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The Fried Okra Follies

17 years ago

I love fried okra. Not that gummy, over-breaded stuff you find in the freezer section of the grocery, and in some restaurants who declare that they have "home-cooking." No, I'm talking about the fresh stuff, lightly dusted with corn-meal and deep fried. If done correctly there is no "slime" and the little pointy tips are slightly burned.

Yesterday, DH and I drove out into the country to the home of an elderly gentleman who grows and sells wonderful tomatoes all summer long. While there, he convinced me to also buy some of his okra.

I had watched Momma fry okra all my life. I had never done it myself. How hard could it be?

I washed and thoroughly dried the okra to prevent spattering when it hit the oil. I got out the candy/deep fry thermometer and clipped it to the side of the pot so I could maintain a temperature that would minimize oil absorption. I cut the okra into the requisite size pieces and dusted lightly with cornmeal. And I lined a bowl with several layers of paper towels.

Let the frying begin!

The first batch goes in and in a few minutes it was ready to come out. To keep from dripping oil across the counter, I scoot my paper towel lined bowl as close to the stove as I could get it and start scooping out perfectly fried okra.

ACK!! Are those flames I see? The paper towel has caught on fire. When I blow on it to put it out, the flames just get bigger. So, I grab up a damp dish towel and throw it over the bowl. The flames are tamped down but there are still glowing embers on the edges of the paper.

Not willing to sacrifice my wonderful okra, I quickly drag out a plate and dump the fried okra on it, shaking the paper towel just slightly to get all of the pieces to fall off. The shaking releases fine bits of burned paper toweling which start to float all over the kitchen.

By this time DH has come to lend assistance. He takes the paper towel with the glowing embers, thoroughly douses it in water.

I go on my merry way, frying the next batch of okra. While I'm checking the thermometer to make sure the temp of the oil stays high, I notice it has gotten hard to read. So, I grab up a potholder and take it off the side of the pot.

As I lift the thermometer off the side of the pot, the little clip thing-y falls into the hot grease with all my wonderful okra. Holding the thermometer in one hand with the potholder, I fish around in the hot grease until I finally fish out the clip.

Next I turn my attention to the thermometer to see exactly what the problem is with it, only to discover that the plastic cap has melted and is now permanently attached to my potholder! Thermometer, potholder, and little metal clip, go into the trash.

I finished frying the okra and prepared to tuck into a large plate of fried okra, squash and onions, fresh tomatoes, corn on the cob, and cornbread. Everything EXCEPT the okra was divine! The okra tasted like nothing.

From here on, my fried okra eating will be confined to days when the little cafe downtown cooks it. Whatever they charge will be cheap enough at the price!

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