La Provinçale.

Last Friday I met up with my good friend, Steve Morrison, and we drove south from Atlanta to Valdosta, Georgia. We made the journey to pick up my family's bulldog puppy, VIVI, a dog - excuse me, Dawg - that, as the daughter of UGA VI, is true Southern royalty. Driving with Steve I realized that I both missed living near my friend, and missed living in The South.

We drove through the night, catching up on old times, our families and our lives. We shared some fairly good barbecue at O.B.'s in McDonough (very good ribs, dry pulled pork, institutional mac and cheese and cole slaw, over-puréed yet tasty Brunswick Stew and so-so sweet tea), and got to Valdosta around 1am.

The next morning we entered the Gold Plate Restaurant in Valdosta for what promised (if reviews on the internet were to be believed) to be a good, Southern breakfast. The Gold Plate is your fairly typical Southern breakfast joint. It's a series of cinder block structures that seem to have witnessed a number of expansions. Judging by the number of diners, the local gentry seems to endorse it. Inside it's a series of rooms adorned with faded duck prints, and a number of large steam tables, all of which were being prepared for a lunchtime buffet.

As we entered the Gold Plate, we were met by a kindly old lady who sensed this was our first-ever visit to her establishment. "Why don't you sit down in the other room," she motioned, "it's a lot...quieter." Taking her cue, we entered the other dining room...and soon realized that our host's notion of "quieter" translated as "whiter". Hmmm.

Our waitress came up to the table, order pad in hand. "Y'all know what ya want?" she asked. We informed her that we hadn't been given a menu yet. This was met by a terse smile, and a statement of the obvious, "You're not from around here, are you?" She soon returned with menus. The restaurant's board of fare boasts three different types of breakfast sausages: "Fresh", "Smoked" and "Patty". Steve asked her to explain the differences. "'Fresh' means brown, 'smoked' means pink, and 'patty' means flat." was her reply.

We both opted for 'Fresh' sausage as well as some biscuits and gravy. I also ordered a few eggs over medium and a side of grits.

While the Gold Plate has three kinds of sausage, it would appear they've only one kind of egg: scrambled. Not wanting to yet again show myself as 'not from around here', I said nothing. The food was good...one of the best Southern breakfasts I've had in some time. Our waitress returned to freshen our coffee, and asked, "So, where are y'all from?" Steve explained that she was from Atlanta, while I flashed her my California driver's license. "California, huh?" she said, and then came closer and whispered, "Is it true what they say? Are there a lot of faggots in California?" It took all my willpower to resist smiling, reaching out for Steve's hand and batting my eyes at him, but I was hungry and did not want to risk being denied service. I instead just replied, "I really wouldn't know about that, 'mam. I'm happily married."

While Steve headed to the bathroom, our waitress returned to ask, "So, is California nice?" "It is, but it's not as nice as Georgia," I said, hoping to improve on her opinion of me...after all, she was holding a pot of scalding hot coffee. "You've never been?" I asked her. "Oh no!" she claimed, "Never! There's too many faggots. But I've been all over the rest of the country." When I asked her where she'd traveled to, she proudly stated, "Well, I've been to Louisiana once, to South Carolina twice, to north Georgia a few times, and I've spent a LOT of time in Florida."

Uh-huh.

The Gold Plate in Valdosta does serve a mean breakfast...and a heaping side plate of homophobia at no extra charge.


While you're eating your biscuits and gravy, Jethro, check out humor-blogs.com.