Between the rows and reefs

Between the rows and reefs

From my spot in South Georgia, I can point in two directions and make myself hungry. One way is inland: red-clay roads, pecan groves standing bare and honest, and fields lying quiet like they’re catching their breath — still full of promise for all the good things that’ll rise out of that rich earth come spring and find their way to our tables. The other way is south: the Florida Panhandle and the Gulf, where the water turns that blue-green and …