I’m from fried chicken from Southern Classic, only the one in Mansfield, on the way home from an afternoon at the deer lease with daddy, a sausage biscuit and apple juice from kickapoo corner, the gas station in town, on an early Saturday morning, a dozen donut holes and a chocolate milk from The Donut Shop on a Sunday morning before church, red beans and rice in a crockpot with a side of sweet and buttery melt in your mouth cornbread on a cool fall or winter night, Mamaw’s mexican cornbread in a cast iron skillet any time there is a family gathering, Mamaw’s “famous” grilled cheese sandwiches anytime the grandkids had a sleepover at her house, Grandma’s delicious deviled eggs, green bean casserole, honey-baked ham, and pumpkin pie, with cool-whip of course, for holiday gatherings, and papa’s homemade birthday cake for mine or grandma’s birthday, a boiling pot of crawfish, with ice cream for dessert on Easter, fried fish with ketchup the Sunday evening after the men went fishing, and fried backstrap with mashed potatoes until the deer meat in the freezer ran out.