Mental Cheese and other Southern Finery

When I first relocated to North Carolina some years ago, my palate was exposed to cuisine unfamiliar. Within a few months of the relocation, I began working at a bakery/diner that prided itself in a diverse mixture of grease and hog, with a little icing thrown into the mix for good measure.

Now, being a transplant from north central Maine, I was intrigued, nay, horrified, by some of the concoctions that I encountered. First, there was the sausage dog. It's like a hot dog, only bigger - and spicier. Then, there was barbecue, which is basically everything scraped off a hog as it runs by. Everything.

After the scraping is complete, said meat is doused in copious amounts of vinegar and hot sauce. My first encounter with this was a misunderstanding. In Maine, "barbecue" generally includes store bought sauce, chicken, an outdoor grill, and a holiday. Within two bites, I encountered something tough and chewy. I was informed that it was skin. I truly thought that I would die.

Other introductions were not so extreme. For example, I was fascinated with Red Velvet Cake. This cake looks as though it were baked on an alien planet, by one million nuclear suns. It is beyond red. Said cake is slathered 1/2" deep with cream cheese frosting, and each slice contains about 3,000 calories. The resulting sugar rush may throw a diabetic into a full blown coma. [It would be worth it].

Then, alas, there was the Pimento Cheese. I greeted this with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion. It is, basically, a cheese sandwich, right? With a LOT of mayonnaise...and those things that are in green olives. This mixture, however, is generally mixed and mashed to a pulp. The resulting view may remind some of Russian Dressing; I was reminded of cat vomit - or a second-hand breakfast burrito.

I believe it took a few months of serious contemplation before I dove head first into the pimento cheese. My coworkers constantly teased me about my northern roots. Who didn't eat black eyed peas for good luck on New Years? Who said a collard sandwich isn't 'good eatin'? Why wouldn't I eat the Mental Cheese?

I finally cracked. Between gags (related to texture rather than taste), it hit me. This crap wasn't half bad! I won't say that I have developed a full blown addiction to all things southern. But, at the end of the day, you can have your barbecue. I'm eatin' the mental cheese.