From The Arbor Random Thoughts Of Summer
This ole Earth has been here a lot longer than Creationists credit it, and while I’m ready for "The Rapture," I don’t expect it to happen in this century and maybe not in this millennium. I believe it’s sensible for us humans to respect our environment and to strive to maintain a balance with Nature, but the special interest groups in this world make it hard for me to live harmoniously with them. My belief system, with respect to climate change, is not weakened by the hot, humid days we experience in these parts during July and August, nor is it strengthened by the frigid days of mid-winter. The cyclic aspect of Nature continues as it has all the days of my life. Some springs are wetter than others, some summers hotter, a few autumns dryer, and a few winters colder, but no climatic cataclysm has befallen us. Our President has either been duped by scientists who believe CO2 emissions are partly responsible for global warming or else he sees a benefit in taxing said emissions. Whatever his thinking, his agenda is reflected in the Cap ‘n Trade legislation that’s underway, that could ultimately result in a personal tax on each of us, as all of us emit CO2 with our every exhale. We who admire our Colonial forefathers, for having rebelled against taxation by the British, may well be facing a similar decision as our leaders strive to redistribute our hard-earned wealth in a thinly veiled scheme to buy votes. The August days of my youth were the last of the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer to be enjoyed before returning to school in early September. For many years, the school year kicked off, the day after Labor Day, but by my final years of high school, we were in our classrooms by the end of August. Now, it’s not uncommon for teachers to report to work during the first week of August. Granted, most classrooms in the Deep South are now air-conditioned; my heart goes out to children and teachers, whose summer vacations end in early August. As most readers know, the three of us who edit this publication take turns writing the opening article each month. During our first year, we came to realize that if we don’t change the order of our rotation schedule, we’ll end up introducing the same monthly issue over and over. Some of our issues may invoke a theme, such as Christmas or The Fourth of July, so we’ve decided it would be fair to change our rotation and provide our readers a little variety. The annual change will coincide with our anniversary month, which is September. Carl Wayne led us off very well last September, and he believes it’s a good idea for the lead-off editor to drop to the bottom of the list upon completion of his yearly schedule. The co-editor next in line then moves to the top of the rotation. Therefore, Ralph will assume lead position starting with our September 2009 issue; I’ll have October, followed by Carl Wayne with the November issue. Pontotoc, Mississippi celebrates its Bodock Festival August 14-15, 2009. My co-editors and I have no plans to have a booth at this year’s festival, but you’re likely to see us enjoying some of the exhibits, entertainment, and a funnel cake or two. I’m pleased to announce that my two children, Rayanne and Jason, will be performing during the Bodock Festival. Rayanne is keyboardist for the Belmont, Mississippi based Christian group, stillTime, in which my granddaughter Anna is a featured singer. Jason is both a guitarist and singer in the blues bands, The Healers and Mud Creek Bottom. The articles in this issue of The Bodock Post relate to food. Our editors purposefully chose to share these, as we feel the next best thing to eating food is talking about it. We continue to be grateful for articles contributed by our readers, and we strive to publish all that meet our criteria. If you are interested in submitting a story or article for our consideration, please see our guidelines at http://rrnews.org/bp/submissions.htm. ~ By Wayne Carter, Associate Editor & Publisher Note: From The Arbor is a regular feature of our newsletter from which our "Editor of the Month" introduces each issue, season, or theme, as the case may be.
Dining Out Looking Locally Have you been out to eat lately? Was it as good as what you could have had at home? Was it worth what you had to pay for it? Did you have to wait 30 minutes to an hour for a table? Did the server make you feel special? Ms. Janet and I usually try to go out for supper about once a week. Most times we go to the same little café and sit at the same table. The food is always good and we could have had the same thing at home, but then there would be the mess of dishes afterward. Ms. Janet has a grilled chicken sandwich, and I have the grilled Cajun tuna sandwich. Unlike eating at home, this way we can have different things without twice the mess. I guess that makes the price not seem so bad when you look at it from that perspective.
Occasionally we venture out to other places in other towns; sometimes the food is good, but not always. For the most part we look for the places that are frequented by the local folks. If we are away from home, this means sometimes cruising and looking at car tags in the parking lots of restaurants to gauge a restaurant’s popularity. All too often, hotel employees want to send you to the chains that you could eat at when you were back home. Sometimes, we ask a local person to make a suggestion or two or we ask them where they go out to eat at. We have discovered some really good places this way. We always make mental notes, in case we ever come that way again. The places recommended by locals usually have friendly servers, who always seem to be willing to help you make a good dining choice. Finding good places to eat is important to me, so when folks from out of town ask me about a good place to eat, I always tell them my favorites and give them directions as needed. And, it you’re a local, take the time to help someone from out of town; they’ll appreciate it. Who knows, you may be in their hometown sometime looking for a good meal? ~ By Tim Burress, Regular Contributor Biographical Sketch: Tim Burress lives in New Albany, Mississippi. Tim writes "Gardening with Tim" which appears in the local paper.
Old Time Dinner No Meat Needed Shipping is a terrible thing to do to vegetables. They probably get jet-lagged – like people. ~ Elizabeth Barry A way of life is disappearing. Eating fresh, tasty, locally grown, heirloom veggies and accompaniments is the exception rather than the norm. I find most veggies in restaurants to be heated from a can, and taste like, well, whatever you put on them. Mimi and I talked about grilling ribeye steaks for our Fourth of July dinner. Dinner is our midday meal. We thought about grilling hamburgers so as to make use of the small pile of vine ripened tomatoes from my backyard on the burgers. We would even try some of the hot and mild jalapeños and poblanos. But, we decided on a far more delicious meal – one of our youth that Mimi still makes occasionally. Recently was the opening day for our own local farmers market. Mimi bought purplehull peas, half-grown onions with their green stems, and fresh juicy blackberries at the market. Then yesterday we got sweet corn her parents bought at their local market. And we picked squash and cucumbers from the Collierville Victory Garden this morning. The plot was beginning to take form. We decided to do a little quality control on a couple of the cucumbers. They passed! Our dinner consisted of sliced cucumbers with ranch dressing, sliced cantaloupe, sliced vine ripe tart Marglobe 'maters from my backyard, sweet corn on the cob slathered with real butter, purple hull peas, skillet fried 'taters with onions, and crisp cornbread with real butter. That was some fine eating. Who needs meat? We had far too much food to also have a blackberry cobbler, which we plan to have soon, along with her delicious homemade peach ice cream. You simply cannot buy a meal like that anywhere. One of my long term dreams is a place where you can buy dinners like that in a local restaurant with its own sustainable garden; maybe, a B&B, too. I dream of a place where you will be able to eat sliced raw veggies with a dipping sauce, cream style corn, new potatoes with green beans, shellie beans, sliced beets, real fried okra (not the battered and baked kind), several kinds of peas, squash, zucchini, eggplant casserole, and more—no meat needed—OK some thick premium bacon if you insist. And, there’ll be fresh cobblers for dessert. I am blessed we can get fresh, locally grown, nutritious veggies from our new farmers market, from her parents' garden in Pontotoc County MS, and what I grow in my backyard. I hope some way that richness of taste and experience is not forgotten in today's fast food and fern-and-glass restaurants. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
Before Fancy Food Homegrown Goodness
If you grew up in the country in the ‘30s, ‘40s or ‘50s, you most likely will remember the good home cooked meals we enjoyed. Who even cared if they looked colorful or not, and if they tasted good? Now days, in many homes and all restaurants if there is a blank spot on the plate they put in a big wad of something with color such as red cabbage, carrot strips, greenery like parsley, or dog weed, as we call it. I tried eating some of that green stuff one time and almost didn’t make it. It tasted like something you would pick from a weed in the pasture that the cow had somehow missed. We always had a large garden and grew all sorts of things, and Mom, being the good cook she was, knew just how to make them taste so very good. Cooked vegetables with corn bread were always part of our diet, from poke salad or spinach cooked with eggs, to English peas cooked with new potatoes, and they were all delicious. Purple hull peas, fried okra, butter beans, potatoes, string beans, tomatoes, turnip greens, you name it; we had it. One of my all time favorite meals was fried okra, purple hull peas, fried green tomatoes, with big slices of ripe tomatoes or cantaloupe and corn bread. Of course, you needed a tall glass of cold milk or Momma’s sweet tea, and a slice of good country ham meat. Now, if that don’t make you lick your chops, then you’ve probably overdosed on McDonald burgers. Occasionally for the evening meal we had a salad. No, not like the restaurants have today with mostly lettuce, fancy creamed dressing, and croutons, but a country garden salad. Whatever green leafy vegetables we had growing at the time, we would use: mustard greens, collard greens, turnip greens, and add cabbage and any others and put them into a large bowl and chop up radishes and green onions, including the stems, and pour "red eye" gravy over the entire mixture. It’d be so good you’d almost swallow your tongue. Boiled cabbage was one of my favorites, along with the other veggies. Most years we also made kraut from the cabbage. The leaves were chopped, packed in a clay churn with salt and allowed to ferment. The core was not included but with a sprinkle of salt, it made a delicious crunchy snack. You might say cabbage is good raw, cooked or soured. Mom and Dad grew some of the best sweet corn anywhere, and after a freezer came into our home, they developed a way of freezing it so that it tasted like fresh corn any time of year. I have eaten some that had been frozen for several years, and it tasted just like it had been cut from the cob that very day. Of course, let’s not forget the meats that graced our table. Although we did not eat much beef, we usually had a hog or two that was butchered each year. Sausage, ham, shoulder, bacon, streak-o-lean, and fat-back were always available. Mom insisted that the sausage be very lean, and she grew her own sage and other spices for its flavor. Dad and I salt-cured all the hams, shoulders and middlings and hung them or packed them in the saltbox in what we called the "smoke house," although we never smoked any of them. Cuts such as "streak-o-lean" and "fat back," not otherwise used for lard, were saved for cooking with the vegetables. Today’s nutritionists would go away kicking and screaming if they knew about the good taste fat meat gave to vegetables. Mom would never cook without it. Fresh apples and peaches were used for cobblers and pies as well as for peelin’ and eatin’. Apples and peaches were also sun dried in summer for later use. The only thing better than smelling those golden fried pies cooking on a cold winter day, was several with a tall glass of milk. Sliced cantaloupes were a part of our summer meals and eaten along with the vegetables. Cucumber pickles, both sweet and sour, pickled beets, peach pickles, and even watermelon rind pickles were also available as side dishes. Sometime I’ll share my cantaloupe sandwich recipe with you. Muscadine, plums, blackberries, and other wild fruits were gathered for jams, jellies and cobblers. Nothing like stumbling upon an abandoned home place and the bushes be loaded with plump yellow plums. I’d sit down in a shady spot and eat my fill. Then making a tote from my shirt, I’d take a whole passel home to Mom for her to cook. Many evenings we simply ate a watermelon for supper. We not only ate the melon but also scraped the rind and drank the juice. We had an ole muley cow that loved the rinds, and we would drop them over the pasture fence to her. Very little went to waste during those days. Milk was a mainstay around our house. A meal could be made with a big piece of corn bread crumbled in a glass of milk. We always had a cow and typically used all the milk she would produce. Dad and I could easily consume a quart of milk each for breakfast along with the regular meal. Milk was "the" beverage at dinner and supper. Who could think of molasses and biscuits without a big plate of real cow butter? We also drank buttermilk and mother used buttermilk for cooking. Well now I have done it! I’ve gone and made myself all hungry for some good home cooking, so I guess I’ll go down to the cafeteria and get some of those delicious artificial green peas, plastic string beans, rubber pintos, instant potatoes, and whole wheat muffins. A glass of instant tea will have to do. For dessert, how about some of that sugar free, tasteless, imitation flavored pudding, yum, yum…. We’ve come a long way baby! But, much of it has been on the wrong road…. By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
Ice Cream The Real Kind
I recall having some mixed emotions after learning of other children in my age group having their tonsils removed. The thought of surgery was not very appealing, but upon discovering that many children recuperating from tonsillectomies were required to eat ice cream and/or chocolate bars, I became envious of their condition and secretly longed to have my tonsils removed, too. With every sore throat that came my way, I heard Mama speak of me having my "tonsils out," but somehow I managed to evade the operation, and, to this day, my tonsils are right where God put them. Much of the ice cream I enjoyed as a child was of the homemade variety. Some of it was made from a powdered mix (Junket) and frozen in ice trays in the freezer of the family refrigerator. It wasn’t great, but it was less expensive than store bought ice cream and more convenient than the conventional method of making homemade ice cream. Most families had an ice cream freezer that consisted of a wooden bucket and a metal canister. The canister held the ice cream mixture and was fitted with an internal set of paddles. After the canister was placed inside the larger wooden bucket and the hand crank attached, crushed ice and rock salt were added to the space between the wooden bucket and the canister, then the fun of "cranking" began. Making the ice cream was really a job for adults, but often children joined the fun during the early stages of cranking. As the ice cream mixture began to freeze, stronger arms of adults were required to turn the crank. It all seemed a slow process for a small child, but the wait, no matter how long, was worth it. If the family were in a hurry for the ice cream, once the handle became too difficult to turn, the lid was removed and the paddles were pulled out of the canister and given to which ever youngster had dibs on the first lick. Soon afterwards, a semi-solid bit of heaven was ladled into small bowls and served to the family. If the ice cream were to be served later, it had to be packed. Proper packing requires removing the paddles, draining off the water from the melting ice, placing the canister back inside the bucket and packing more salt and ice around the canister. Properly done, the packed ice cream will continue to harden as it freezes and can be maintained for several hours. Because such was mostly a summertime treat, once served, the ice cream melted quickly in the heat. This compelled most eaters to eat their ice cream quickly, in order to enjoy it before it melted. The result was often a condition called "brain freeze" in which a sharp pain through the brain commands the eater to hold off consumption for a minute or two. For years, I wanted an old fashioned, hand-cranked, ice cream freezer. Their electric counterparts do an okay job of freezing ice cream and can be purchased for around twenty dollars. Several years ago, I priced a genuine, wooden-bucket, hand-cranked White Mountain 6-quart model, but upon seeing a retail of $169.00, I lost much of my nostalgia and decided I could buy eight electric models at Wal-Mart, each with a plastic bucket, for the price of one White Mountain model. The cheaper models satisfied my need for an ice cream maker, but did not fulfill my need to aesthetically rinse my soul in the old-fashioned hand-cranking method of yesteryear. I couldn’t bring myself to spend that much money on an ice cream freezer, but my precious wife bought one for my birthday not long after she learned I wanted one. Since the death of Mama in 1989, no one in my family wants to make homemade ice cream, because it’s too much work. Mama worried over possible salmonella contamination in the use of raw eggs called for in a popular recipe for homemade ice cream. Instead, she cooked her mixture on the stovetop, essentially creating boiled custard that was then frozen. Mama’s ice cream was real ice cream. So, rather than laboring over the stove to make real ice cream, my family has discovered a substitute that’s almost as delicious. The recipe that follows was shared more than thirty years ago by a Bryan Foods sales representative, George Pearson of West Point, MS: Easy Vanilla Ice Cream
Empty two cans of Cream Soda into a suitable sized mixing bowl and add the Vanilla Pudding Mix, stirring until the mix is dissolved. Add the condensed milk and rinse out the can with the third can of cream soda, combining all. Pour the liquid mixture into the freezer, stir in the cool whip, and start the freezer. Notes: For variety, try various flavors of pudding mixes and carbonated drinks, for example. My family enjoys adding mashed bananas, diced maraschino cherries, and crushed pineapple to the base mixture above, forming a combo we call Banana Split Ice Cream. An electric ice cream freezer requires about seven or eight pounds ice and about a half box of ice cream salt (rock salt – approx. two pounds) to freeze the Vanilla mixture. Ice cream will be at soft-serve stage when electric freezer stops. If firmer ice cream is desired follow instructions to "pack" the ice cream (be sure to remover dasher). Alternately, one may transfer the soft ice cream to a container and place in a freezer for four to six hours before serving. ~ By Wayne Carter, Associate Editor & Publisher
Café Memories Daycare Option A
When I was six and my brother, Kenneth was twelve, we lived with our parents Hayward and Waudenia Hodges south of town on old Highway 15 near the hospital. Dad worked in the meat market at Hollis Woods Grocery Store while mother and her brother, Lenward McWhirter, ran the café at the rear of the store. The grocery faced Court Square on Main Street and was on the corner just across from the post office. The café was open to the grocery store and there was a side entrance off Washington Street. Further north of the grocery, also facing the town square, was Furr Drugs, Hardy’s, R.L. Ray’s, and a little further was my favorite, Pages Variety, or as we called it, "the five and ten cent store." We had not been out of World War II long, and many things were still scarce, baby sitters included, and people did whatever was necessary to "make do." I stayed with my grandmother McWhirter some but not all the time. About six months before I was to start first grade, mom had no place for me to stay and no sitter, so she took me to work with her. The single room café with its "L" shaped counter included the cooking and food preparation areas as well. A youngster could not be running around in a busy kitchen with the hot grill, flaming stove, scalding grease, etc. However, my innovative mom simply found an adequate space under the serving counter and prepared me a cubby. The counter was closed on the customer’s side but open on the kitchen side. This little nest was my haven during the day. Although customers saw me sometimes, I tried to stay out of the way and out of sight. Some of the people talked to me and teased me about taking me home with them; they were nice folks. Coloring books and paper dolls helped pass the time. My, my, how I loved to dress those paper dolls, and how happy it made me feel when mom or someone would compliment them. However, after six or seven hours a day, six days a week, it got very boring. On occasions, mom would give me a little change and allow me to walk up Main Street, cross Marion Street, to Pages Variety Store. After much admiring, looking, and searching, I would finally pick out something that was affordable. I could hardly wait to play with my new treasure under the counter. The thing I liked most about being there was being close to mother, which was comforting. Kenneth took me to the movies on Saturdays to change my routine. Mother would fix us a snack and we were off to the Joy Theater on Marion Street. It faced Court Square, also, but was diagonally across from Mr. Wood’s store. It seemed that every kid in town came to see the Saturday matinee. The theater featured an animated cartoon, a continuing serial, and then the typical western movie. Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, The Lone Ranger, and others, were the usual heroes and they always caught the bad guys. We would stay and see the "show" over and over again until lunchtime. Then it was a zip across the Square to the café for a hamburger, and then we were off for more movies at the "Old Show." I don’t remember if it had another name, but that is what we called it. It featured a "second run" western, and we watched it again and again until almost dark. I got so sick of western movies that they are still repulsive to me some fifty plus years later, but, it did get me out from under the counter. After a day at the movies it felt as if our eyes were as big as saucers; we were ready for a nice soft pillow and sleep. I was most happy to see September roll around and for school to start; although in subsequent years I may not have been as anxious to get there. But, anything was better than coloring and playing paper dolls thirty or forty hours a week while sitting under the counter at the café. Note: As told to Ralph Jones, by Peggy Hodges Lee, who now resides in Columbus, Mississippi.
Molasses More Than Breakfast Fare Any sufficiently advanced bureaucracy is indistinguishable from molasses. ~ Unknown We Southerners love our molasses. I don’t recall seeing any in my travels to northerly climes. They eat corn syrup such as Karo. A perfect breakfast has at least one hot cathead biscuit with real butter and molasses. Truth is, what we call molasses is sorghum cane syrup. Molasses is the byproduct from processing sugar beets or sugar cane. The British call that treacle, but a syrup by any other name is just as sweet. I’ll call it what I have always heard it called, and that is molasses made from sorghum cane. My granddaddy Taylor Nolen of Chester County, TN took his mules and rig from farm to farm each fall making sorghum molasses on shares. The process is grind the sorghum and catch the juice. The juice is cooked in stages, reducing the liquid to a syrup by steaming. American Indians let maple syrup freeze and discarded the ice that formed on the top. Granddaddy was a master of knowing just how hot to make the fire and when to skim off the scum and when to move it to the next station. You could burn and lose a whole batch. Molasses has many uses beyond a divine breakfast feast. It is a sweetener in many products, though corn syrup is cheaper and used more widely nowadays. Before corn syrup was available molasses was used in spice cookies, delicious pecan pie, and Mimi’s prize baked beans. My daddy-in-law, Ralph Graham, of Pontotoc County, MS used to work at Mr. Leon Tallent’s feed mill. Some customers bought sweet feed for their horses, which was any ground organic material laced with blackstrap molasses. It smelled good enough to eat, but I restrained myself. Actually, blackstrap molasses is the least desirable renderings of sugar cane, and not sorghum molasses, but we’re not splitting hairs here. Uncle Aubrey of Laws Hill, MS says he eats molasses with peas. They keep the peas from falling off his knife. To see a master in action, you need to watch Glenn Conder eat molasses. He cuts them with a knife. When he pours them onto his plate, he slices the stream off sharp and clean with no dribble. He uses a slicing motion. He uses the same slicing motion to fill his knife and spread on a hot buttered biscuit. He can do that and not leave a trace on his plate. Glenn makes Emeril Lagasse look like an amateur with a knife, as well as Bobby and his wife, Sue Flay. J Any way you cut it, molasses is larruping good eating. I need to remember to tell my granddarlings that word. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
Hunting Food A Natural Experience
In the photo at right, I was about two years old and appear ready to hit the trail and hunt some ornery critters with my trusty double-barreled gun in the fields near Randolph. Ours was a hunting family, not so much as a sport as a way of life. Although most of the men of that era enjoyed it, and did a lot of it, hunting was another way to put meat on the table. My maternal grandfather, Warren Phillips, enjoyed hunting and had at least one good hunting dog as far back as anyone can remember. He loved the taste of squirrel, and his four-legged friends were more than happy to help him find the bushy-tailed varmints. Of course, he hunted other things, as well, to help with the vittles. Hunting brought much pleasure to him in those hard times. Even at an early age, I wanted to follow in the steps of my "Papa." My father, Anderson Jones, grew up in a large family of thirteen children, and among all the other things they did to gather food for the table, hunting played a big part. Dad said his favorite gun was a double-barreled sixteen-gauge shotgun, however, only one barrel would fire. He became a good shot with the gun simply because shells were expensive, and you could not afford but one shot per squirrel. After bringing home several squirrels for the family, he would dress them, and the girls of the family would make sure they were cooked just right with hot biscuits and gravy. He, in turn, would bury the hides in the ash dump from the fireplace and cook stove. After a while the ash would, more or less, tan the hides, remove the hair, and leave the skins soft and pliable. Taking the tanned hides he would cut them up in long strips and the boys would use them for shoelaces. Nothing went to waste in this large family. Although this was probably my "first" shotgun (shown above), it certainly was not my last. It is no wonder that I turned out to be a rather good shot and loved the outdoors. Now, I have several boys of my own, and they all know their way around guns. At present, I have the privilege of training one of our grandsons, Parker, about guns and gun safety. He’s ten years old, and I bought him a genuine Daisy, "Red Ryder," BB gun to learn with. He is a quick study and is becoming a good shot, and he even knows which way to point the thing, unlike the little redheaded guy in the picture. ~ By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
High On The Hog Not Just A Figure Of Speech
With any rule of thumb there are exceptions, so if it’s true that "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," so then "a neck roast by any other name is just as tough to chew." Growing up in the fifties, my dad insisted on my working in the "market" of Carter and Austin Grocery & Market in downtown Pontotoc, Mississippi. I learned how to "break down" both hindquarters and forequarters of beef, separating them into primals as pictured above. The names of different cuts of meats were simpler then than they are today. Hindquarters were generally separated into the loin and the round. From these, we sold steaks such as sirloin, T-bones, and round, and roasts included rump and sirloin tip. Certain trimmings were suitable for cubed steak (minute steak), but most excess went into ground beef or as it was more widely known, hamburger meat. Meats carved from the forequarters were largely roasts and rib steaks, but we also sold a sizeable amount of stewing meat from beef short ribs to briskets and shanks. The names of roasts, which were taken from the forequarter included: chuck, seven-bone, English, and shoulder. All of these were bone-in cuts. I don’t recall selling any boneless roasts from the forequarter until years later when I worked as a meat cutter for Sunflower in Tupelo, my first exposure to the emerging world of supermarkets. Through the years, I learned a lot of merchandising ideas, ones geared mostly toward selling added-value cuts of meat. For example, instead of selling only one thickness of pork loin chops price some thin-sliced ones slightly higher and call them "breakfast chops." I learned to remove the bone from a round steak, run it through a meat tenderizer, and then charge extra for the product. Also, a round steak can be subdivided into top round and bottom round as well as eye of round, with the top portion priced higher than the bottom portion and the eye portion the most expensive of all. The first year I worked in a supermarket, I was introduced to Delmonico steaks. There’s much controversy over which cut of steak was originally called Delmonico, but as introduced to me it was a boneless rib steak with the cap removed. This is today’s equivalent of a tail-on or untrimmed rib eye, a boneless sub-primal, which is often sold as a whole rib eye loin in a supermarket. When beef processors introduced boxed beef in the seventies, this innovation greatly reduced the amount of trimming and labor formerly needed in the modern meat department. But, it also eliminated a lot of cuts of meat, formerly available on "swinging beef." Some cuts that were eliminated, like flank steak, were available in sixty-pound boxes, but few markets could sell that many in a week or two. Just as supermarkets had earlier learned to merchandise products, meat processors did, too. Soon meat markets were offered all sorts of boneless portions such as ball tips, peeled knuckles, and mock tenders. Rib eyes soon became a popular sale item, as they could be more quickly cut and packaged than their bone-in counterparts. There is a downside regarding the popularity of rib eyes. In a free market, price is controlled by supply and demand, and retail prices soon reflected the growing demand by consumers for a suitable-for-grilling steak. My son Jason carries on a Carter family tradition of providing the workforce with "meat men." He works part-time for Bruce McCoy’s grocery in Ecru, a place which bills itself as "the real meat market." One night last year he asked, "Dad, what’s a savran steak?" I had no idea and asked where he’d heard of one. "Bruce got in some signage that had one pictured." "What did it look like?" I asked. "Like it might have come off a round," he concluded. After searching the Internet a few minutes, I discovered that savran is one of several newly named cuts of meat, branded by Cargill Meat Solutions of Wichita, KS. Cargill is reacting to a trend by price conscious consumers, who have shied away from expensive cuts of beef as well as beef purchases in general. Cargill hopes their marketing campaign and changing names of certain cuts of beef will appeal to consumers. Here are some of the changes:
• Cabrosa Steak, a new name for ball tip ~ By Wayne Carter, Associate Editor & Publisher
Stolen Melons Confession Is Good For The Soul
Watermelon theft was like a sport. It had a preseason and it had a regular season. Preseason started in the spring when crops were being planted. The regular season usually started in August when the first melons began to ripen and then ran probably until around the first frost of the season. Most of the residents in and around the Troy area were farmers in those days and most farmers had watermelon patches. So as the planting season got underway, the Boys of Troy in their free time would enter the preseason activities which were, in part, to scout out the various farms to locate the watermelon patches. It was very important not to be detected during these early scouting missions; so, much of the work was done under the cover of darkness. Other precautions included not walking in the plowed fields and leaving any barefoot tracks or other evidence of our having been there. The farmers knew we were out there but not when or where so it became somewhat of a cat and mouse game. Some of the farmers either tried to hide the watermelon patches in unlikely locations or put them within sight of their farm houses. One was even found in the middle of a corn field one year. The scouting missions had four objectives. First and foremost was location. Secondly, we needed to know when the planting occurred because that would give us a good idea of when the first ripe melons would be available. Thirdly, we had to know the best approach to the patch with minimum risk of being detected and lastly, identify the best escape route with an alternative just in case things really got hot. Included in the escape plan was a rendezvous point if for some reason we got scattered. Having completed our scouting work, the countdown began. We would do rehearsals as time permitted because as the new spring vegetation began to grow, the various planned routes of entry and egress might need revision. Another important factor during regular season was to know where the farmer was or might be during one of these clandestine capers. On one hot summer afternoon during the regular season, a few of the Boys of Troy decided to make a hit on a watermelon patch and refresh our bodies with the succulent meat of a nice cool watermelon. Unbeknownst to us, we were being monitored by my father. He was somewhat of a camera bug in those days and probably had the only camera in Troy, Mississippi. It was not unusual for the boys to come and go from our house unannounced so we quietly slipped away into the woods as we had done many times before. Once we were out of sight, we turned toward the targeted watermelon patch. Everything proceeded as planned and we arrived undetected, or so we thought. I don’t remember exactly who owned this particular watermelon patch but I think it belonged to Mr. Jim Lauderdale. Before entering any field, there was always a built in delay just to listen and observe. If all appeared well, we proceeded to enter the patch and remove the watermelons with plans to take them to a hidden consumption site. Just as we were about to take the melons out of the field that day, my father stepped out of the woods and scared the living daylights out of us. The fear subsided quickly as we began to realize that he was just there to photograph the event. But now, he was an accomplice! That was a funny feeling indeed. The statute of limitations has expired so this photo can be released without fear of reprisal. Pictured standing with his hands on his hips in the back is Johnny Arnold. In front of Johnny in the short sleeve shirt is Zack Stewart. Attacking the watermelon is Zack’s younger brother, Don, and the little knot head to the right is yours truly. All’s well that ends well I suppose. Biographical Sketch: James A. "Jim" Arnold and his wife, Juanita, make their home in Easley, South Carolina. Jim teaches at the Tri-County Technical College in Pendleton, South Carolina.
Bodock Bubba Futurists In Fifty-five Here are some comments made in the year 1955! That's only 54 years ago! Wow, were the futurists ever wrong?
Trucker And Blonde Waitress A trucker entered a truck stop cafe and placed his order. He said, "I want three flat tires, a pair of headlights and pair of running boards." The brand new blonde waitress, not wanting to appear stupid, went to the kitchen and said to the cook, "This guy out there just ordered three flat tires, a pair of headlights and a pair of running boards. What does he think this place is an auto parts store?" "No," the cook said. "Three flat tires mean three pancakes, a pair of headlights is two eggs sunny side up, and running boards are 2 slices of crisp bacon." "Oh, OK!" said the blonde. She thought about it for a moment and then spooned up a bowl of beans and gave it to the customer. The trucker asked, "What are the beans for, Blondie?" She replied, "I thought while you were waiting for the flat tires, headlights and running boards, you might as well gas up!"
Cuzin’ Cornpone A Bodock Post Exclusive Cuzin’ Cornpone, a creation by Ralph Jones, first appeared in our October ’08 issue, as humorous commentary. Two issues later Cuzin’ Cornpone developed into a cartoon character. We find his wit to our liking and congratulate Ralph on Cuzin’s eleven month anniversary. One may find similar humor or dialect elsewhere, but only here will one find Cuzin’ Cornpone. Address comments to Ralph at [email protected].
Our Mission Purpose - The Bodock Post It is our desire to provide a monthly newsletter about rural living with photographs of yesterday and today, including timely articles about conservative politics, religion, food, restaurant reviews, gardening, humor, history, and non-fiction columns by folks steeped in our Southern lifestyle. Copyright © 2008 - 2009 The Bodock Post. Return to home page. Open This Issue with MS Word
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I don’t believe all the hype
that’s out there stating that human activity affects climate change,
and if you do, then I would remind you that back in the 1970s scientists
were predicting another Little Ice Age being relatively imminent. And, for
my money, I’d say another ice age is likely to occur before we see polar
ice caps melt due to global warming.
At our favorite restaurant,
we never have to wait for a table. The owner and his staff always treat us
like they are glad to see us. We ask about each other’s family and friends
and show each other new pictures of our grandchildren. The atmosphere is
nice, and there is always a parade of local people, most of whom we know.
The company across the table from me is a pleasant reminder of our dating
days, and we call our little outings, mini-dates.
Do you remember how your mother tried
to make the meal on your plate look more colorful, and how she prepared items
that would make the food look good? Well ,I certainly don’t!
As a child, an ice cream treat was
a commodity rarely enjoyed by my family, though electric refrigerators with
freezer compartments had been around for a few years. These modern wonders
now make it possible to keep sweet treats such as ice cream on hand in ones
own house, whereas only decades ago, such would have been out of the question.
A hamburger and an orange Nehi, please,
were words were commonly heard in our hometown of Pontotoc, Mississippi in
1949. Oh, it could have been another kind of soda water like R.C. Cola, Pepsi,
or maybe a grape "belly washer," but the "bill of fare" was pretty much the
same. Most often it was just a hamburger patty served on a large warm bun
with mustard, pickle, and onion, and served wrapped in waxed paper. The catsup
bottle was nearby if you’d like; all this for a quarter, more or less.
Some might choose a hot dog, cheese toast, or a bowl of beef stew, but some
of the old timers went straight for the chili. It was hot with fire and pepper,
a treat seldom prepared at home.
There is something about a man and
his gun, with his hunting attire and hat and being out in the wide-open spaces.
Ah, the invigorating air, the thrill of the hunt, the ahhh, the ahhh; which
way do you hold this gun anyway? Well, there could be something sneaking
up from behind!
Generally speaking, the higher off the ground
a particular cut of pork or beef is derived from either animal, the tenderer
is the meat. With respect to beef and pork, one needs to consider the muscles
of the shoulders and hinds get more use than muscles along the spine. And,
in the case of bovine and swine the spine is higher off the ground than either
the rump or the shoulder. Thus, there’s good reason we speak of one
"eating high on the hog," when referring to one choosing the best and most
expensive portions.
There are many stories about watermelons
in the South, but to my knowledge, few ever described the art of watermelon
theft and probably none, as it was practiced at Troy, Mississippi in the
forties and fifties. Watermelon theft was serious business to a group of
mischievous and resourceful young boys of the time. It was truly an art form.
