"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.”

Just as it is universally acknowledged that nearly everything written about Jane Austen must start with a variation of the opening line of Pride and Prejudice. I recently read the bestseller (and soon to be movie) Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, co-authored by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith. I found it a hilarious spin on a classic piece of English literature. It was not exactly a parody; Grahame-Smith didn’t totally rewrite Austen’s 19th century romance novel to suit the zombie plotline; approximately 85 percent of Austen’s original text remains. The addition of zombies is a sub-plot to the familiar beloved story of the Bennet sisters, now skilled in the deadly arts as zombie-slaying warriors. As overtly ridiculous as the premise sounds, it was pulled off with much of the same sometimes subtle, sometimes blatant sarcastic humor prevalent in all of Austen’s books.

I followed it up with Pride and Prejudice written by Jane Austen, and Austen alone, without the help of Grahame-Smith or zombies to add excitement to the book. I’ve always like Jane; those that don’t, vehemently deny the contents of her stories have much worth. I've read more than once that you either like her, or don't – there's really not much of an in-between. Often criticized for ignoring issues of worldly significance, she always stuck very close to home, and wrote about what she knew.

Some complain that nothing much happens in a Jane Austen novel. She grew up in a close-knit family in a small hamlet in southern England, and lived through the American and French Revolutions, and tumultuous period of disorder in the Napoleonic era. Her stories, though, contain not even a mention of the turbulence of those times. There are no political upheavals or secret plots to overthrow the government; neither can you expect to find action-packed chase scenes, murders, or blood and guts (except for the occasional dozen or so zombie slayings).

What you will find is a rich tapestry of life as Jane knew it. It is the excitement in the ordinary – the drama of everyday living. Her scenes are mostly rural, never venturing far beyond the tranquility of English village life. It was a life marked by the simplicity of time moving at a much slower pace than it does now – and the contentment and amusement found in such a life.

Her writing is a social commentary of the time, of both its virtues and its shortcomings. She has a keen observation of people and everyday life, coupled with a wry wit that can't help but make me smile. This is just the reason her stories have remained popular with so many for nearly two hundred years – they make a person smile.

Unlike the Grahame-Smith’s slaughtering of the famous opening line of Pride and Prejudice, the following quote remains in its original form in the zombie version as it first appeared in Jane’s:

“Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”

I thought this was interesting, probably because I’ve never really thought of vanity and pride as being synonymous. You can strut your stuff and be proud as a peacock and be so vain you probably think this post is about you. Vanity is definitely not a virtue, but is pride so immoral?

According to some, pride is considered a cardinal sin – one of the Seven Deadly ones, right up there with wrath, greed, sloth, lust, envy, and gluttony. The bible claims, in so many words, that pride comes before a fall.

The dictionary claims “pride” is first, a sense of one’s own proper dignity or value and self-respect; second, it is pleasure or satisfaction taken in an achievement, possession, or association, such as parental pride. Mixed in with the list of definitions are words such as “conceit” and “ostentatious displays.”

But aren’t conceited, ostentatious displays more of vanity than pride? Merriam Webster’s says vanity is “inflated pride in oneself or one's appearance.” This would follow Austen’s quote that vanity is how we portray ourselves to other people. But can you have an inflated sense of pride if there's no one around to impress? If a lumberjack fells the biggest tree in the forest, and no one is there to hear his boast, and “ooos” and “ahhhs” over his feat, is it really that impressive? Can he just feel satisfied and proud of a hard day’s work without being condemned to hell for feeling such things ... or in the least, not made the subject of a Carly Simon song?

Of course he can. There can be no vanity without pride, but all pride does not constitute vanity. It seems though, that the focus is often on the kind of stubborn pride which causes us to refuse to admit we were wrong, or on the arrogance that comes with vanity. Check the multitude of inspirational quote sites on the Internet. While quotes about Jane Austen run fairly equal; there are nearly as many negative things said about her writing as there are positive; quotes about “pride” are overwhelmingly lopsided. The vast majority of them attach a negative connotation to pride, with only a handful depicting pride in a positive light.

Two in that handful are Margaret Thatcher’s contention that “disciplining yourself to do what you know is right and important, although difficult, is the highroad to pride, self-esteem, and personal satisfaction,” and an unknown author’s thought that “pride is a personal commitment. It is an attitude which separates excellence from mediocrity.”

It doesn’t sound so bad does it?

“Community pride” and “hometown pride” have almost become buzz terms, as people strive to make their small towns and large cities better places in which to live and raise their families. Without this pride there lies the danger of indifference. Detrimental to success, indifference breeds a stagnant community which fails to keep its current residents or attract future ones, and then the community itself, fails.

At the nursery, we take pride in providing quality plants, gardening advice, and a high level of customer service; I take pride in performing my job to the best of my abilities. Both exceptional students, one with quirky humor and funky style, and the other with a quiet, unwavering love of nature, my daughters are my “pride and joy.” I could not be more proud of them.

I am proud too, to be a part of the GRIT community and share this blog section of GRIT’s website with a wide range of interesting people. It strikes me now, how much GRIT and a Jane Austen novel are alike. No, I don’t think I’d ever open the pages of GRIT and find in it that it’s been universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a fortune must be in need of a wife. Neither would I expect to find in-depth war coverage, political analysis, or a study on economics; I can go to Time and Newsweek magazines for those topics. There is no action-packed drama of high-speed chases (except for the occasional runaway pig). But there are similarities. While I would be really surprised to read a blogger has attended a neighbor’s ball, I wouldn’t be surprised at all to find she has been invited to a meal to share in her neighbor’s harvest (where hopefully homegrown brains are not on the menu). I will find bloggers who share their simple joys found in the ordinary, and I will read of their successes and disappointments in every day living. Here, I will find a celebration of life that moves at a slower pace in a world that sometimes seems as if it’s spun out of control. There will always be something to make me smile. And zombies aren’t needed to make me do it.

As a kid growing up in Michigan, I didn’t have the pleasure of eating Southern food. Mom and Dad’s ancestors were from Austria-Hungary. Mom’s parents emigrated from there, landing on Ellis Island before making their way north to Detroit; it was Dad’s great grandparents who made the trip across the ocean generations earlier. I was more likely to come home from school to find goulash, or kielbasa and sauer kraut cooking than pinto beans and rice. Ham hocks? Never heard of them. The greens us kids wrinkled our noses at weren’t collards, turnips, or mustard greens, but were the Swiss chard and beet greens that came from our garden. The closest I ever got to cooking Southern-fried chicken was when I worked as a part-time cashier at KFC after school when I was a teenager and heard the fryers sizzling from the kitchen behind the counter.

I became a little more exposed to Southern cooking when I joined the Army right after graduating high school. Corn bread was a staple in the mess hall in basic training; I thought it tasted like gritty yellow cake. Enlisting as a food inspector, my first assignment after training was overseas. One of the first things I did at the commissary on base (the military’s equivalent of a grocery store), was reject a shipment of frozen chitlins as being “unfit for human consumption.” Heck, I didn’t even know what a “chitlin” was, let alone know that it was normal for them to be filled with fecal matter until boiled properly.

Then I met Keith, born and raised in the South. The first trip home to meet his family in South Carolina was, to say the least, a culinary adventure for me. His dad made me grits for breakfast – I didn’t like them, but then again, I didn’t like the Cream of Wheat, or oatmeal my Mom made either. One taste of fried okra at dinner was enough to make me swear under my breath that if Keith EVER cooked it in our kitchen, I’d take away his cast iron cornbread skillet for good – and if he didn’t promise, there’d be no “our” kitchen.

His mother offered me a glass of iced tea (to no doubt to wash down the okra slime with), and after a syrupy sip, it was all I could do to keeping from spitting it across the table. The sickeningly sweet taste came as a complete surprise; I’ve never been a tea drinker anyway, but the “sweet tea” was a far cry from the iced tea I knew. I’m sure my forced smile appeared as sickly-sweet as the tea tasted. It was actually more of a grimace, and it was about this time that my then-future mother-in-law started referring to me as “the Damn Yankee.” My sweet father-in-law just chuckled and shook his head. My future husband laughed so hard I thought he was going to hurt himself falling off his chair.

Twenty-some years later, I’ve still never fried chicken; nor has okra ever been served in our kitchen. Corn bread though, is nearly as much a staple for us as it was in basic training (I prefer the sweet gritty yellow-cake kind), and mustard greens are a must in my vegetable garden….though I sauté them in olive oil and balsamic vinegar instead of cook them with bacon drippings. And this winter, I’ve learned to make pulled pork!

A few years ago, a bunch of us visited friends in North Carolina for a “Girls Weekend” and ended up at their small town festival. See that smile on my face in the photo that appears on all of my blogs? It’s a pulled pork smile; I’d just finished my first taste of this traditionally North Carolina dish sometime between getting flung from the mechanical bull and rolling my eyes at a really bad Elvis impersonator. On a bun, with a side of coleslaw and an ear of corn, it was served in its most traditional way. It was simply melt-in-my-mouth delicious.

But make it at home? It seemed like a daunting task. “Pulled pork” just sounds as if it’d be a labor-intensive, even strenuous, dish to make. Not to mention it’s typically done in a meat smoker, which I don’t have. I ran across a recipe though, that sounded easy enough. All I’d need was a crock-pot and some time.

To a pulled pork purist, the meat is never chopped or shredded. It’s pulled into slender, extremely tender strands with a fork. Pork shoulder is the cut most commonly used because it is generally has a fatty joint which provides a natural baste during the long cooking process; leaner cuts tend to dry out. Most of the fat and the connective tissues dissolve during extended cooking, making it fall-off-the-bone tender, and easy to pull apart. The recipe I used is as follows:

Pulled Pork (makes 8 cups)

Trim 7 pound pork shoulder roast of any excess skin and fat. In a small bowl, combine 3 tablespoons chili powder, 1 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper, and rub mixture all over pork roast until thoroughly covered. Place 1 sliced large onion and 4 minced garlic cloves in bottom of a 4 to 6 quart slow cooker, then add roast and 1 cup of your favorite barbecue sauce. Pour water over roast until covered, about 4 cups.

Cover slow cooker and cook pork on high until very tender and met falls off bone, about 6 hours. Carefully remove pork from slow cooker and reserve on a platter. Strain cooking liquid into sink, reserving onion. Return pork and onion to slow cooker; shred meat with a fork and add 2 more cups of barbecue sauce. Cook on high until heated, about 8 minutes.

The key to obtaining the tenderness is slow cooking. I made this dish twice this winter, using an approximately 3- to 3 1/2-pound shoulder roast both times. Because the weight of the roasts were less than what the recipe called for, during the first attempt I set the heat on my crock pot to low and cooked it for six hours. The roast was perfect – it fell from the bone and took no effort at all to pull the pork apart with a fork.

The second time around, I got a late start and didn’t have six hours left in the day. I figured since the roast was about half the weight of the 7 pound roast in the recipe, I’d just half the cooking time – it cooked for three hours on the high setting. The meat was tender, but it was difficult to pull with a fork, and I ended up tearing it with my fingers. The result was just as delicious, but it involved more work, and a bigger mess than when it cooked longer on the low setting.

I served it on a bun with a plop of slaw and a slice of Pepper-Jack cheese, with a side of sliced pears. Cheese on the sandwich? A side of sliced pears?!? I know what all you Southern pulled pork traditionalists are muttering, “Damn Yankee!”