As I've stated before, the language of my childhood days in the Sacred Triangle is honey-sweet on my lips and music of a thousand harps to my ears. My goodness, the times I've heard my folks & others of their generation use the expression "bait of greens" and its double first cousin, "bait of sallet". It brought back a lot of memories, it did, along with a pang of pining for the somewhat gentler days of yore.

What I'd give for a big bait of my Mama's freshly picked and freshly cooked greens seasoned with fatback, fresh-from-the-oven cornbread slathered with butter (the real McCoy, not that namby-pamby food-dyed artificial "oreo" crap what Kroger and IGA and their ilk foist off on an unsuspecting public), and a plateful of just-plucked green onions.

Oh, that earth were Paradise enou.

I hope you took a few bites of Joe's best for me. You may recall these words from Cyrus about Buckeye barbecue:

"I can't adequately describe what passes for barbecue here, but Phleabite, my dog with the iron constitution, took one quick sniff of some and ran out to the garden to dig up a few turnips for his supper."

Damn smart dog, ol' Phleabite.

"jim"