Hey y’all — I’m Mary, the cook, the storyteller, and the woman who grew up so far out in the country that “going out to eat” meant packing a cooler, filling up the gas tank, and praying the car didn’t overheat before we made it to town. If it wasn’t within 30 minutes, we weren’t eating it.
So we cooked at home. A LOT. And when we weren’t cooking, we were canning. If it grew in the garden, we shoved it in a jar. Tomatoes, green beans, pickles, peaches — if you stood still long enough, we might’ve canned you too.
We also had a whole barnyard of pets: dogs, rabbits, ducks, and one very special cow named Wooly Bully. Now, Wooly Bully wasn’t just any cow — we bottle‑fed him as a baby, so he grew up thinking he was a dog. He followed us everywhere. You’d walk outside and hear clomp clomp clomp behind you like, “Oh great, here comes the world’s largest golden retriever.” Try playing tag with a calf who thinks he’s part of the family. It’ll keep you humble.
Fast‑forward a few years and my family and I ended up running a BBQ food truck, smoking more ribs and briskets than any human should legally be allowed to. Pork ribs, beef ribs, brisket so tender it made grown men emotional — we did it all. I’m pretty sure I still smell like hickory smoke, and honestly, I’m fine with that.
These days, we cook just for fun — no long lines, no food truck chaos, no 4 a.m. brisket alarms. I love trying new ideas, but I keep my recipes simple, because nobody needs a 47‑step casserole on a Tuesday night.
Here at The Southern Spoon, you’ll find the recipes we grew up on — the ones passed down from family, scribbled on old cards, and perfected over years of “just add a little more butter.” Comfort food, country food, food that tastes like somebody loves you.
So pull up a chair, loosen your waistband, and stay awhile. I saved you a plate… and probably a biscuit.
Sending biscuits and good vibes,
Mary
@Southernspoon