STRANGER THAN FICTION: STRANGE EATS, DELICIOUS TREATS PART OF VISIT TO DEEP SOUTH

Have plenty of Maalox on hand if you plan to try the fried green tomatoes, slaw dogs or shrimp and grits.

What is it about vacation that makes me abandon all semblance of dietary restraint?

Sure, if you're going to Paris or Hong Kong or Puerto Rico, you're going to want to try as much of the local cuisine as possible. And, granted, there are a few differences in dining between America's northern and southern regions. You're not going to find beans and cornbread served at Mayor Guilliani's New York house, and you're not going to find much Philly cheesesteak on Gov. George W. Bush's Texas dinner table.

Of course, that's just an assumption. For all I know, Mayor Guilliani lives in an apartment.

But the point is, many of us live from meal to meal on vacation in the U.S., even though the food is pretty much the same everywhere.

Before we go to bed, we think about where we'll have breakfast. After breakfast, lunch. After lunch, afternoon snack ... you get the picture.

Personally, I was cured of my vacation-related food obsession during my recent journey through Georgia, South Carolina and Alabama, where I discovered these three foods are being served: fried green tomatoes -- which isn't too awfully weird -- slaw dogs and SHRIMP AND GRITS!

I had the fried green tomatoes merely to pay homage to Kathy Bates and Jessica Tandy and their performances in the movie named for the greasy treat. It was just a buck for four slices. It was the last buck I'll ever spend on slices of unripe tomato covered in three inches of batter.

And I had the slaw dog. No, it isn't a form of canine. It's cole slaw on a hot dog. My advice to you -- skip this altogether or at least have a full bottle of Maalox on hand when you try it.

But the shrimp and grits? No way. I can't imagine perverting a perfectly fine form of seafood by stirring it together with that kind of land food.

Other vacation notes

The Other Half's belief that males are born with some sort of internal compass remained strong during our trip.

The most prominent manifestation of this belief was when we tried to find Charleston, S.C. There was a large arrow and sign that read "Charleston, 13 mi" on the side of the road we took, but he refused to make the turn.

"Isn't that the way we wanted?" I asked.

He turned to me incredulously. "NO!" he said. "We want to stay on Alternate 17."

We entered the town of Summerville.

"Were we supposed to pass through Summerville?" I asked.

Another shocked and appalled look. "YES!" he said. "We go right through it."

I took the atlas from the back seat. We had actually managed to miss a city several times the size of Cape Girardeau.

To this day, he still claims he was taking the scenic route.

'And Finally...'

Parts of the Deep South are truly beautiful. Fort Sumter was majestic. Savannah and its historical district are tranquil. We saw the house where the fatal shooting in "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" took place. We saw the square where Forrest Gump sat waiting for his bus.

Columbia, S.C., is nestled in green, rolling hills. So is Auburn, Ala., a city chartered in the 1830s to be a cultural and educational center for Eastern Alabama.

Go see it all.

But avoid the slaw dogs.

~Heidi Nieland is a former staff writer for the Southeast Missourian who now lives in Pensacola, Fla.