One of the best soul-food experiences we ever had was years ago in Athens, GA, at Weaver D’s. Two people stirred giant cauldrons in the semi-open kitchen, and barked out your two choices of meat that day: stewed pork or fried chicken. Then you chose your sides from a selection of five, which were plopped unceremoniously on your Styrofoam plate. No one asked if you wanted sweet tea—it was just handed to you, all 42 ounces of it. We are heartsick with this memory as we stand in line in Mikki’s off-puttingly newish and bland strip-mall suite. The steam-table buffet looks squeaky clean and unseasoned, the black-and-mauve chairs are of the Chinese-restaurant variety, and the carpet and tile—industrial they may be—are hardly hallmarks of great Southern dining. (No wonder most business is take-out.)

Yet there it is, exactly one second after taking our first forkful: that same swampy, Deep South-terroired taste of Weaver D’s. Oxtail draws you into its murky depths, mixing with pork-laced collard greens and allspiced sweet potatoes to make what has to be among America’s best contribution to humanity. Pork chops smothered in rich, salty gravy are also terrific, and fried catfish has just the right whisper of muddy riparian fishiness under a gently cayenned crust. Of course, as it sits in the tray, it gets mushier. On weekends, Mikki’s sells chitterlings to go. Now that’s Deep South terroir.