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</div><p>Earlier this week I suddenly developed a craving for black-eyed peas, so tonight I indulged it, fixing up some coleslaw, cornbread and peach cobbler* to go along with the peas (as well as a saut&eacute;ed mushroom dish that doesn't exactly fit the regional theme). My black-eyed peas are fairly inauthentic (as far as that goes), since I don't use any pork, but I've been told that the flavor does not suffer&mdash;in fact, James, who claims never to have liked black-eyed peas (?!), scarfs them up with pleasure. That the peas are pleasing despite the absence of pork is thanks to a (not really) secret ingredient** shared years ago by a kind friend. </p>
<p>In addition to satisfying my pea-hankering, tonight's dinner provided an opportunity to try out another recipe from the Deborah Madison cookbook***: mushrooms saut&eacute;ed with garlic and parsley. I made it using a combination of white and portobello mushrooms. For such a easy dish with so few ingredients it was surprisingly flavorful, and it fit in well with the peas, cornbread and slaw. Next taste of home: grits!****</p>
<p>It's kind of sad to admit to fantasies of grits and black-eyed peas, but it's those sorts of things&mdash;the ones you never noticed because they were simply part of the fabric of your existence&mdash;that become so heartbreaking in their absence (a little melodramatic tonight, are we?). Learning to enjoy (perhaps tolerate is more apt) diner breakfasts without grits has been a major adjustment. Really, greasy breakfast sans grits is just a travesty.</p> 
<p>Though I've always identified as a Southerner, I never would have expected the kind of regional homesickness and feeling of displacement that I've experienced since moving to Jell-O Land. It's not as if I've always felt "at home" in the South; I often felt like an outsider there, particularly in my so-called hometown. It's clear to me now, though, that regional affinities run much deeper than any conscious "sense of place"&mdash;and that my own unconscious sense of place is more deeply ingrained than I ever would have imagined. There probably are other places in which I wouldn't feel quite so alienated, but I don't think that any of them are on this side of the Mississippi. This has been on my mind a lot lately, probably because of my recent trip to Tennessee and Alabama.</p>
<p class="note">*Not a real cobbler, a "quick" cobbler. And not with real peaches, with frozen peaches. Still tasted good, though.</p>
<p class="note">**Soy sauce.</p>
<p class="note">***I've made two new dishes from the Madison book since vowing to investigate it more fully. The first, a pasta dish, did not go over with the resident carnivore. I thought it was fine but nothing special. </p>
<p class="note">****This will be harder to pull off as a shared meal because J. doesn't really like grits. It's no wonder they don't taste good to him, since he insists on dousing them with SUGAR. Some kind of East Tennessee abomination, I guess.</p>