They say you are what you eat. I'm pretty sure you eat who you are, and where you came from. Who I am is a southern boy and where I used to be is Georgia. Who I then became was a (dreaded) northerner who at the tender age of seven was uprooted and moved a mysterious land north of the Mason Dixon line.In the south our culinary tradition had been the fried meal. I grew up periodically knocking the can of Crisco off the corner of the stove as I bolted out the back door on my way to a pickup game of something or other. Invariably next to the Crisco was a deep iron skillet which was really the only choice in cookware if you're at all serious about frying the southern way. It was into the well tempered depths of that skillet that mom would submerge some bit of chicken long since deprived of its' head, feathers and all the other unsavory, uneatable bits and pieces into several inches of bubbling Crisco. Then my imagination was hijacked by the history and charm of New England where I put down roots and have stayed.Although New England has its own long list of culinary specialties; chowder, lobster rolls, baked beans, blueberry pie...I could go on but... I took a somewhat different route in my culinary adventures.My long standing connection to the outdoors, bird hunting and freshwater fishing nudged me toward developing and refining those recipes.Thus An Edible Memoir, where North and South collide producing this collection of my favorite array of yummy food stuff along with instructions on how to make them.