Blakely Georgia is the first town on my back-road route after Columbus – a gas/lunch stop I always look forward to. There’s Blakely Chicken, a black run service-at-the-window place that sells whatever-they’re-cooking-that-day chicken – thighs, wings, backs. Great stuff! Then there’s the Phillips 66 on the north side of town that has fried gizzards and livers all day long – with big greasy home fries. Some years back, it was bought by a Lebonese family, but the Middle Eastern food didn’t sell, so it’s the only Lebonese not-quite-restaurant with fried gizzards and livers I’ve ever seen. There’s a Courthouse square in the middle of Main Street. Across the road sits one of those ancient Pure Oil Stations that’s been turned into a Liquor Store. I’m always glad to get to Blakely – then off to Jakin, across the Chattahochie River to the backwaters of Lake Seminole, and "downhill" through "Wewa" to the coast.
I’ve always wondered what people in Blakely do besides cook chicken for my yearly lunch. Well, I’ve found out in the last couple of days. They work at the Peanut Corporation of America, and they’re in a great big heap of trouble.
And besides fried chicken, I love peanut butter [JIF Creamy eaten with a spoon]. My wife saw the first reports of the peanut butter scare, and broke the news gently. Fortunately, JIF was cleared early in the game so I haven’t lost any weight over the peanut butter debacle.
So I’m headed to the coast in a few weeks and I wonder what it’ll be like to go through Blakely? I’m sure I’ll find out where the Peanut Corporation of America is and drive by. I’ll wonder if this means that all the people will be out of work, how it will multiply the already-bad-enough economic downturn. I bet I’ll never think about Blakely the same way now that it’s become the place where the infected peanut butter came from.
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