Sufferin' Succotash!

Do you remember Sylvester the cat on Saturday morning cartoon television? Do you remember his favourite exasperated exclamation was always, “Sufferin’ succotash”? He would sort of spit as he said it, with a big, sloppy lisp. I always thought it was just a good onomatopoeia; I didn’t realize there really was such a thing as succotash. Not, that is, until I moved to St. Louis.

Well, to be perfectly clear, I wasn’t in the state of Missouri when I realized that there really is such a thing as succotash. (Yes, Virginia, there really is a succotash.) In fact, I was in Illinois, at a pick-your-own apple orchard. I don’t think the people of Illinois know what succotash is either because there was absolutely no-one in line to buy it, even though line-ups for ham-and-bean soup with cornbread muffins were ten deep.

There was a hand-written cardboard sign – you know the kind where the writer didn’t plan well, so the letters are all big and cheerful on the left but taper down small and cramped on the right so the whole sentence can get squeezed in. The sign invited readers “C’MON AND TRY it, you'll love it!” There wasn’t enough room for the price, so it was written sideways, squished near the upper right-hand corner. Only three bucks; what a bargain! So, why did I pass it up? Who knows – maybe I’m not as adventurous as I think I am, eh?

When I got home, I looked up succotash on the internet, only to discover it’s a delicious dish consisting of corn and beans. It just goes to show you that you can’t always judge a food by its handle. In fact, at a recent parent meeting where the school’s cafeteria food was the topic de rigueur, I mentioned that my son might try more hot lunch food if the names of the dishes were not so foreign (e.g. “pulled pork”) to him. We think that sounds like two fat piggies playing tug-of-war or something.

Another mom quickly responded, with surprise and disdain, “Why,” she said, “it’s just barbecue!” I had to laugh because “barbecue” for this northern girl is what we call the big grill on the deck that heats up to 600 degrees and makes my husband feel like he’s contributing to family meal preparation. The only other time I’ve ever heard anyone refer to slow-cooked meat as barbecue was on a ski trip when my lovely friend Heather offered it to me. She kept saying, “We’re eating barbecue. Do you want to have some?”

I like her a lot (and I was hungry...), so I said yes, even though I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what she was offering me! Mmmm! For the record, we call that Sloppy Joe...! For the French, from whom the word was borrowed, then shaped, distorted and claimed, the word barbecue is a style of cooking that means putting a skewer from the “barbe” or the hook at the mouth to the “queue” or tail of the animal. (Shudder.) Far too graphic. I love food that says EAT ME, like toasted ravioli.

What, you’ve never had it? You have to come to St. Louis; it’s a specialty here!