The heat fried my brain yesterday, what little there was left to fry. By the time DH got home from work @ 1 AM, I was about three hours past exhausted. My 6 cylinder brain was firing on 2 1/2 cylinders. I was mentally whining to myself about having to fix him our version of supper, but when I had talked to him earlier in the evening he told me he was indeed hungry. So DH comes home, I meet him at the gate. In the dark he hands me a jar of something, said it was "Dixie pickles". Dixie pickles? Yes, Dixie pickles. Now I'm a stranger in a strange land, coming to Arkansas from NC 8 years ago. They have lots of things in Arkansas that I had never experienced before - ranch beans, brisket and tex mex dishes. I'm still getting teased about some of my ignorance early on, so I'm not about to ask what the heck are Dixie pickles. I bring the jar in the house, set it on the kitchen counter. While cooking supper I keep going back to the jar. Look like ordinary homemade bread and butter pickles to me. I studied those pickles off and on for about an hour; wondering what's different about them. What makes a bread and butter pickle a Dixie pickle? I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer and finally asked DH "What the heck is a Dixie pickle???" DH looks at me as if I've lost the rest of my mind and says "Dixie! Kelly's wife! She made those pickles and wanted to share with you." I should just stop asking questions.