Food as a metaphor in the South and Seattle

During a journalism fellowship, I lived in Houston, Beaumont and Seattle which taught me a lot about how food sometimes reflected the culture of a region.
I grew up in New York, gobbling up portable food like cheap, delicious pizza slices with crispy thin crusts and bubbling hot, greasy cheese.In the South, families sat down together to eat and tell stories. Food was sustenance, but it was also community. A meal that took 20 minutes in New York could easily take three hours in Texas.
But Texas food is worth eating slow. Queso – a gloppy, orange concoction of peppers, onions and tomatoes slow-cooked in chunks of Velveeta cheese – is one example. Tortilla soup, which transforms chicken broth into a luscious liquid layered casserole of tortilla strips, rice and avocado is another.
In East Texas, food was more basic. Steak Night at McKenzie’s Pub each Thursday offered T-bone steaks and mashed potatoes for $5. But crawfish, which resemble tiny lobsters that have been rolling along a beach of Old Bay Seasoning sand, are anything but simple. They have beady eyes and antennae reminiscent of the flying giant roaches we used to try to keep at bay in the Bronx.
They were usually served in a red and white paper container with a potato and a corn cob, all soaked in the same reddish seasoning.
In Seattle, an abundance of good seafood and strong coffee reflected the city's location on the Puget Sound, where the sun rarely shined. Fried cod or salmon was served with malt vinegar, brown-tinted, tart, clear liquid. That was Seattle in the fall and winter -- the bright Emerald City would eventually be covered in the persistent darkness of fog and light drizzle.
That was how coffee became the love of my life. No matter where I bought it – at Seattle’s Best, Peet’s or Starbucks – the coffee was rich, dense and potent black liquid. Like the city it was brewed in, the unique taste fueled my creativity and energy even when the sun refused to peek out from dark clouds and drizzle.