Country-Fried Girl

I admit it.  I've been to the other side of the world.  I've lived on the east coast of America, and now I'm living on the opposite edge of the States.  But I'm a Southern Girl.  I love grits (which is always plural).  I know the difference between sodas: Coke (any brown-colored soda), Sprite (any clear soda), and Mt. Dew (any yellow-colored soda).  Unsweetened tea is not an option, and a rocking chair or a swing is a front-porch fixture.

It was tough growing up in Western Kentucky as an adopted Asian girl.  I was the only Asian in my entire elementary and middle school.  I heard that there were some Asians older than me--the Filipino doctor in town happened to have two kids my sister's age.  I was called "Chinese" from Kindergarten until 2nd grade when the kids finally realized that I just wasn't going to go away.  My parents dressed me in my sister's hand-me-downs, yard sale clothes, and Wal-mart findings.  Although at the time I truly hated and resented it, I'm now able to realize that what my parents lacked financially, they made up for it in real love.  I heard kids tease their younger siblings, "Oh yeah?  Well, you were adopted!"  The younger sibling always retorting with, "NO I'M NOT!" like it was some strain of cooties that they had caught.

But it wasn't just what was on the outside.  I had the thickest Southern accent until 9th grade.  "Y'all" is still part of my vocabulary, and because I teach foreign students, I have to remind them that this isn't English used all over the US.  Maybe I should teach them all of the Southern vernacular.  They could get along well in all of the red states.

What does THIS have to do with San Diego, you ask?  THIS actually has to do with places all over the world:  the lack of good Southern comfort food.  I can find Mexican food just about anywhere in the US.  I can find Italian food anywhere (even Korea), but good country fried food?  A diamond in the rough.

And here I am at Perry's Cafe on Pacific Highway in Old Town.  I also have passed by this place coming home from work.  It's just under the overpass between the I-5N to the I-8W.  But it's better to get to it via Rosecrans for me.

It was Monday, Memorial Day, and there were people lined up just like it was Sunday after church at the Cracker Barrel.  We waded through the masses of people to put our name on the list.  The bustling white noise of the cafe exploded like a soundbite: mugs clanking, meat sizzling, conversations rumbling.  The list was on legal-sized yellow paper long.  But the Counter!!!  Oh, the counter is first come, first served.  And we got two seats at the far end it right in front of cooking line!  The food waiting in the window looked delectable and the dishes that passed by us were amazing.

The majority of the menu was frittatas and other egg dishes.  EGG!  In the same category as PORK for me--non-edible.  I scanned the menu in hopes of finding what I was looking for; my eyes passed over biscuits and gravy and I knew there was hope.  And there, lying amongst the words "egg," "frittata," "omelet" were the words "Country-Fried Steak."  What a joyous day!

With the Country-Fried Steak, I got the option of toast, English muffin, or muffin; hashbrowns, or home fries.  No GRITS?  Can't a Southern Girl get some grits in Southern Cali?

Needless to say, it was great.  I should've named this blog "Eating San Diego."  Cause that's what it seems like I've been doing.  I need to step out of the Southern haven on Pacific Highway and onto a scale.  But on the plus side, I rode my bike to get sushi tonight.

Perry's Cafe
4620 Pacific Highway, 92110
Old Town