“Oh, bless your heart,” says the hostess at Bolton’s Spicy Chicken and Fish. I’ve just ordered fried chicken legs — hot — with fries and slaw. Her response is a commonly heard Southern expression that sounds saintly but can also seem faintly disparaging. I step out of the family-owned joint — a shabby shack with a sun-faded fish mural — and park myself at a picnic table.
“What level d’ya get?” a woman shouts from the next table. “Hot,” I respond. “Oh, bless your heart, that’s what he’s shouting about,” she says, gesturing to her friend,
