August 02 '03
Volume 374
The Fish Fry A
Look Back
In the general
sense, "things are not always what they appear," is a valid statement
whether one is referring to a political scandal or a headline in the morning
paper. Prestidigitators fool most people with their apparent acts of magic.
A child whose parent or parents complete his or her homework in the child's
name may fool the teacher for a while, but the truth is often revealed by
work done in class. When it comes to a party such as the one many subscribers
to this newsletter recently attended, and, as the culmination of weeks of
planning are condensed into a three-hour party and the speed with which one
hundred guests are fed is considered, it doesn't necessarily appear a formidable
task has been completed. Nothing could be further from the truth.
This past RRN celebration required weeks of weekend yard work and five days
of this writer's vacation time in order to prepare the house and grounds
for our guests. I wasn't the only one working, either. My niece, Cheryl Radford,
and my daughter, Rayanne Adams, completely redecorated the master bathroom,
and Rayanne devoted somewhere close to three more days to rearranging other
rooms and giving a general cleaning to the interior of our house.
My niece Felicia helped scrub mildew off the gutters and trim work around
the main house and guesthouse. Joe Millham, our houseguest of six weeks,
also helped in this endeavor as well as in helping me setup the outside canopies.
My son, Jason, his friend, Dustin Parker, and Joe Millham, helped load, unload,
and setup the tables and chairs used under the canopies. Jason also assisted
in transporting the borrowed patio furniture from our friends and neighbors.
In the early stages of work, I spent what seemed to be countless hours trimming
hedges and shrubbery, tilling flowerbeds and borders around the crepe myrtle's
then mulching the same. Again, this year, my neighbor, Raymond Montgomery
professionally edged the driveway and walkway. At some point, I thought of
keeping a diary for the last week of the work, but that idea got lost after
about day three when physical exhaustion was at it's peak.
By the day of the fish fry, my family was about ready to run me out of town.
They complained as though I were a cruel taskmaster, and I actually heard
one of them refer to my "requests" as "barking orders." I find it strange
that I don't view myself in the same light as they do. I merely see a job
that needs doing, and if someone standing nearby is qualified to do it, I
make the request. How that gets interpreted as barking an order, escapes
me. Maybe, if I prefaced everything with "please," they would feel differently.
But, then again, I figure they'd find a fault somewhere else in my personality.
Joe Millham told Barbara he had noticed an increase in tension as the week
progressed, but I remember thinking I was ahead of plans by Thursday morning
and had the sails tacked for smooth sailing. I will admit to having a tense
moment or two, but those occurred shortly before six o'clock on the day of
the fish fry.
Several guests who replied to our invitation stated a preference for grilled
fish. Now, there's a part of me (make that the greater part of me) that says
whomever receives an invitation to a fish fry should take the invitation
at face value and come prepared to eat fried fish. However, there's a smaller
part of me that says it's okay to accommodate the reasonable request of any
guest, and my gentler side persuaded me to spend the extra effort to satisfy
a reasonable request.
I'm not very practiced in the art of grilling fish, and neither are the men
who helped in preparing the fried catfish. Yet, I reserved five to seven
pounds of filets to be grilled, and at about five minutes before five o'clock,
I lit two crumpled sheets of newspaper beneath the charcoal chimney and walked
away from the grill to attend to other last minute details. About fifteen
minutes later, I discovered the fire had gone out and my blood pressure rising.
I knew it would take about thirty minutes for the charcoal to reach "grilling
temperature," and I was running out of time before guests would be arriving.
I could feel the tension.
The other instance that gave rise to tension occurred about the time I had
successfully added more fuel to the charcoal chimney and felt confident the
grill would soon be ready. I had earlier enlisted Joe and Jason (they'd probably
say "ordered") to be "runners" or individuals charged with moving the fried
food to the warming oven and/or the serving tables.
"Daddy," I heard Jason yell loudly, "I think you need to take a look at this!"
There was enough urgency in his tone for me to give him my full attention,
and I responded with, "What is it?"
You might know I'd raise a son incapable of answering a direct question.
I wanted to know what was going on, but instead of him telling me, I got
almost the exact same response as before, "You need to take a look at this!"
Several years ago, Lee Gordon taught me a way to keep fish, hushpuppies,
and fries, warm and crisp before serving them. The trick is to line the bottom
of a paper grocery bag with paper towels, drop in the hot food, and crimp
down the top of the bag to hold in the heat. The hot foods stay hot for a
half-hour or more and don't sweat as they would if wrapped in foil or dry
out if left uncovered. If desired, the bags can be placed directly into a
150 to 175-degree oven. Since my oven won't hold much more than three partially
filled bags, I've learned to use my outdoor gas grill in a similar fashion.
This year, I decided the outdoor grill would be all that I needed and thus
avoided heating up the kitchen area.
I had heated up the gas grill earlier and turned it's three burners to the
lowest setting, closed the cover and set two large aluminum serving trays
on top of the cover of the grill. The heat from inside the grill would easily
keep the food on top of the cover warm for an hour or more.
I knew Jason was calling from the gas grill area, but with the deck blocking
my view, I had no idea what to expect. I didn't run to find out what it was
he wanted me to see, but I did hurry. In disbelief, I saw a sack of fried
catfish not on top of the cover of the grill but on the cooking grid of the
grill. Worse, it was smoldering and showing flames in a couple of different
areas.
"We've got to get it off here," I sputtered, but neither he nor I had mitts,
tongs, or spatulas at hand.
I quickly discovered the bottom of the bag, already beginning to burn, could
not support the weight of it's contents, plus my moving it only fed oxygen
to the flames.
I remember barking, "Get me some tongs," and either Joe or Jason (I don't
remember which one) responded.
Yep, I was stressed. I knew I had enough fish to feed the expected turnout,
but if the first bag of fish burned up on the grill, then I wasn't so sure.
I'm not sure what happened next, but I recall the bottom of the sack breaking
as I tried to lift it off the hot grill and I tossed it onto the concrete
patio, and Joe brought a bowl of water to extinguish it.
Jason assisted me in removing the fried fish from the hot grill. I was concerned
the fish might have a smoked flavor, but after Jason and I taste-tested a
couple of pieces, we discovered that apart from the piece that had actually
burned, the rest of the filets were fine. Within a half-hour guests were
eating, as still others arrived, and as I greeted guests, the tensions of
the previous hour subsided.
Among the new faces at this year's fish fry was that of Adam Goslin of
Carrollton, MS. Adam's sister and parents were not present, but he managed
to enjoy himself in spite of their absence, or perhaps because they were
not here. I've been trying to get Adam introduced to Felicia for more than
a year, and while they both attend Ole Miss, it never worked out until the
fish fry. I've stated before that linking the two romantically is not part
of my plan, nor that of Adam's family, but we all felt since we were already
friends that two young people we held in high regard should meet.
After most guests had left the fish fry, Adam volunteered his help and the
use of his pickup to return the tables and chairs to First Baptist Church.
He saved me a lot of steps, and after the tensions of the day, I really
appreciated his work. Several members of my family, along with Adam, spent
the next couple of hours sitting and talking on the lanai and deck. The
temperature was pleasant and the mosquitoes didn't eat us alive.
I think that throwing a large party is something like a woman having a baby.
It takes months of preparation, lots of checkups, and the pain of delivery
is almost unbearable. Yet, as days become weeks and weeks turn into months,
the memory of that pain is replaced by the joy and love exchanged by parent
and child, or hosts and guests, so that when it comes time to do it all again,
only the love and the joyful parts are remembered.
RRN Event On
TV Too
A few days after she received her invitation to the fish fry, Virginia Dillard
asked, "Is it all right if I invite the Newmans?"
"You can invite whomever you like," I responded, "All I need to know is how
many."
I'll probably regret saying that sort of thing one of these days, when someone
invites fifty individuals to join them at one of our gatherings, but until
then I'll continue to encourage invited guests to bring along a friend or
two.
Miss Virginia had already turned away and was walking to join her fellow
choir members, when it dawned on me she wasn't talking about the Newmans
of First Baptist Church but was referring to Lee and Paula Newman.
A year or so ago, Lee Newman secured a grant to fund his ambition to provide
a Community TV cable channel for Pontotoc and a couple of neighboring counties.
Lee enlisted Miss Virginia to advise him regarding persons, places, and events,
to cover, and to assist with introductions and interviews. I view his work
as a community service and as a means to record bits and pieces of the history
of this area and its people in the process.
"He's gonna want to film the fish fry," I thought to myself. "I hope he
doesn’t want to interview me on TV."
Sure enough, when Miss Virginia phoned to ask what to bring to the fish fry,
she asked if it would be all right for Lee to bring his camera. I assured
her I didn't mind but warned that Lee might not appreciate the "Bruce McCoy
for State Representative" sign in my yard, since he and Bruce are vying for
the same elected office.
"We've got a candidate speaking at Hurricane," Miss Virginia stated, "so,
we may be a little late arriving at your house."
Miss Virginia, an octogenarian, keeps a pace that would strain most of us,
and I don't see how Lee Newman, a retired Colonel who is quite a few years
her junior, keeps up with her.
Miss Virginia and the Colonel arrived a little late, but still with plenty
of time to interview some of the cooks, film a number of guests in the ice
cream line, a number of folks eating, and to grab a few seconds of the band
taking a
breather.
The first TV showing of the RRN Fish Fry was released eight days later. I
was pleased with how it all turned out, my interview included.
I won't elaborate on my interview except to say that among the closing remarks,
I was asked if I ever thought a celebration that began a number of years
ago and included only a few family members and friends would become an event.
To be honest, I still can't bring myself to think of it as an event, but
in many respects it is just that. However, the local cable channel considers
it an event, as probably do most folks who watch that channel. If you missed
this year's event, I'll look for you next year.
Thank You Guests
Express Appreciation
Barbara and I have received several Thank You notes from persons who attended
the recent fish fry. The following note from Powell Prewett of Oak Ridge,
TN, is representative:
Thank you for the invitation to attend your annual fish fry. I had a great
time eating and fellowshipping with you and your guests. The food was delicious,
especially the fish and hushpuppies, plus the desserts were an extra treat
where I probably over indulged.
Please express my appreciation to all who had a part in assisting in the
preparation, execution, and clean-up. I really enjoyed the traditional Country
Music. I wish my wife, Barbara, could have attended…maybe next time.
Thanks again for your hospitality and opening your home for us to enjoy
our friends and your food. You throw a great party.
Sincerely, Powell
Bodock Beau
Worried About My Reputation
Have you ever wondered about the red spot of the foreheads of women from
perhaps India? I learned of the custom years ago, but the explanation Jerry
Ethridge gave is not "G" rated. This one shared by Vickie Murphree is:
For centuries, Hindu women have worn a red spot on their
foreheads.
We have naively thought it had something to do with their religion.
The true story has just
been revealed by the Indian Embassy in Washington.
When one of these women gets married, on her wedding night, the husband scratches
off the red spot to see if he has won a convenience store, a gas station,
or a motel in Florida.
-------------------------------------
To the pastor of First Baptist Church and to others of like persuasion, who
revel in the embarrassment of Ole Miss Rebel fans over the present Colonel
Rebel fiasco, this bit of humor is lovingly dedicated.
Dear Abby:
I am a crack dealer in Memphis who has recently been diagnosed as a carrier
of the HIV virus.
My parents live in a suburb of Knoxville and one of my sisters, who lives
in Nashville, is married to a
transvestite.
My father and mother have recently been arrested for growing and selling
marijuana and are currently dependent on my other two sisters, who are
prostitutes in Tunica.
I have two brothers. One is currently serving a non-parole life sentence
in Parchman for murder of a teenage boy in 1994.The other brother is currently
being held in the Arkansas Remand Center on charges of sexual misconduct
with his three children.
I have recently become engaged to marry a former Thai prostitute who lives
in Atlanta and is still a part time "working girl" in a brothel.
All things considered, my main problem is this. I love my fiancé and
look forward to bringing her into the family and I certainly want to be totally
honest with her.
Should I tell her about my cousin who goes to Mississippi State?
Worried About My Reputation
Contributed by Bing Crausby
-------------------------------------
A little girl was sitting on her grandfather's lap as he read her a bedtime
story. From time to time, she would take her eyes off the book and reach
up to touch his wrinkled cheek.
She was alternately stroking her own cheek, then his again. Finally she spoke
up, "Grandpa, did God make you?"
"Yes, sweetheart," he answered, "God made me a long time ago."
"Oh," she paused, "Grandpa, did God make me too?"
"Yes, indeed, honey," he said, "God made you just a little while ago."
Feeling their respective faces again, she observed, "God's getting better
at it, isn't he?
Contributed by Rhea Palmer
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