15 Grocery Store Items You'll Only Find In Southern States

While we appreciate a good nationwide nosh fest (looking at you Sam's Club and Wally World finds), there is just something special about going into your local grocery store and nabbing an item you know is exclusive to your neighborhood stomping grounds. Now, as much as we love a good Oreo cookie or bag of Doritos when the munchies hit, this list ain't about things you can snag at Target in Toledo.

Today we're talkin' about Southern-specific grocery treasures. Those unique, regional grocery finds that make folks north of Virginia scratch their heads and marvel, "Y'all really eat that?" These are the church potluck darlings, the "don't-show-up-without-it" Southern staples, the things your Nana kept on standby to whip up and enjoy on the porch with some sweet tea when company stopped by. You can't just DoorDash this kind of Southern comfort from Costco. You gotta drive down the road to Winn Dixie, or wander the aisle at the nearest Piggly Wiggly, to snag these Southern gems.

From Ruth's pimento cheese to Hunter's livermush, these are the unsung grocery heroes that you just won't find north of that Mason-Dixon Line. Let's shop, y'all.

There's pimento cheese, and then there's Ruth's. Any true Southerner will immediately recognize that neon-orange tub of joy that's as much a part of Carolina life as sweet tea and humidity. Every Southern fridge worth its salt has a container of Ruth's chilling in the back, just waiting to be spread on some saltines or white bread. The "Original" flavor is non-negotiable as your first dibs pick. Creamy, tangy, and with just enough kick to keep you coming back.

Walk into a grocery store anywhere north of Virginia and ask for it, you'd just get blank stares. Down here, though, Ruth's owns the deli case. It's easily found at every church potluck, and probably on your grandma's table right now, next to the deviled eggs. Our families swear by it with a kind of loyalty and fervor usually reserved for Friday night college football.

That bright orange glow practically beckons you from the fridge light at midnight. It's just one of those snack dips that can be the whole meal, and is the taste of summer Saturdays, impromptu packed lunches fishin' by the lake, and Carolina pride. One bite and you'll understand why we'll die on this hill, claiming Ruth's is the South's crown-jewel spread. No contest.

You can't talk Southern grocery shelves without bowing your head and having a moment of silence in reverence to Cheerwine. That deep-red, cherry-cola legend from Salisbury, North Carolina has even made it to most iconic snack food in the state fame. Every Southern kid has wrapped their fingers around an icy glass bottle, that fizz stinging your nose just before the sweet cherry rush hits.

The flavor's smooth but bold, and a classic go-to grab for a hot summer day at the lake. You'll spot it in nearly every local Food Lion, corner store, and gas station cooler below the Mason-Dixon, but try finding it in New York or Chicago and you'll get the same blank stare you'd get asking for old school shrimp n' grits at a New York bagel shop. Folks up north don't know what they're missing.

Pair Cheerwine with a barbecue sandwich and slaw, and you've got Carolina perfection. Cheerwine is Southern institution disguised as basic soda pop, bottled with pride in the Tar Heel heartland. It's so beloved, there is even an official annual Cheerwine Festival to celebrate it. "Uniquely Southern since 1917," Cheerwine remains a core memory, and daily necessity, for folks with roots where the crawdads sing.

Only in the South can you stroll into a grocery store and find livermush chillin' right beside the bacon, like it's the most normal neighbor in the world. Folks outside the region may wrinkle their noses, but Southerners know this humble block of pork liver, cornmeal, and spices is a tried-and-true regional food classic. Hunter's is one brand name that locals consider a livermush legend. Slice it thick, fry it crispy, slap it on a biscuit, and you've got something that'll stick to your ribs better than any fancy brunch fare.

Some enjoy this fried Southern delight plain, while others add mustard or, bless them, grape jelly. It's not pretty, and the name itself is the first mountain you must get over, but it's a tradition here that has fueled early mornings in the foothills for generations. There is even a festival dedicated to the mystery mush.

That said, while livermush legit has a cult following, it's nearly impossible to find up north in grocer refrigerators. People have been known to haul coolers full of it back north after visiting kin. And we get it. In our humble opinion, every grocery store that stocks it is doing the Lord's work, keeping a uniquely Southern delicacy alive one breakfast at a time.

Crack open a pack of Millie Ray and Sons Orange Rolls and you'll swear the gates of Heaven creaked open just a bit. These sweet, sticky miracles live quietly in the frozen section of Southern groceries, and they've earned every whisper of reverence. They bake up golden and soft, and taste like home and hope and a little bit of indulgence you don't want to confess to your doctor, but end up blabbing because he most likely indulges in these same sweet Southern treats on repeat.

"Born" in Alabama, Millie Ray's has that "made by somebody's grandma" magic. You can smell the orange zest before the oven timer dings, and before you know it, the pan's empty and your family's pointing at one another, each pretending they didn't eat four apiece.

And if finding your way to a Southern market, don't sleep on the brand's Conecuh sausage collaboration, which Southerners are keenly aware is a breakfast miracle. These rolls are Southern comfort in foil pans, and once you have had them, Lawd help you Northerners who have to return to your grocers' generic cinnamon buns (even if they do have a cute doughy mascot and satisfying pop when you open the tube).

Step inside a Southern grocery store, especially around the holidays in December, and you'll find locals loading up on Dewey's Bakery Cookies like there's a snowstorm coming. Started in Winston-Salem back in 1930, Dewey's is a small-town bakery turned regional treasure. The brand's lemon, ginger spice, and Moravian sugar cookies are both preferred everyday snacks and cherished holiday memories in box form. Crisp, light, and delicate, they taste like sugar, butter, and nostalgia all made a pact to present Southerners with the best hug, and we welcomed it.

It's hard to find them in Northern groceries. That's because they live down here. You could say we claim them, like kin. Folks up north might reach for fancy macarons, but down here, we'll take Dewey's every time.

There's something old-fashioned about them, some simple, no frills appeal. And if you eat half the box before you get home? Well, bless your heart, honey, that's between you and Jesus.

For those who have never heard of Sun Drop, first, we offer our apologies, but secondly, it is hard to accurately describe what has become a ride-or-die favourite soda in the South. It's a citrus soda with a little swagger. It's got lemon, lime, and tinge of orange tang.

If Cheerwine is the smooth soda in the South, let's just say Sun Drop is the life of the party. You won't find this green-and-yellow-labeled legend up north unless someone's smuggling cases back from the Carolinas in the trunk. Down here, it's everywhere, just waiting to pop off, from gas stations to football concessions to the church youth cooler.

Folks mix it with whiskey, pour it over crushed ice, or just drink it straight from the bottle and grin through the sugar buzz. It's a decided nod to Southern summers in liquid form, just a sip taking you back to lake days, lawn chairs, and someone's uncle hollerin' about the grill. Northerners have their seltzers and energy drinks, us Southerners have Sun Drop. One sip, and you'll understand why we never gave it up.

Ham biscuits are a casual Southern tradition with deep roots. That being said, let's talk about Hobe's Country Ham. Started in North Wilkesboro, North Carolina, this salt-cured, smoke-kissed masterpiece is chef's kiss, especially when served on any breakfast table in the South. Slice it thin, fry it fast, and serve it with biscuits, and you've got a meal so mouthwatering it could convert a vegetarian.

The smell alone will bring half the neighborhood to your porch. Grocery stores below the Mason-Dixon keep it right where it belongs, near the bacon but holding court like royalty. Folks outside the South don't quite seem to understand it. They think "country ham" is just fancy deli meat. Bless them.

Real country ham bites back. It's chewy, salty, and unapologetically bold. Hobe's has been doing it right for generations. Just fry it, drizzle on some red-eye gravy, then pair it with your morning coffee and you'll see God. Or maybe that is just Nana humming gospel in the kitchen as she cooks. Either way, it's tasty.

Conecuh Sausage hails from Evergreen, Alabama. The hickory-smoked sausage has been filling Southern kitchens with heaven-made scents since 1947. One whiff from the skillet and you know you're home, at least if you live in the South. The flavor is deep, smoky, and unapologetically porky.

Grocery stores across the South treat it like a prized possession, but north of Tennessee? Forget it. Unless you're near a military base (because the Southern boys stationed far from home must demand it), you're outta luck. Every Southerner knows at least one person who travels back with frozen packs of Conecuh in a cooler to last them until at least their next mission below the Mason-Dixon.

It's so preferred in the South, it shows up in everything, from breakfast casseroles to jambalaya, to gumbo, cheese grits or even straight off the grill, still sizzling. When you ask a Southerner what's on the menu, chances are they won't say "smoked sausage." It's simply "Conecuh." Saying otherwise is fightin' words.

If you know, you know, and if you don't, bless your heart, because Roberts Famous Chicken Salad is Carolina royalty in a plastic tub. Once upon a time, the only way you could get your hands on it was to make the pilgrimage to Wrightsville Beach, where the little deli on Causeway Drive was slinging this creamy chicken perfection before the rest of the state caught on. 

But word travels fast down here, especially when something tastes like home, so before long, Roberts was showing up in local grocery stores like Harris Teeter. You'll spot that familiar label in the cooler case, and if you hesitate even a second, it just might be gone, snatched up by folks who "know." It's not just good, it's the benchmark of the best chicken salads in the South. With creamy, tangy, tender being the trifecta of characteristics to its flavor personality, it recalls the taste of every Southern picnic you've ever loved and wished you could relive on repeat.

Neese's was first launched by a local Greensboro, North Carolina family that started making it way back in 1917. The family didn't set out to create a Southern icon, but here we are, four generations later, still talking about it like it's part of our religion. Speaking of religion, saying prayers over that Extra Sage Country Sausage before digging in to that first epic bite is the secret to every Carolina breakfast worth waking up for.

The smell alone could make your mouth water three counties over, the sage being the ingredient that really makes it sing. Fried up in an old school cast-iron skillet (the only way if you ask many), our Nanas and moms cooked it nearly every day for the family, and even now, the sound of that sizzle takes most of us straight back to those kitchen tables, where the biscuits were always from scratch and the coffee was strong.

The North can keep its mass-market links and fancy "artisanal pork blends" at three-times the price. We've got good ole Neese's and no interest in reinventing the wheel, just in frying it up right beside one biscuit at a time.

It is said "a little heat never hurt nobody," and Lusty Monk Mustard from Asheville, North Carolina, embraces that with a cheeky marketing campaign. This small-batch, sinfully spicy mustard has a cult following as strong as a Southern tent revival. You won't find it lining the shelves of Northern grocery stores, but can be found tucked in local grocers, where people whisper about its burn and kick in a conflicted kind of way.

It's the kind of spicy Southern mustard that's perfect for grilled hot dogs and more, but fans on Reddit say it "hits hard," and that's putting it lightly. It'll take your breath away and clear your sinuses better than anything, and what some people love most is its name. "Lusty Monk" is spicy and scandalous enough to really get people talking, wondering, and at the very least intrigued. So, somehow that just fits.

Besides, Southern folks have always had a knack for keeping one foot in the holy and the other in the holler. North of the Mason-Dixon, they've got Dijon, but down here, we've got Lusty Monk, and it's raising the flavor bar one fiery spoonful at a time.

If you grew up anywhere near a rocking chair or a sleeping porch, chances are your grandma had a candy dish filled with Butterfields Peach Buds. These little amber, hard-candied jewels have been sweetening Southern living rooms since 1924. Made in Nashville by a family-owned company, these candies are Southern comfort wrapped in cellophane. The family still does it the old-fashioned way, promising customers no shortcuts or mass production, just small batches of a little bit of magic and sugar.

You can still find them in Southern grocery stores like Publix or Harris Teeter, tucked away on a shelf but certainly not forgotten. One taste and you're back in your grandma's house, front-porch swinging to the hum of cicadas, reveling in the sensation of that unmistakable peach candy-bowl crunch between your teeth. In a world of taffy and peppermints, at least in the South, Peach Buds are how we keep things sweet.

Here's one that'll raise eyebrows, and heart rates: Dr. Enuf, Tennessee's favorite mystery tonic. Is it the OG energy drink? Is it even among the regional sodas we wish were available everywhere, really? Let's discuss. First bottled in Johnson City in 1949, Dr. Enuf is a lemon-lime soda that has been swearing it's also a vitamin-infused drink that will give you energy, long before Red Bull ever dreamed of having wings.

Packed with niacin, caffeine, and the afore-promised "energy," it is often classified as being amazing by fans, and bordering on medicine that is just a bit hard to swallow by those still on the fence about the Southern staple soda. They're on the fence because even those who don't feel like the taste is quite their cup of tea (or soda), still feel an oddly innate sense of loyalty to it.

Southerners don't just drink Dr. Enuf, they defend it, and lawd help you if you aren't onboard. People basically believe the stuff works miracles ... or at least makes you think it does.

Now we're getting into real deep Southern territory, uncovering some of the grocery picks that makes outsiders whisper in (unmasked) revolt: "Y'all actually eat that?" Locals just grin, because clearly they don't get it, and by "it" we mean Rose Pork Brains. Made right in North Carolina, these cans of pig noggin and whatnots are as iconic as they are infamous.

Canned, fully cooked, and ready for the skillet, these brains have been a breakfast staple for generations of Southerners who were driven by thrift and knew how to make use of the whole hog. Mix 'em with scrambled eggs, add a little butter and salt, and you've got a dish that used to be as common as grits.

These days, you'll only find them in Southern groceries, sittin' pretty next to Vienna sausages and potted meat. Folks north of Virginia might gag and never go for it when cruising the aisles, but down here, we don't flinch.

For generations, Sourwood Honey has been Appalachia's version of liquid gold, tapped straight from the very mountains where the Sourwood trees bloom for only a few fleeting weeks each summer. That short season is exactly why this honey is so rare, and why it, like Tupelo Honey, is so expensive.

You'll only find it in select Southern grocers, and often in mason jars with handmade labels that look like they came straight from your neighbor's back porch. One spoonful, and you'll understand the fuss. It's light, buttery, and smooth, not cloyingly sweet like other bee sorcery.

Old-timers may tell you to drizzle it on a hot biscuit, cornbread, or even a slice of fried chicken, and they're not wrong. There must be a bit of mountain magic to it, because it does seem to transform everything it touches. Head north and they may hand you clover honey and swear it's the same, but Southerners know better.