Fried pork chops with gravy seems like the right thing today.
I'm missing the South. And you. I really only have two fried pork chop memories.
The most recent came from a place called Brother Orlando's in Shreveport, Louisiana. It was a small, busy place. I noticed the staff, despite their hustling, never stopped joking, singing, and interacting with the customers and each other. It was a good place for a stranger to walk into, take a seat and eat a meal. By the time I'd finished eating, I didn't want to leave. The fried pork chops were juicy on the inside with hot crispy batter on the outside. The chef gave me an extra soup bowl of gravy and I drank up every drop. I wished hard that day that you were there with me.
My first noteworthy fried pork chop memory was the one where you and I found a roadside trailer selling soul food after your competition in Connecticut. You were famished. It gave me such pleasure to feed you that night, to find something you desired and to give it to you. I always loved eating with you.
I ate some pretty decent fried pork chops at Cracker Barrel on my own today. It happened to be the Saturday special. They tasted good. They filled me up. But they didn't hit the spot.
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