B&J’s in Darien, GA
This past week I was passing through Darien, Georgia. A hard scrabble fishing village on the coast with plenty of character. A town, in my opinion, that was lucky enough to have been passed by in the scramble to reinvent those Southern coasts into one undistinguished and overdeveloped theme park of high-rise condos and golf courses.
Since it was lunchtime, I pulled off the highway in hopes that B&J’s was still in the meat and three business. It had been ten years since I had last visited. But they were still open, and they were packed.
Once inside the restaurant, I found a chair open at a crowded long communal table and sat down. They had catfish, fried chicken, meatloaf, and chicken livers for the meat choices. I settled on the fried chicken with sides of green beans, collards, mac and cheese, and banana pudding for dessert.
The crowd was local and knew each other with plenty of “hello’s” bouncing around the room. And, although I didn’t know anyone, I still received my honey fix. As in, “Honey, would you like some more sweet tea?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The classic presentation (at B&J’s)
Which all reminded me of this piece I wrote some years back on the topic. I hope you enjoy it and it inspires you to go find a similar spot to have lunch this coming week.
The Ode
Oh, how I yearn for the return of the meat and three. The simple joy of knowing that with a quick turn off the highway, any small town in the South yielded a diner that served up the sacred trifecta — that assurance brought comfort to restless, dark nights.
The daily break for lunch, the communion with one’s people. They have given way to the blight of Hardees and its ilk, the shuffling herd inching forward at the drive-through, devouring at the wheel, afterward pitching leftover hamburger wrappers out the windows. Our collective soul has been starved, even as our collective waistline has expanded.
We were a people of the garden once, the content of our favorite diner’s lunch fare reflecting the abundance of the seasons. Served in modest portions that allowed us to eat healthy, but not to excess or somnolence, the choices were varied and yet consistent: two or three meats, perhaps six or more vegetables. The daily decision was made while waiting for the iced tea to arrive.
The chicken was a smaller bird, the cuts done to maximize the number of servings. Each breast was cut in half, and when it was served on a small plate, it did not dwarf the other choices. The meatloaf was divvied into small squares, the country ham shaved in modest slices, the vegetables simply prepared with minimal seasoning.
“Yes, ma’am, we are ready to order. Hmm, I will get the chicken today, dark meat, please. And let me have the okra and stewed tomatoes (which still counted as one side), turnip greens, and the crowder peas. Roll or cornbread? Cornbread, of course. Yes, ma’am, that is all today, no dessert for me. Peanut butter pie? Oh, that’s tempting, but, no.”
Y’all have a good day. We’ll see you tomorrow.
………………………………………………………………
Reading this weekend: Wide as the Waters, the story of the English Bible and the revolution it inspired (Bobrick)
