas too.). And don’t forget to get your fix on your way out. Trust me. It’s worth it.

Post from: From the Southern Table
(C) 2009 Paul and Angela Knipple

Las Delicias

The aha moment web site has this definition:

Aha moments are powerful. More than an idea, or an epiphany, aha moments demand attention and action. Deciding on a new career. Jumping out of an airplane. Launching an international philanthropy, or becoming a fire dancer.

Or writing a book.

The folks doing the films contacted us because they wanted to hear our story. So we headed downtown to babble about ourselves.

I think the finished film turned out well.

We mainly talked about how a meal at Las Tortugas inspired us to write our book, The World in a Skillet. Somehow, though, we managed to never name the restaurant. Sorry Jonathan and Pepe. At least there are pictures of me wearing my snazzy cap.

Post from: From the Southern Table
(C) 2009 Paul and Angela Knipple

Our Mutual of Omaha Aha Moment

For the past three years, we’ve been working on a project that a few of you have known about. We’ve been conducting interviews and gathering stories and recipes from first-generation immigrants who are working with food in the South. These stories and recipes will appear in a book that will be published by the University of North Carolina Press in Fall 2011.

As Southerners, we already have a great and rich food tradition, but over the past 40 years, immigrants have poured into the South in ever-increasing numbers. As these people have brought food traditions of their own, they have enriched the variety of foods available to us.

Working with food is always a hard job, and for an immigrant cook serving a cuisine that is unfamiliar to the residents in their new home towns, it can be a risky business to enter. And yet, many immigrants find serving their traditional foods to be a natural fit in their new communities.

Writing this book has been hard work, but we have loved it. We have traveled over 10,000 miles to meet with people. Back at home from our travels, we have done our best to present these stories well. We have edited text, cleaned up photos, tested recipes, and all of it has been a joy.

What has been painful is to think about all the great people out there that won’t make it into the book. Fortunately, we have this blog. We will be talking to some of those people and bringing their stories to you here. It’s really amazing to meet all of the fascinating people who live in our own backyard.

We’ll also be bringing you recipes that didn’t make it into the book. Some of these are recipes of our own creation, while others were contributed by some of the great ethnic chefs we’ve had the pleasure of getting to know.

While we’ve finished our manuscript, we know that we have an interesting and challenging year ahead of us. But we’re looking forward to sharing it and to introducing you to new flavors and faces along the way.

Post from: From the Southern Table
(C) 2009 Paul and Angela Knipple

The World in a Skillet

Take a look, and let us know what you think. Trust me, it was hard to narrow it down to just the places we had room for.

Post from: From the Southern Table
(C) 2009 Paul and Angela Knipple

More than BBQ in Memphis

Or of course you can also read the article here.

Also, check out the I Love Memphis blog. Kerry has been in Austin for SxSW, and one of the things she has noticed is the wealth of food carts there, including popsicles and tacos.

Post from: From the Southern Table
(C) 2009 Paul and Angela Knipple

Food Carts in the Flyer

A small dark seed rests in fertile soil. Warm sun and a bit of water and the seed sprouts. A vine creeps along the ground. A blossom gradually becomes a melon. The melon lies in the soil – the dirt.

Bugs crawl through the dirt and over the melon. Birds land on the melon, using it as high ground to hunt bugs. Sometimes the birds poop on the melon.

Consider the Tomato

A lush green vine climbs up a trellis or a stake. Tiny yellow blossoms develop into tomatoes. As these tomatoes grow, bugs crawl around on them looking for a nibble. Birds fly around snacking on the bugs, and yes, sometimes pooping on the tomatoes.

Consider the Kitchen Sink

I’ll admit that I never think to wash a watermelon. If I were going to make pickles from the rind, I would, but usually I just cut one open and scoop out the nummy flesh. The chickens get the rind.

I do wash my tomatoes. I’ll admit I do want to eliminate any residual traces of buggy footprints and bird poop. Yes, I might be able to avoid bug footprints if the farmer sprayed the tomatoes, but I would much rather deal with bugs than with chemicals.

Consider the Roof

A roof is a lovely thing. I am very glad to have been under a roof when six inches of snow fell.

On a rainy weekend, I will admit that I am glad to have a roof over the Memphis Farmers Market. What is frustrating is that the market has to be under a roof. I am at the market to buy things that grew from the dirt, that grew in the rain and sunshine, that were crawled on by bugs and pooped on by birds.

No, I misspoke. The market doesn’t have to be under a roof. The produce has to be under a roof. Keeping the sun out of my eyes and the rain off of my head is not the concern. No, the concern is that, if produce that grew in the dirt and the open air were to see a ray of sunshine or feel a drop of rain now, it would kill me.

Consider the Cutlery

Chain of custody is a crucial factor in avoiding death by farmers market. Only after I have taken possession of the produce is it safe for that produce to be taken from under its protective roof. I can eat the produce in the perhaps unsanitary conditions of my own kitchen and be just fine.

If, however, a farmer or cheesemaker or other such reprobate menace to the public health were to offer me a bite of cheese on a cracker or a slice of tomato, I would most assuredly suffer a sudden and painful death.

I am protected from this risk by the requirement that any samples offered at the market be prepared in a health department approved kitchen and be individually packaged. I trust someone enough to not spray my tomatoes with poison or to spoil milk just enough to make cheese, but I can’t trust them enough to have a clean knife to slice a tomato or a clean spoon to provide me a taste of cheese? Absurd.

Consider History

Memphis survived the Civil War virtually unscathed only to be nearly wiped out by yellow fever just over a decade later. The city eventually recovered, and the epidemic led to improvements, including a revolutionary new sewage system and the discovery of artesian water. Ensuring that waste was safely removed and that safe drinking water was available to the citizens of Memphis was a huge step forward for public health.

Consider the Future

Today, though, some regulations that exist for the sake of public health do more to impede business than to protect health. Honestly, a roof is a nice draw. Customers like staying dry; farmers like staying dry. But forcing a market under cover limits the locations where a market can be held. To have a spontaneous market means that farmers and artisans much invest in a tent. Having overflow at a market with a roof means the same thing.

If a businessperson wants to keep his or her merchandise out of the weather, then investing in a tent is a matter of choice. Requiring a farmer to keep produce that grew from, on, or even in dirt diverts capital from a small business.

I love heirloom vegetables. Funky, lumpy tomatoes, delicate greens, gnarly potatoes all delight me. What would be nice, though, is to be able to taste a leaf of those greens or a slice of those tomatoes. I guarantee that I am going to buy. I just want to have an idea of what dinner will be like. I think other people will be more likely to try new things given the benefit of a sample. Whether a businessperson provides samples should be based on a business decision, not limitations imposed by onerous regulations.

Given today’s tough economic climate, it’s time for our local government to look at ways to reduce costs by eliminating or revising regulations that interfere with business and add needless bureaucracy. I hate to sound like I am applying common sense to government, but it is time to build the tax base by getting out of the way of small businesses.

Consider Doing Something About It

It’s time for me to get off my duff and start writing some letters.

Post from: From the Southern Table
(C) 2009 Paul and Angela Knipple

Farmers Markets and the Health Department

Now is a very good time to head out to your favorite bookstore and pick up a copy of the February / March 2010 issue of Taste of the South magazine.

Having acquired your copy, promptly turn to page 66. There you will find our review of Mindy Henderson’s The Great Southern Food Festival Cookbook: Celebrating Everything from Peaches to Peanuts, Onions to Okra. This is our first piece in a national magazine, and we are quite proud of it.

The piece was fun to write, and the book was a lot of fun to read. In addition to our article, the magazine features several recipes from the book along with some gorgeous photography. There are additional recipes online.

This might also be a good time to subscribe to Taste of the South. I hear that there just might be an article about Memphis in the April / May issue.

Post from: From the Southern Table
(C) 2009 Paul and Angela Knipple

The Great Southern Food Festival Cookbook: Our Taste of the South Review