Okra just might be the most misunderstood plant in the Southern garden. As a child in Monroe, Louisiana, I only liked it battered and fried crunchy enough to make me forget the slime. In New Orleans, I grew up on seafood gumbo where the okra disappeared into the broth. On the sidelines of parade routes waiting for the next Mardi Gras float, I discovered that okra marinated in vinegar with garlic, peppers, and dill could taste just as good, if not better, than a sour pickle.