One of the things I liked about Mississippi was that it’s acceptable for a young gentleman to take his date to a gas station for a meal.

The funny part is, I never took my then girlfriend to a gas station for dinner. Instead I got her catfish in the back of a grocery store. I also tried to convince other people to go there.

As I understand it, this a common phenomenon in the South and stems partly from the fluctuation in oil and gas prices, the need for income diversity and an exploitation of the Southern love of automobiles.

Oddly, when I was in Oxford, I never went to a gas station for a meal and I consider that a terrible mistake. I was more prone to get fast food rather than go next door and get ribs and an oil check.

My favorite place, though, was Taylor Grocery, which is outside of Oxford, Ms and is accessed by a creepy tree-lined road where you keep expecting to see an in-bred kid playing a banjo and Bill McKinney telling you to “squeal like a pig”. (Although, technically, that’s the kind of thing that happens in Georgia.)

At the back of the tiny grocery store is a restaurant that serves terrific catfish and hush-puppies and, if I remember correctly, allows you to bring your own wine but not your own beer. You might have to wait in line and at some point are expected to write on the walls.

I also tried to convince Mom and Dad Two to try it, although that suggestion was met with skepticism. Mom Two is from Cape Cod and considers mushy fish to be either a form of bait or a form or garbage. Eventually they went and said they’d liked it.

Now, in Japan, the closest I get to a good meal in a gas station is a coffee shop in a gas station and the rest areas on the expressways.

It’s not quite the same, though.