I love Texas. I suppose it’s the same anywhere with a strong cultural identity, but I’ve spent more time in Texas than anywhere but California and Korea, so I’ll fixate on Texas.
There is a common phrase heard by anyone not from the South, when we are visiting Texas: “Where y’all from?” With major emphasis on the from, naturally.
My best “Where y’all from” story is one from a couple years ago. I was stationed in Texas, as an instructor at the intel school. (No, military intelligence is not an oxymoron, you cretin. Come up with a more original slam, ok?) We instructors would often go out to dinner together, when we were working evenings. This particular night, we went to the Catfish Corner nearby. Oddly, the Catfish Corner is not on a corner, and in fact is not even in sight of any street corners. But, it is alliterative.
So, we go to the catfish restaurant (and restaurant is a generous description), noting as we arrive that they are having an all-you-can-eat special on catfish and quail. I don’t eat enough to ever feel that “all-you-can-eat” is a good deal, but a couple coworkers did. So, Chip asks what quail tastes like, since his Ohio-born self had never tried such a delicacy.
“It tastes like dove,” replied the waitress, pronouncing dove in a way nearly impossible to describe in mere roman letters, but something like “du-uhve”. Extra long, with some breathiness in there.
“And what does dove taste like?” quipped friend Chip, while visions of the bird of peace bounced in my head.
“Where y’all from?”
It had never occured to her, apparently, that there was anyone who had never actually tried eating doves. Go figure.
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