He sounds like my grandfather (who lived in Donelson).
Well, actually, he would’ve cooked up some fried okra himself, but I can imagine him boiling okra and offering it to us, as follows:
Him (jokingly): “Here, you don’t like boiled okra, do you?”
Me: “Actually, I don’t care for it, but tha–”
Him (aghast): “You don’t like boiled okra?! Awwww…”
