Karen, in the same issue is an essay by Nashville native, Ann Patchett -- your post reminded me of this snippet:
...I must first tell you about my relationship with pork. Truly, I came here loving the stuff. When I moved to Tennessee just before my sixth birthday, I would have said there was nothing dearer to me than a bacon and apple-butter sandwich. [That sounds delectable!] It was 1969, a year that cared nothing about what actually might be in meat products, and so, like all other southern children I ate Vienna sausages out of the pan.
I ate Little Smokies and Underwood potted meat products and loved Easter above all holidays for the thick slab of ham it landed on my plate. Looking back, I'm not sure I subsisted on anything but pork in those early years. I was such a pale and skinny child, such a wisp, that it might be said that pork was the only thing that kept me tethered to the earth. So Tennesee with its country ham and endless available sources of barbeque, was the perfect place for me to have ended up....
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