Pass the okra

It distresses me to read stories like this one about institutional bigotry at Cracker Barrel, the roadside restaurant chain that will gladly sell you a harmonica, a gingham apron and a Goo Goo Cluster with your fried chicken and turnip greens. And the chain is not just racist: it refused to hire gays and lesbians until a stockholder revolt prompted the company, in 2002, to quietly add LGBT language to its nondiscrimination policy.

So just don't go there, right? Trouble is, Cracker Barrel is based in Lebanon (pronounced "lebnin"), Tenn., in my home county of Wilson, one county east of Nashville. And Cracker Barrel's menu authentically reproduces the cuisine of Middle Tennessee, down to the salt-cured country ham, fried okra, chicken-fried steak, squash casserole and sweet iced tea. What I'm saying is, Cracker Barrel tastes literally, uncannily like home, and I find it surreal that here in Madison--hell, almost anywhere--I can drive out to the interstate and eat the comfort food of my youth, food I otherwise would have to travel half a continent to eat.

So from time to time, I go to Cracker Barrel. And I feel guilty about that.

But I really, really like country ham. And sweet iced tea. I'm so ashamed.