O is for Okra
If you don’t know, I was born in Alabama. I lived there for a total of eight years as a kid and one of my favorite school lunches was chicken fried steak. I’m sure the “steak” I was eating in the school cafeteria started out as a frozen puck and was merely warmed by the nice lunch room ladies not cooked, but it had a crispy breading and plenty of salty country gravy poured over it. In those same cafeterias I also learned to enjoy black-eyed peas, corn bread, and yummy fried okra.
Of course Okra only really grows where it is warm and they didn’t have any at the grocery store in Minnesota. I might have been able to find a creole grocery store that imports it from somewhere, but these days my tolerance for driving to 17 different stores to find one thing is about the same as my tolerance for passing over dessert – gone.
I went with frozen.
It’s All Natural – says so right on the bag – so it must be good.
For Sunday’s dinner we had our usual meatloaf (made by Michael) with Kraft macNcheese as a side. For our vegetable I made roasted okra (I’m saving the fried okra for my chicken fried steak meal). It is a simple recipe, just some salt, pepper, olive oil and cut okra. I took a picture before I put the tray in the oven, but I probably should have taken an after picture because it looked tastier after the edges were a little crisp and the oil had cooked off. It’s been years since I’ve had okra and it was as delicious as I remember. I made each of the kids try the okra and they were about as enthusiastic as I expected. This unfortunately left more for me because I ate three helpings. It’s a vegetable right?