Filling up on biscuits and grits.

I can't claim any real relationship to the South. But after this weekend, oh, how I wish I could. If I were a true, y'all-calling, front-porch-sitting, magnolia-growing southerner, I might boast some part in the perfection of a buttermilk biscuit. I might draw some connection to the many glorious things that you can do with pickles (who'd have thought?! pickles!). And I might have some excuse for the sheer volume of food that I consumed at Jacob's Pickles during Sunday brunch.

Sadly, there is no excuse for a poor Connecticuter (oh yes, that's the official term) who's still trying to figure out what the heck you do with nutmeg, and why our state founders couldn't have chosen a better food affiliation. Toaster pastries, maybe?