You ever trip over a recipe you won't even lookin’ for?
Yeah.
That’s how these beans came into my life.
No plan. No roadmap. Just hunger and curiosity bumpin’ into each other in the kitchen like two drunks at the club.

I call ’em Moya Beans.
Why?
’Cause the more of ’em you eat, the more your ass wants to eat. Simple math. Dangerous math.

You start with one bowl.
Next thing you know, you’re sittin’ there starin’ into bowl number three, swearin’ you done—while scoopin’ up another bite anyway.
That’s how these beans…

Lemon Ginger & Blues music , This will get a Tuesday off to a good start . Do you like ginger or lemon 🍋 in your tea? 

Fried pink salmon one of my favorite Blues dishes. I cook them once a week or so. I think there’s a recipe somewhere in this diary,  Yum Yum . Do you like em too ? 

 Man, let me tell you somethin’. I was sittin’ in my room down in Macon, belly talkin’ louder than a preacher on Sunday mornin’. Thought to myself, “Well, hell, time to hunt down somethin’ to eat.” So I pulled up that fancy GPS—my so-called road angel—and it pointed me toward a Waffle House not too far away.

Sounded like a plan. Greasy spoon, hash browns scattered and smothered, jukebox hummin’ low. I could taste it already. But the blues had other plans. Took one wrong turn and boom—next thing I know…

One thing I remember clear as a Delta sunrise—persimmon trees. My granddaddy had one out back of his old place. He’d take me out there, show me how to pick ‘em. Said, “Boy, you gotta be patient. Grab ‘em too early, they’ll twist your mouth up tight, lock your jaws like a rusted chain.” And he was right. Ain’t nothin’ worse than a bitter persimmon.

But when you wait? When they hit that sweet spot, soft and ready? Lord, that’s pure sugar from the earth. Sweet like Sunday morning. I loved ‘em then, and I still…

I always say—you can’t look at a man and see his heart. Can’t look at some TikTok avatar and know the true character behind it. Well, breakfast works the same damn way.

Take these eggs sittin’ on the plate. They look plain, just eggs, right? But nah. These bad boys been kissed by butter. Not just any butter—herbal butter, sizzlin’ with garlic and herbs, cooked slow in the pan. Hit ‘em with a dash of seasoned salt, crack of black pepper, then crown it with cheese. Now you talkin’.

And that muffin? Don’t let…

Now I call this one the breakfast of champions.

  Y’all remember that dirty rice from last night? Yeah, the one with the broccoli tucked in like it was hidin’ from the fork. Came outta that green lil’ packet from the dollar store, with that herbed-up seasoning that smells like mama’s .That’s the one. Ain’t nothin’ fancy bout  it—just honest.

Well, this morning, that leftover rice got resurrected, baby. Brought back from the fridge like it had somethin’ to prove.

Then come the eggs. Not scrambled, not overdone-…

Now I wasn’t plannin’ on makin’ no masterpiece.
Hell, I wasn’t even plannin’ on cookin'. But sometimes, the blues hit your belly before they hit your guitar strings—and that’s how I ended up in the kitchen, half outta ingredients and hungry as a mofo.

I had to say somethin’ about this cornbread.
It was a damn accident.
But Lord have mercy, I wish I could mess it up just like that again.

Not Enough Meal, Not Enough Milk, and Still Magic

Started with trouble:
Didn’t have quite two cups of cornmeal—probably shy by a…

My brother Harold—you know, Harold from down at the church—sent me a dozen duck eggs. Now, I don’t know if he was tryin’ to be funny or just bein’ generous, either way, I appreciate it.

He didn’t say nothin’ about it ahead of time. Didn’t ask if I liked duck eggs. Didn’t mention a word about it, far as I remember. He just sent 'em by my daughter, she laughed the whole way like it was some kinda country ass joke.

She didn’t want none, which suited me just fine.

I took one look at that carton and thought, Damn,…

 Ah, buttermilk and cornbread— the kind of meal that makes you feel real, like you’re sittin’ on a front porch with a summer breeze. It’s simple, soulful, and easy to make. Ever since I was a kid, it’s been a comfort meal. Something about that tangy buttermilk mixing with the warm, crumbly cornbread just hits the right note every time.

Now, let me tell you, I got creative today. Found some leftover sausage from breakfast sittin’ in the fridge. Cut it into little pieces and tossed it in the bowl with the…

  Some mornings, you wake up, and your taste buds already know what they want. Today? Collard greens. Been thinking about ’em since sunup, so I figured, let’s get busy. Now, these ain’t fresh-picked out the garden, these are your regular Glory collards. I love me some fresh greens when I can get my hands on ’em, but when life’s moving fast, these canned greens do fine. Keep a few stashed in your pantry.

  I start by pouring that canned juice off. None of that water for me. Instead, I bathe my greens in a bit…

  This right here is soul food for a blues man—okra, tomatoes, corn, fries, and fish patties. It’s simple, cheap, and hits like a tuned up guitar :  real, and satisfying.

Okra and tomatoes is a , tangy combo—mixed with onion and a little heat, that's the melody. Corn’s is like the rhythm, sweet. Fries? They’re the funky  bassline, salty and crispy. And the fish patties? That’s the star, fried and golden and full of flavor. Together, it’s a band of balance and blues.

This ain’t health food, but it’s got soul.…

  Mornings don’t need no joke, no Instagram latte, no sugar-dusted cereal bullshit. Nah, mornings need something that sticks to my ribs and tells the truth. That’s where oatmeal and almonds come in—my bluesman breakfast if there ever was one.

Oatmeal’s the foundation, plain and steady like a funky Delta groove. It don’t try to outshine nobody, but it’s warm, solid, and shows up every time. Then you toss in almonds—crunchy little shots of attitude that bring the grit out. Hell Yeah Together, they’re hearty,…

Let me tell you ‘bout my Walmart trip—a five-pound bag of potatoes, a pack of Italian meatballs, some sour cream, and a block of  Velveeta cheese. Nothing fancy, just the kind of stuff that’ll fill you up without cooking much.

Now, here’s the lick: grab one potato, stab it a few times with a fork and sit it in the microwave. Five minutes later, you got yourself a soft, steamy tater ready to dress up. Split it open, drop a big spoonful of sour cream in there, and let a slice of that cheese melt right down…