Am spending part of today in Columbia, Mississippi’s very own library.
Which is terrible.
I love a good library, and I cherish a great library. This one, however, is thin. Beyond thin. Nice people, a bunch of computers, some books—but just really, well, meh. Not so hot. I traveled a long way to come here, and I’m bummed. Which sucks.
That said, while here I ate at an incredible place. There’s a restaurant that’s been around for 40 years called The Round Table. You walk in and, literally, are seated at an enormous round table with oodles of Southern grub—okra, fried chicken, myriad pies, dozens of vegetables cooked in some sort of pig fat (as a dude who doesn’t eat pork, not my thing. But people love it). What I love about the south is the casualness of it all. At The Round Table you walk in and plop a seat at this round table, next to other people at the round table. Nobody feels like a stranger; everyone chats over sweet tea and hardening arteries. When you want something from the other side of the table, you just grab hold and spin until it reaches your setting. Way groovy.
Anyhow, having lived in Nashville for 2 1/2 years, I’m familiar in the ways of Dixie. Much I never cared for. The food, however, is dazzling.
