I cooked okra again tonight. Every time I cook it, I’m amazed that it turns out right.
The first time I attempted frying okra, it was a disaster! No really–a major, earth-shattering disaster!
Okra grease soup with black bullets in it is what it was. I had a come-apart. A meltdown. Went into a crying jag.
I was all of 18, pregnant, and on a hormone roller-coaster, none of which helped the situation. My groom tried to tell me it would be okay. I’m sure he laughed, too, which didn’t smoothe out the situation at all.
It is ridiculous how I reacted to that cooking fiasco. See this picture?
I cooked this last year which was the first time I had tried to fry okra in 35 years! That’s how traumatized I was by the whole deal in 1974. How ludicrous is that?
I still can’t believe I waited so long to try frying it again. I could fry squash, potatoes, and just about anything else, but I had convinced myself that fried okra was beyond the reach of my culinary skills.
All I had to do was cut it up, salt and pepper it, put a little cornmeal on it, and fry it in a little oil. Actually, I think that was my initial problem–the oil. In retrospect, I’m reasonably sure I used way too much of it, resulting in the okra soup.
Here is tonight’s result:
Much better than okra soup, don’t you think? I’m pretty sure I have this thing licked now.