Momma’s Fried Shrimp

My mother was not born in the Lowcountry, so when she married my father and they later moved to Beaufort, she swore she cried every day for the first six weeks. Now, in her defense, she was also eight months pregnant with my brother George, so raging hormones may have played a part. By the end of her life, you couldn’t have gotten her out of Beaufort with a stick of dynamite. She became a true Lowcountry girl and gave birth to one as well: me. She could fry the best shrimp,