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Annals in American Greatness
When An Ode Is Not Just An Ode
Bobbie Gentry, Billie Joe McAllister, and Sarah
Sarah was the sort of friend that I could argue lustily with about which brand of mayonnaise was better. At that point in my life — the mid/late 1970s — I argued for Hellman’s, which was my mother’s favorite (I’d go with Duke’s today). My mother cooked like a famous French chef, and Sarah knew that cooking like this was rare, even for a deep southern woman. Her own mother used to cook the same sort of big, vegetable-laden southern meals, especially for Sunday lunch, but Sarah never invited me over for lunch as we did her.
We’d talk, though, Sara and I, about those meals our mothers made:
“Did you have fried green tomatoes?”
“Of course.”
“Fresh field peas?”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Squash casserole with sharp cheddar cheese?”
“It’s a given.”
And either cornbread or biscuits, needless to say.
In the summertime, when the tomatoes tasted earthy and full of tang, we’d often slap a spoonful of mayonnaise on them just to…well, really, I don’t know why we did it other than it was good. But Sarah thought Bama Mayonnaise was the…
