We pulled up to a white house-turned-restaurant and swung open a creaky door to a long hallway. By the time we walked up to the podium at the end of the hallway, a woman greeted us, her arms tucked neatly behind her. She welcomed us and shared the specials of the day all in one breath as she waved us over to a table by the window. The dining room was cluttered with aged wooden tables covered with white, lace tablecloths. Fans lined the vaulted ceilings, creating a song as they all spun at high speed. As soon as we sat down, two tall glasses of homemade lemonade were set down in front of us. We only looked over the menu for a moment before ordering their speciality: lemon pepper catfish. (Nothing like a pan full of oil to turn bottom-feeder fish into a delectable lunch. Southerners think of everything...)
We caught up on each other's weekend and eavesdropped on laughter and singing coming from behind the swinging doors of the kitchen until two hot plates of food we're set infront of us. Something I've noticed about southern (comfort) food is that it's usually always some shade of yellow and rarely aesthetically pleasing, but always, always delicious.
There's not a description that could do this meal justice. It was perfect. The mashed potatoes were smooth and buttery, pairing excellently with each bite of the crispy catfish. The fried okra was salty and best of all: bottomless. I didn't even reach for the salt and pepper the entire meal; every bite was perfectly seasoned. I'm not even sure if I made it to the cornbread muffins after scarfing down every other crumb of food on my plate.
Our waitress returned, smiled through our compliments and then placed a hand on each shoulder. " Ya'll aren't leaving without dessert!" I didn't think I had room for one more bite of food, but I changed my mind pretty quickly when they brought out fresh peach cobbler. "That there is Momma's recipe. She famous for it!" I wasn't going to waste any time taking pictures, especially since Matt and I were sharing a piece and it was topped off with hand-churned ice cream. You should see that man around ice cream.
I couldn't stop complimenting the food, cooked to perfection and served with genuine hospitality. Before we left, the cook came out and gave us huge hug, thanking us for enjoying her food so much. We left with full stomachs, sticky fingers and heightened chances of developing diabetes.
Thanks for a great date babe!