"Fried Freaking Okra" at Jones BBQ
I couldn't let this awesome blog entry slip by: "Fried Okra - the relationship deal-breaker."
Peggy, a Southerner, calls Columbia City a cute little area in South Seattle, gets gobsmacked by the smells and flavors coming from Jones BBQ, is reduced to drooling, gets weak in the knees, shrieks when she discovers that they've got "fried freaking okra!", and introduces major girlfriend/boyfriend tension.
I'm not a Southerner, haven't had fried okra, and haven't eaten at the new Jones. How can I make my amends?
