In the South, we don’t just “prepare” a meal; we “fix” it. While some might find our word choices or pronunciations a bit informal, I see our language as an art form. There is a time for the proper precision of a doctoral dissertation, and there is also a time for the beauty of a culture to shine through its own unique vocabulary.
Take, for example, the word “mess.” To some, it sounds like a disaster, but in my family—in the South, really—it is also a measurement: an abundance of something good meant to be shared. And right now, I have a deep craving for a “mess of polk.”
Whether you spell it Poke Salad, Poke Sallet, or Polk Salad (the way Elvis sang it), it’s about as Southern as it gets. Growing up, I spent many spring days wandering the woods with my Mother and Mam-ma. It always amazed me that they could look at a field of wild “weeds” and know exactly which ones were a delicious treat and which ones were best left alone.
One day, Daddy decided to surprise Mother by picking a “haul” of polk on a hot afternoon. He worked diligently until he had what he thought to be a massive sack full, and he was so proud to bring it home for her to fix for supper. (Keep in mind—Daddy had happily eaten a lot of polk, but he had never picked a lot of polk!)
When we sat down at the table, Daddy looked at the tiny portions on our plates with surprise and dismay and asked, “Where’s the rest of it?” We all laughed so hard that night. Anyone who has ever cooked polk knows the heartbreak: you can start with a bushel and end up with a bowlful! It is the ultimate disappearing act once it hits the boiling water. Daddy was so disappointed because he had worked so hard, but after that night, I think he appreciated polk salad a bit more every time it appeared on his plate.
If you’re a newcomer to the “polk” world, it does require a bit of respect—the plant is actually poisonous if you don’t know how to prepare it. I remember as a little girl, my friends and I would use those dark purple berries to “paint” our fingernails, squeezing out the juice and staining our nails (and fingertips) a brilliant color. Mother’s voice would always warn: “Be careful not to get that in your mouth!” We listened, and we’re still here to tell the tale!
When I’ve carried on the tradition of fixing polk salad in my own kitchen, I fix it just like Mother did. You have to cut the leaves off the stalks, then wash and “look” the greens carefully. After that, you boil them really, really well to remove the toxins. (Some folks prefer to parboil them two or three times just to be sure!) Once they are boiled, you drain and rinse them well until all that “green” is out of the water and it runs clear.
Next, I cook them in a skillet with bacon grease and season them with garlic salt and a little bit of sugar. Right at the end, I add the eggs. My cousin scrambles hers right in, but I prefer to boil mine separately and chop them up. Either way, they are delicious!
Mother even used to take the young, green stalks, peel them, and fry them up just like okra. I’ve never done that—I’m not even good at frying okra—but perhaps someday I’ll try it.
A family member was recently asked by her grandson what polk salad even was. (He had no idea.) I thought her description was spot on: “Well, it’s a plant that grows wild, and it’s kind of like a turnip green, but it tastes really completely different.” It’s actually a really good definition!
Last night, I had just sat down to enjoy a bowl of fresh strawberries with crust when she sent me pictures of the mess of polk she was working on. I’ve wanted some ever since. I may have to go on the hunt for some this weekend.
Whether we say “poke” or “polk,” “fix” or “prepare,” these words are a connection to the grit and wisdom of the women who came before us. They knew how to turn a wild plant into an absolutely delicious dish. It’s more than just a meal; it’s our history—and I really enjoy “fixing” these stories to pass down to the next generation.
I want to know how you say it in your family!
Are you a “fix supper” person or a “prepare dinner” person?
At noon, do you eat dinner or lunch?
In the evening, is it supper or dinner?
(I grew up eating dinner at noon and supper in the evening!)
And most importantly… are there eggs in YOUR poke salad? 🙂
#ThinkOnGoodThings #PolkSalad #PokeSalad #PolkSallet #PokeSallet #ArkansasHeritage #SouthernLanguage #MessOfGreens #FamilyLegacy #SouthernVernacular #ArkansasHistory #DinnerOrSupper
