Hey, life? Are you kidding me?

An Experiment

This is how it went:

Betty (my mom, not my son's dog): Here, Audra, take some okra home with you. The garden is overflowing with it.

Now, keep in mind while some of you are gagging, if you grow up with it, fried okra is a delicacy, especially in Oklahoma.

Me: Mom, I don't know how to make fried okra.

Betty: You've seen me do it a million times. (giggle giggle)

Me: Yes, and Reese (my son) has seen me drive here a thousand times, yet I'm not giving him the keys and I'm pretty sure he couldn't even tell me how to get here.

Betty: Well, it's easy. This is what you do. Get your corn meal.

Me: What is that? I mean I can buy some but is it in a jar, box? What aisle might this be on.

Betty: Ummm, near the flour, probably.

Me: Okay.

So, she goes on telling me in a about 5 steps how to make fried okra, but there was one thing she kept saying over and over.

Betty: You have to make sure your oil is hot!

Well, at first I thought she was talking about olive oil because that's all i've ever used. Which brought on a plethora of jokes on my part - okra is a vegatable thus vegatable, it's not an olive. . . . Do you even have a kitchen? . . . It's the one where the fridge is, I'm sure you know it now. . . .

I know it's odd that i'm a 43 year old woman from the Midwest and I've never fried anything - but I just haven't. I grill, I bake, i make crap up, but I don't fry. But you know they've pushed my buttons with their teasing, so i'm bound and determined to make some damn good fried okra.

Corn meal bought - check
Cut tips off - check
Soak in salt water - check
VEGATABLE oil is hot - check
Cover in corn meal - check (but it is gross)

Pulling my head out of my butt - no check, sadly

So i go to the hot grease and dump the okra in, and I know this is obvious to most of the living world, but it wasn't to me - this action causes the grease to splatter - all over the top of my bare feet (yes, you have my permission to make a joke about me being barefoot in the kitchen).

You know what helps burns? NOTHING - it's just going to burn no matter how much you cuss or put ice on it - which is not easy while you are trying to fry okra to prove that you can do it despite lack of family support.

This is how long the next event took -- I look down at my foot to see if I'm ever going to be able to wear shoes again, and when i look back up. . .

My stove is on FIRE! I dont' mean sparks, we are talking flames. Somehow I don't remember this is the directions. But - school saftey classes from elementary click in and i remember not to throw water on a grease fire - the blonde part of me thinks for a minute but this is vegatable oil - is that grease?. I pushed her out of my mind. Hopping on my least burnt foot, I remove the skillet from burner, turn off the burner, and well, prayed.

The flames said goodbye, sweet Audra. You would think I would give up at this point.. . No friggin' way - I will not be conquered.

Or so I thought. When I finally deem the okra "done", it looks like something that has already gone through the digestive track. Besides that, I'm not really in the mood to eat - I'm in pain and my house smells like smoke.

I look over and my son's dog, Betty (named after my mom by my son - a show of love), is looking at me like: Hey, you going to share or what?

Me: Betty, is vegatables and corn meal you aren't going to like it.

She cocks her head.

Me: fine you can try it.

I set it down; she sniffs at it, raises the side of her lip, sits back contemplating. I lose interest in watching her, so I begin to tend to my burnt stove.

Later, I look down to see every drop of okra gone.

About that time, my mother calls.

Mom: How was the okra?

Me: Well, every bit was eaten.

Mom: See, I told you it was easy. We have plenty where that came from. Besides you know the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

Rolling my eyes, Betty (the dog) begins to lick my burned feet. I think, I don't know about a man's stomach, but it sure makes a dog love you.

Audra
Over and out