For a time, my grandmother, Christine Robinson, had a country store off the side of Highway 448E in Shaw, Mississippi. In summer, when the store was still open, I would be dropped off at her house, which sat adjacent to the shop, while my father travelled around the State as a highway surveyor. At that age, I was only interested in the candy display, but I can remember the two-gallon jars of pink, pickled oddities that sat next to the cash register, hard-boiled eggs in one and pig’s trotters in the other.
The pig’s feet were much more like a science experiment to me than the eggs, and it would be many years later, and in the neighbouring genre of Mexican cuisine, that I would have the palate to appreciate them, in the dish tostadas de pata. The pickled eggs were too strongly flavoured for me to enjoy at a young age, but now I love them as a snack or lagniappe aside a cocktail. I prefer quail’s eggs because they are smaller and can be eaten in one bite.