Southern Roots

Amelia Rose had lived in the South all her days. She was now twenty-nine years of age and single, which was nearly an unheard of occurrence in the small Southern town where she lived. All of her hometown friends had been married for several years and most were already parents of at least two children. Amelia Rose didn’t understand the prerequisite. She’d finished college and decided upon returning home because her mother had been ill, but since doing so, she’d been chastised by family, close friends, acquaintances, and even strangers whom she did not know beyond a nod of greeting, for not ‘settling down’.

“My goodness, girl,” they would all say. “I don’t understand why a pretty little thing like you hasn’t already found yourself a man and settled down.” And it was always followed by a “well, bless your heart” comment when she replied that she had no interest in marriage at this time in her life. Amelia Rose was far too used to these reactions, and she had actually grown blissfully immune to them.

Despite not being interested in settling down with anyone, she had agreed to this blind date, because her best friend, Mary Harper, had insisted she had the perfect man for her. She loved Mary Harper and didn’t want to insult or hurt her by rejecting her friend's good intentions. After all, it would be just one date. Mary Harper was insistent that Amelia Rose would absolutely adore Duncan, who was someone with whom she had gone to college. Duncan would be passing through and visiting Mary Harper for a few days before heading down to Florida. Duncan was a journalist for a paper in New York City, and since Amelia Rose was an aspiring writer, Mary Harper was sure the meeting was predestined. Amelia Rose did not have the heart, or the patience, to argue the point with her friend. It was just much simpler to go on the date. It would be over soon enough anyway.

So, here Amelia Rose sat, patiently waiting for her blind date to arrive at the Salty River Grill. It was late March, but the air was already a bit humid as she sat out on the patio. Fortunately, there was a slight breeze coming off the water, so she did not feel as uncomfortable as she might normally be due to the unseasonably warm weather. The waiter had just brought the bottle of Chateau Blaignan she had ordered and poured a glass for her. As she lifted it for the first sip, she immediately smelled the blackcurrant, black cherries and a hint of spice that permeated the Merlot. The wine was lusciously vibrant in color, embodying the fruity and velvety flavors that made it so desirable.

As she sipped the glass of Merlot and waited for Duncan, her mind touched upon a recollection from her childhood. She smiled to herself as she remembered her first experience with wine while growing up in the heart of the Bible Belt. Her Mother had opened a bottle of wine when she was only ten years of age. Amelia Rose had initially been horrified at the sight.

“Momma!” she had yelled. “Mimi and Pastor Brown say that wine is the fruit of the Devil!”

Her mother had smiled at her reassuringly as she poured the rich, burgundy wine into a glass. “Amelia Rose, as much as I love your Mimi and admire Pastor Brown, wine is not the fruit of the Devil. As in all things in this life, it’s exactly what you perceive of something that makes it so. It is not just because someone says it's so that makes it so. And with wine, it’s largely how much you partake of it. A glass or two of wine is not a forbidden thing. After all, Jesus turned the water into wine, didn’t he? And Jesus assuredly would never want us to drink the fruit of the Devil. Now you just run on and play sweetheart and remember what I told you, because such things apply to more than simply wine in life.”

And indeed, those words had taught Amelia Rose much more about life than they had about wine. Nearly everything in life was rooted pretty much in the way one perceived it or as to what one made of it. For example, she had been a huge Harry Potter fan while growing up despite the throngs of people in her small town who had wanted to see the book banned because it was ‘witchcraft and the work of the Devil’. Again, Amelia Rose had easily deduced that the book was about good and evil, much like the Bible, and with good coming out on top, so she really didn’t understand all the fuss. Sure, if you wanted to put an evil slant on it, she guessed that you could do so, but it was highly unnecessary when it was a fictionalized account of magic. But it di not make the book evil simply because someone said it was.

Amelia Rose smiled as she fondly remembered her Mother’s words that day when she’d caught her opening the bottle of wine. Her Mother had been a very wise person, and she was thankful that she’d listened to her and thankful that she’d applied what she’d said to many situations and things over the years.

Amelia Rose glanced up to find a very attractive man nearing her table. Was this Duncan, she wondered?

The man stopped at her table. “Amelia Rose?” he questioned.

Amelia Rose quickly rose and extended her hand in greeting. “Yes, I’m Amelia Rose. It’s so nice to meet you Duncan.”

“Same here,” Duncan replied as he conspicuously gave her the once over while he shook her hand. She noticed immediately that there was something which she could not lay a finger to about this man, but whatever it was, it did not sit well with her. What was it, she wondered?

Once settled in the chairs across from one another, Amelia Rose smiled across the expanse of white tablecloth. Duncan was attractive and had beautiful blue eyes. Was it possible that tonight’s date would be far more enjoyable than she anticipated? Still, she could not ignore the bit of wariness that crept deeper into her being.

“I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of Merlot. Would you like some?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he said. “I love a really good red wine. And anything will do except for that God awful iced tea that you Southerners like to drink,” he commented derisively.

Ignoring Amelia Rose’s look of annoyance and not waiting for the waiter, he picked up the wine bottle and poured a generous measure of the Merlot into his glass. “This is delicious,” he said as he took his first sip. “Fruity and yet a bit of spice. Full-bodied and velvety in its richness,” he noted.

Well, at least he appeared to appreciate good wine, Amelia Rose thought. “Yes, I agree. It’s a lovely wine and the fruitiness of it will pair nicely with most dishes.”

“Speaking of which, have you eaten here before?” Duncan asked. “What’s good on the menu? I have been looking forward to fresh seafood all day.”

“There are so many excellent choices,” Amelia Rose began. “The Sea Island Shrimp & Grits is always a favorite, but I prefer the Benne & Poppy Seed Crusted Salmon.”

“The salmon it is,” Duncan said, giving a look of distaste as he said, “I don’t understand how anyone can eat grits!” Amelia Rose could see a dimple in his right cheek as he broke into a huge smile, as if she would appreciate the comment about grits. She was beginning to think his fine looks were deceiving.

“So, I’m guessing you don’t like iced tea or grits?” Amelia Rose asked innocently while taking another sip of wine.

“Are you kidding? Only Southerners would ever think of such a thing and ruin a perfectly good blend of tea. And don’t ask me where the idea came from to eat grits. They are utterly and despicably disgusting! They remind me of cardboard!” Duncan stated emphatically.

Amelia Rose stared at Duncan with an obvious aversion “And exactly what makes iced tea and grits disgusting? Is it simply because you say so, Duncan?”

Duncan laughed but then shook his head as if amazed that she did not agree with him. “Why yes, it is actually because I say so. I am, after all, a respected food critic and a journalist who has traveled the world in pursuit of excellent food, articulating and recommending the same in my many published articles.” Titling his head with a smugness that did not impress Amelia Rose, he continued, “I have a very diverse and advanced palette. I can tell you right now that the majority of the world would consider grits, boiled peanuts, iced tea, and other such Southern delicacies to be quite distasteful.”

Just then, the waiter interrupted, stopping for their order. Ignoring Duncan, Amelia Rose leaned forward to eagerly rush ahead with a deliberate list of appetizers that they wished to order.

“We will have several things please: the fried catfish, the fried green tomatoes, the fried green beans, the pimento cheese, the corn fritters, and some hush puppies. Oh, and please remember to bring extra of all those wonderful dipping sauces,” she added as an afterthought.

After the waiter left, she innocently glanced at Duncan through her thick lashes and slightly shrugged at his questioning look.

“You must be very hungry. Are you sure you want to eat all that fried food? And all that extra sauce? It can’t be good for you. You won't even be actually tasting the food you’re eating, and I assure you that you'll be eating it all by yourself.” Duncan was frowning with obvious disapproval and distaste, oblivious of her true intentions or the point she was making.

Amelia Rose smiled sweetly at him. “Well, goodness, Duncan,” she said in her strongest Southern accent, “It’s just a little, itty bitty sample of Southern food. And I was sure you would appreciate it with you being such a famous food critic and all. Oh, but just you wait for dessert if you think that’s a lot of food.”

Duncan shook his head in disbelief and then looked about the restaurant, quite obviously uncomfortable.

Deducing that this man was no one whose opinion mattered much to her in any shape, fashion, or form – no matter what he did or what articles he wrote – Amelia Rose asked, “Have you any other observations you’d like to note about our lovely Southern culture, Duncan? I assure you that I strongly believe that nothing you say will be true just because you say it is.” And I think you’re a buffoon, she longed to add. As aggravated as she was, Amelia Rose was eager for any response with which Duncan might venture forth.

Duncan gave a derisive snort before he turned to her. “Yes, you guys seem to love everything fried – as you've just proven. To be frank, I am very surprised you don’t weigh 300 pounds. And I’m surprised we aren’t drinking moonshine this evening instead of wine. But it’s highly likely we will be eating with our fingers to make up for it.”

Much credit to Amelia Rose, she merely continued to smile at him - a sweet, innocent, ‘well bless your little heart’ smile. “Anything else you’d like to add – just because you say it’s so?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, “But I think it’s time for me to make my exit.”

Amelia Rose barely gave him a glance as she said, “I couldn’t agree more. I wish I could say it has been a pleasure, but instead, I’ll just say, well…just bless your little ole’ heart, Duncan.” Amelia Rose smiled to herself as she sipped the delicious wine and looked out across the water, refusing to acknowledge Duncan’s actual departure as he stormed through the restaurant.

Moments later, the waiter brought every appetizer she’d ordered, along with several bowls of dipping sauces, easily filling up the small dinner table. Amelia Rose graciously thanked him and filled her plate as she contemplated her first, and thankfully, her last date with Duncan.

Her Mother had been absolutely perceptive and right about some things and people, especially about the fact that someone saying it was so did not make it so. And in the case of Duncan, there was no doubt whatsoever that one perceived exactly what one got: a disrespectful buffoon of a man who had no respect or tolerance for anyone that exhibited any differences when compared to him and always thought he was right about everything. It was actually very sad that he thought that there was nothing left for him to learn about others or life. Well, she was thankful for the fact that it had taken very little time to discern this about him, and that she had not wasted additional moments attempting to converse about silly things when the two of them obviously shared absolutely nothing in common.

Nibbling contentedly on the hush puppies while generously dipping her fried green beans in the sauce provided, Amelia Rose reflected that life was pretty much what you made of it, just like her Mother had said. No, she did not have a man – and she especially did not have the one from tonight who thought he knew everything – but she was more than happy sitting here alone and eating fried food and drinking rich, velvety Merlot while surrounded by the moss hanging from the massive oaks with the breeze coming off the water.

Amelia Rose smiled triumphantly to herself. Life as she knew it right now, at this very moment, was good, and she could not be more content. Who could ask for more than a good Merlot, delicious fried food, and such beautiful scenery?