I was raised in the South, but my folks were both raised in the North. I grew up in a house that was geographically in North Carolina but culinarily in Queens. This caused me more than a little stress growing up. Living right in the heart of the Queen City, I had no idea what grits were, or cornbread, and we never ate collards and black-eyed peas for New Year's. Not until I was an adult did I discover the warm comfort that is a big old piece of Southern corn bread mashed up into a soupy plate of pinto beans. Southerners ate biscuits. We had rolls. Southerners ate cheese grits. Mom served cream of wheat. Southerners ate chicken and flat or "slick" dumplings. When we had dumplings, ours were big and puffy and sat atop a fricassee. Don't get me wrong, friends. I love rolls, and I even like cream of wheat. In the great dumpling debate, I won't throw a puffy one on the floor if it's offered, but I do come down on the side of the slick dumpling. I had some catching up to do. Southern fried chicken. The glory that is whole hog barbecue. Nubby cubes of golden cornbread. Fluffy buttermilk biscuits and sausage gravy. Collard greens and field peas. Rich yet thrifty bread pudding. Crispy-tangy fried green tomatoes. Homemade pimento cheese sandwiches. Great, now I'm hungry. And what's this whole #ProgressiveEats thing, anyway?/span>