Low Country Boil.

Low Country Boil,

I must say that I had no anticipation of anything so scrumptious, from the description. We were going, primarily for the fellowship and for the growing of a relationship of fondness that we had begun with this young man, who impresses us. Come to my house, was the invitation and it wouldn’t have made any difference, what was served. But, I am leary of eating new foods, to say the least…
He described it as, a bunch of stuff boiled in a pot, thrown on the table and eaten with fingers. “Sounds…sounds…like a cultural experience that we would be surprised at?”

I walked into the beautiful, Amish style, home. Wood floors and wood ceilings were like arms from the sky, hugging, after the long trip into an unknown area of the south. We are so squeamish of adventuring outside of the usual trip. The sky got bigger and bigger, the closer that we got to his house. The ceiling and the floor spoke welcome to our bodies and the smell of this, untasted specialty, was inviting.

The family was kind and Christian; simply dressed and pleasant in demeanor and expression. But the Low Country Boil was the most pleasant part of the trip. Eating something so unusually different added to the conversation. When the conversation lagged the children kept popping things in their mouths and talking about their piles of refuse that were mounting as we gorged ourselves. There is something about eating with your hands that takes away the sense of how much you are eating. We ate until, as Ezra put it, our stomachs were in our throats and the fellowship was from heaven. Breaking bread and growing to know and love others for Christ sake, is a grace