To my mother’s disappointment, I never had a taste for okra. She was born and raised in the south and her family loved it, fried okra, okra gumbo, stewed okra; it seems that it was a staple for them. So when mom married a fella from southern Indiana and moved here with him to raise a family I'm sure she looked forward to many meals around the Scarlett table with okra as a part of it.

My grandmother’s maiden name was Carrencegie and I’ve been told that I did not get the Carrencegie okra gene; that is the taste for this (in my opinion) vile little vegetable. So, I spent my entire life trying it if I had to and rejecting it back to those with iron clad stomachs and a penchant for slimy foods.