Hushpuppied...

So, just *how* much do we love hushpuppies, aka "koppins"?

Didgeridoo Boy is a very big fan of hushpuppies, which he calls "koppins". He dances while I'm mixing the batter, cavorts during the heating of the deep fryer (of which he is king), and tries to eat them while they're still so hot that he has to go off and stomp. However, he's always been insistent that we purchase a bag of House Autry brand mix for them; no matter how many times I tell him I have what I feel is a better way, he wants the red bag of stuff. To him, it's easier - add water, stir, spoon, plop, sizzle, drain, cool (for the love of the gods, cool those bad boys), and eat.

Last night Didge wanted "zee koppins", and told me to prepare the mix. I told him we had no mix, but that I had a bag of Martha White buttermilk cornmeal mix (with HOT RIZE!), and that I could mix hush puppies from that. I have told him this before, and he said it would not work. My mother makes hers this way, I told him, and he told me there was no way. I left it alone, as I felt no need to stomp his pinkie toe flat at that particular juncture.

Since he didn't feel like going to the grocery store, a wonderful thing happened: In the absence of his beloved red bag, I got to mix the hushpuppies mom's way. And then, in an exercise of cosmic balance, a terrible thing happened: I became aware of them as he was cooking.

(Bit of an aside - I am on day four of Baron Baptiste's 40 day program. Yes, I was very sick last week, so this might seem foolish - but considering that stomach flu followed a severe cold and that I remain stressed to the gills about all sorts of things in spite of a regular yoga practice, I figured the time was absolutely perfect. I'm kind of sort of supposed to be eating a little more mindfully, and grease has never been my friend. Okay. So now you know that. Back to the hushpuppies.)

I actually caught a whiff of them first. Best I go to the kitchen, I decided, so I could make sure that Didge didn't burn it down with the deep fryer only he is allowed to deal with. He said they were actually pretty good, so I had to make sure. And I will be darned if they didn't taste like the ones my mom makes. So I had another.

If you want to see what happens when I am in the presence of hushpuppies (particularly *those*) being cooked, take a cat to a fish fry. I nut up. Send me away, I will come back. Shout that I am about to burn my fingers, I will wait for a second and try again. Get in my way thinking you'll block me, I will get around you. Once I get one, I will run off to a distance of about five feet, eat it while watching your every move (because you're not going anywhere with that plate), and come right back. I can't help it.

Didge held up well. I don't think he was quite prepared for all of that, because he's never seen me enter the hushpuppy frenzy, but he made it through. He went through the whole thing like a champ - warning me that I would get burned, trying to get in my way, telling me to watch out. At the end, we had a little waltz while he tried to keep the plate away from me in a way that wouldn't make me think that was what he was doing. (HA!)

All told, I only had about three - my aim was, and has always been, for the small ones. (There is a particular size that I hunt.) When I was finished, I took a precautionary shot of Pepto before my very baffled beloved and got him something to drink. Leaving him with his plate of hushpuppies, I jotted off to the bedroom to avoid further temptation - I swear he looked relieved.