Words by Landon Bryant, Creator of @LandonTalks
Photo by Blackbird Creative
Etiquette & Manners
Are “thank-you” notes dying? If so, why? Is it significant? Should we preserve them?
–@benoitlori
I love a good thank-you note. They are tiny gifts in themselves, something you can hold, reread, and tuck in a drawer. They are proof that somebody took a few extra minutes out of their life to say, “I saw you, and I’m glad you did that thing for me.” And if you are the kind of person who can crank out a dozen of them in perfect cursive with a candle burning, bless you. The world needs your paper goods ministry.
But here is the thing: a thank-you note should be a treat, not a test. Gifts and kindness lose their shine if they come with a receipt marked “Gratitude Due Upon Receipt.” We all have different brains, different energy levels, and different seasons of life. For some folks, writing one card is an afternoon-long Mount Everest climb. For others, remembering to text “thanks” before the week is over is a win.
So yes, let’s keep them alive, not as an obligation but as a bonus. If you get one, light up like somebody just gave you a pound cake wrapped in foil. If you don’t get one, trust that your kindness landed anyway. Give the gift without expecting anything in return, and let a thank-you note be the cherry on top—not the price of admission.
When a neighbor gives you a thank-you gift for doing something nice (like watering their plants), do you write a thank-you note for the thank-you gift? Where does that circle end?
–from noffsgirl06 (*Part II to the above question)
This is where Southern manners and common sense have to shake hands. If we follow the logic to its extreme, we will be passing the same pound cake back and forth until it turns into a science experiment. At some point, the circle has to close.
My rule is this: the thank-you gift is the thank-you. No further stationery required. If you really want to acknowledge it, a quick “I loved that” text or telling them in person is plenty. Otherwise, you risk getting trapped in a gratitude loop that will never end.
Remember what we said before: kindness should not come with a price tag or a paperwork trail. A thank-you note should be a happy surprise, not a homework assignment. So enjoy the gift, say something kind back, and then let it be done.
Southern Traditions & Customs
Deep South, what is it? Literary, geographically, culturally, etc.
–fatherdaughterfarm
Ask ten people where the Deep South is, and you might get ten different maps. Most agree it includes much of the land south of the Mason-Dixon, but the truth is, it’s as much a mindset as it is a set of borders.
The Deep South is a slower pace, a porch swing, and a pound cake you did not ask for but now have to take home. It is summer air so thick you can drink it, honeysuckle on the fence, and neighbors who get in your business because they care. It is the mix of accents, recipes, and traditions that shift from one county to the next, yet still feel familiar.
It carries history—some of it sweet, some of it hard—and it shapes the way people gather, celebrate, grieve, and keep telling the same family stories. Whether you grew up here or are just passing through, the Deep South is more than a place—it’s a way of living that seeps into you and stays.
Food & Drink
Which greens are the best, collards, turnip, or mustard? Do they belong at a potluck?
–@karen.casian
This is less a question and more a fight-starter. Every Southern cook has a green they’ll defend to the end. Collards are the workhorse: sturdy, rich, and perfect for soaking up potlikker.* Turnip greens bring a little bite, and mustard greens bring a lot.
The real answer? The best greens are the ones cooked low and slow with a little smoked meat, a splash of vinegar, and enough seasoning to make you grab a second helping. They absolutely belong at a potluck, preferably in a pot big enough to feed a crowd and still have some left for somebody to take home in a Cool Whip container.
*Potlikker (the broth left in the pot after cooking greens) is liquid gold. Some folks drink it straight, others sop it up with cornbread. Either way, it is the best part.
Chicken livers vs. gizzards.
–@karenmwolters
This is a pass for me, but no judgment if you love them. I know plenty of people who do, and I know that some of the best versions are hiding in little gas stations across the South, especially in Mississippi. I have had livers that were rich and tender when fried just right, and I can see why folks get excited about them.
Gizzards, in my experience, take a little more commitment. They are chewy by nature and need slow cooking or a good tenderizing to win you over. For me, it’s more about personal history. I have used both as fish bait, so it is hard to picture them on my plate. But if they are your favorite, I am glad to let you have my share.
Sugar or salt on grits? *Controversial*
–Kristen Hamilton Skorupa
If you want to go viral on the internet, ask this question—or, better yet, give a strong opinion about it. People will line up real quick-like to tell you that you are wrong.
Some folks swear by salt, butter, and maybe a little cheese. Others heap on sugar like it’s Cream of Wheat. When I think of grits, I think savory with butter, salt, and maybe some sharp cheddar if we are feeling fancy. Sweet grits feel like a different dish entirely to me, but I will happily eat anybody’s grandma’s grits, no matter how they are made.
At the end of the day, the right way to eat grits is the way that makes you happy. And in the South, the only thing more important than how you fix them is making sure everyone at the table has enough.
I would love to understand chow chow — how it differs from region to region, history, occasions, best recipe, and where to get the best.
–Michele Rene Schwaab
Chow chow is one of those things that feels like it has a hundred recipes and not a single official rule. At its core, it is a relish made from chopped vegetables—often cabbage, peppers, onions, and green tomatoes—pickled with vinegar, sugar, and spices. From there, the variations are endless.
In some parts of the South, chow chow is bright and tangy with a good bit of sweetness. In others, it leans more savory and peppery. West Virginia chow chow is different from Carolina chow chow, and both are different from what you will find in a Mississippi pantry. It also goes by other names, including piccalilli and sometimes just “relish.” The only constant is that it is usually served as a condiment for beans, greens, or anything that needs a little kick.
It started as a way to use up end-of-season produce before it went bad, a thrifty trick that turned into a beloved staple. Today, you can make it yourself or find great jars at farmers markets, small-town grocery stores, or from that one church lady who “just happened to put up a batch.”
If you have never tried it, start with a spoonful on some butterbeans and see if you don’t immediately start plottin’ on your own batch.
