I shared a little about the New Orleans trip on my last blog, but I didn’t tell you much about the city itself. New Orleans is coming back. I was down last January during Mardi Gras and the place felt like it had no soul. This year that had changed. New Orleans felt good again.
We accidentally picked the National Championship Football weekend to travel down for our eating day. I certainly had not a clue. I am a Public Radio fan, not a sports fan. Apparently, birds of a feather flock together, because all of us girls were surprised to find ourselves in football land. I had no idea how many variations of fan attire regalia existed. There are the basic school colors, the embellished fan colors, a multitude of fan message shirts and suits, plus fan emblazoned camouflage. None of them appealed to my fashion sense. I realize that I am in the minority of southern people in this attitude. Apparently, it is not just southerners. There were whole hoards of funnily dressed people going up and down Bourbon Street yelling O-H-I-O in unison. Sports are a big thing. I realize that. I just didn’t realize how many people would travel so far and spend so much money to be peculiarly dressed and yelling things.
New Orleans is all about food to people like me. When I go there, I go to eat. A trip always entails a trip to the Café Du Monde for coffee and beignets, even though I HATE chicory in my coffee. It always means a trip to the Central Grocery for a muffaletta to take home. I love those big fat loaves of bread stuffed with cheese, cold cuts and olive salad. It means having some kind of seafood done with something spicy. We had dinner at Arnaud’s. I discovered that I really like their version of Creole mustard. The one I buy at the grocery store has too much vinegar. Theirs is milder and is even good on crackers.
The good thing about living in driving distance of New Orleans is that we can go back often if we choose to sample a variety of dishes. We have always considered New Orleans as the place to go when we are feeling cosmopolitan and adventurous. New Orleans is the nearest thing we have in the US to a European city.
Our culinary heritage here is rural southwest Alabama has always been influenced by the Creole heritage. We have always loved seafood, spices and fats in our cooking. Every cook has some form of gumbo in their repertoire. We just go to New Orleans to get new takes on what we are already preparing or to eat something a little fancier than we are used to, and then we come home and make it. Some of us buy cookbooks with the recipes in them. Others of us just taste and correct the seasonings until we get it right, but all of us look to New Orleans as our cultural icon of eating. Food is a big part of our culture and we go to New Orleans to get a fix. We save our money, and then go eat well. We can’t think of a better way to have a good time and bring home good memories. New Orleans welcomes one and all – those who are casual and those who dress funny.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
SEESAW WEATHER
This is already a strange year for weather here in rural southwest Alabama. At the turn of the year, it was 15 degrees. Now it is 72 and porch weather. To tell you the truth, I kind of like this seesaw weather. It gives us the best of both worlds – hot and cold. I don’t know how I’d fare in a world of shoveling snow for 4 months or more a year. Snow has always been a romantic fantasy as in “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” or “Let it Snow, Let it Snow. Let it Snow.” I became a huge fan of the television series “Northern Exposure” when it was on back in the 90s. I have always romanticized about wintering over there just once since then.
When we have a day of snow down here, it paralyses everything. Schools shut down. Nobody goes out anywhere if they can help it. We all make big pots of something bubbling on the stove, pop popcorn, and make hot chocolate. It’s like a minor holiday of sorts. It is a passing fancy. We are not like a consultant that I work on projects with from upstate New York. When we were planning our next meeting, some one suggested February. She looked skeptical, and then laughed. There are no February statewide meetings where she is from because all the snow makes it hard to get together. They have had a particularly hard year this year with winter storms. Here, we’ve just had a little taste of bitter cold.
Right now, my laptop and I are sitting on the front porch contemplating life in 72 degree weather, which to my way of thinking, is just about perfect. I have on a long sleeved shirt, but it is cotton. I am barefoot. The wind chimes tinkle gently in the breeze
I have a big glass of iced tea nearby. Tea is a passion of mine.
I had a major tea adventure Saturday afternoon. A group of friends went over to New Orleans for the day. Yes, we are within eating distance of the Food Capitol of the United States. We can get there in a little over 4 hours. If we are with a group of friends, we can use that time to catch up with each other. We all live in different places and don’t get to visit as much as we’d like. We all meet up in the Mobile area and travel together.
The New Orleans trip was on the cusp of the bitter cold weather, but turned out to be a balmy day. We enjoyed time in the French Quarter eating around, but the highlight of the trip was having tea at Windsor Court, a small British boutique hotel on the edge of the Quarter. As you know, the British take their tea seriously d they price their afternoon tea accordingly. Some things are worth it. This is one of them. I am a tea drinker. It is my morning beverage of choice. Whenever I travel, I buy teas and have quite a collection. Rarely do I find one I don’t like. One that I didn’t like was a chocolate orange hazelnut green tea I bought in Baltimore. It sounded better than it turned out to be. Windsor Court serves none of that nonsense. Theirs is real British tea leaves made in pots to order. There were 5 of us, so we each got a different kind of tea. We had great fun passing the pots around and trying them all. Between us, we got Earl Grey, Jasmine, Pomegranate Oolong, Christmas Spice Tea and Gunpowder Green. I think my favorites were Earl Grey and Pomegranate Oolong.
One of my friends tells a wonderful tea story that I always think of when I drink Earl Grey tea. She said she was having afternoon tea at the Adolphus Hotel in Houston with a newly rich third wife oil heiress who was trying to learn the habits of civility. She looked at the tea list and said “Gimme some of that Early Grey tea”. I love that story.
I know that tea drinking has a reputation for stuffiness, and places like Windsor Court are a bit formal in their service. I wondered if we would be under dressed for the occasion in our jeans and weekend wear. I shouldn’t have worried. There were women at tea dressed in Ohio State jerseys that were in town for the national football championship game. There was also one chick dressed in what could only be described as hooker clothes. She had on a red sequined bustier over black satin Capri pants. These folks were treated with the utmost civility by the staff. I’m glad to see the world relaxing.
The food with the tea was not thrilling. There were 3 courses of foods. They were beautifully presented on fine china and silver stands. The sandwiches were a bit dry with no butter or mayonnaise on them. The scones were delightful, with their accompanying clotted cream, lemon curd, and raspberry preserve, but were heavy and filling. The chocolate and bite sized desserts were from a purchased source. Well, you don’t’ go to tea at Windsor Court for the food anyway. It’s the atmosphere. There was a chamber music group playing during tea time. The Christmas decorations were still up on Twelfth Night. They were beautiful and quite tasteful. There were swaged garlands made entirely of magnolia leaves gilded and twined with little gold lights. There were matching wreaths in all the windows adorned only with a red ribbon lined with gold. In the Center of the lobby was a Christmas tree the size of a swimming pool. It was the experience we went for. I feel very civilized just sitting here on the porch contemplating the memory.
Maybe when the weather turns cold again, I’ll have some friends over for afternoon tea. It will cold again soon. It is January, so we can count on it. At least we won’t have to worry about shoveling snow!
When we have a day of snow down here, it paralyses everything. Schools shut down. Nobody goes out anywhere if they can help it. We all make big pots of something bubbling on the stove, pop popcorn, and make hot chocolate. It’s like a minor holiday of sorts. It is a passing fancy. We are not like a consultant that I work on projects with from upstate New York. When we were planning our next meeting, some one suggested February. She looked skeptical, and then laughed. There are no February statewide meetings where she is from because all the snow makes it hard to get together. They have had a particularly hard year this year with winter storms. Here, we’ve just had a little taste of bitter cold.
Right now, my laptop and I are sitting on the front porch contemplating life in 72 degree weather, which to my way of thinking, is just about perfect. I have on a long sleeved shirt, but it is cotton. I am barefoot. The wind chimes tinkle gently in the breeze
I have a big glass of iced tea nearby. Tea is a passion of mine.
I had a major tea adventure Saturday afternoon. A group of friends went over to New Orleans for the day. Yes, we are within eating distance of the Food Capitol of the United States. We can get there in a little over 4 hours. If we are with a group of friends, we can use that time to catch up with each other. We all live in different places and don’t get to visit as much as we’d like. We all meet up in the Mobile area and travel together.
The New Orleans trip was on the cusp of the bitter cold weather, but turned out to be a balmy day. We enjoyed time in the French Quarter eating around, but the highlight of the trip was having tea at Windsor Court, a small British boutique hotel on the edge of the Quarter. As you know, the British take their tea seriously d they price their afternoon tea accordingly. Some things are worth it. This is one of them. I am a tea drinker. It is my morning beverage of choice. Whenever I travel, I buy teas and have quite a collection. Rarely do I find one I don’t like. One that I didn’t like was a chocolate orange hazelnut green tea I bought in Baltimore. It sounded better than it turned out to be. Windsor Court serves none of that nonsense. Theirs is real British tea leaves made in pots to order. There were 5 of us, so we each got a different kind of tea. We had great fun passing the pots around and trying them all. Between us, we got Earl Grey, Jasmine, Pomegranate Oolong, Christmas Spice Tea and Gunpowder Green. I think my favorites were Earl Grey and Pomegranate Oolong.
One of my friends tells a wonderful tea story that I always think of when I drink Earl Grey tea. She said she was having afternoon tea at the Adolphus Hotel in Houston with a newly rich third wife oil heiress who was trying to learn the habits of civility. She looked at the tea list and said “Gimme some of that Early Grey tea”. I love that story.
I know that tea drinking has a reputation for stuffiness, and places like Windsor Court are a bit formal in their service. I wondered if we would be under dressed for the occasion in our jeans and weekend wear. I shouldn’t have worried. There were women at tea dressed in Ohio State jerseys that were in town for the national football championship game. There was also one chick dressed in what could only be described as hooker clothes. She had on a red sequined bustier over black satin Capri pants. These folks were treated with the utmost civility by the staff. I’m glad to see the world relaxing.
The food with the tea was not thrilling. There were 3 courses of foods. They were beautifully presented on fine china and silver stands. The sandwiches were a bit dry with no butter or mayonnaise on them. The scones were delightful, with their accompanying clotted cream, lemon curd, and raspberry preserve, but were heavy and filling. The chocolate and bite sized desserts were from a purchased source. Well, you don’t’ go to tea at Windsor Court for the food anyway. It’s the atmosphere. There was a chamber music group playing during tea time. The Christmas decorations were still up on Twelfth Night. They were beautiful and quite tasteful. There were swaged garlands made entirely of magnolia leaves gilded and twined with little gold lights. There were matching wreaths in all the windows adorned only with a red ribbon lined with gold. In the Center of the lobby was a Christmas tree the size of a swimming pool. It was the experience we went for. I feel very civilized just sitting here on the porch contemplating the memory.
Maybe when the weather turns cold again, I’ll have some friends over for afternoon tea. It will cold again soon. It is January, so we can count on it. At least we won’t have to worry about shoveling snow!
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
WHAT THE BLACK BELT MEANS TO ME
I’ve lived in the Black Belt all my life except for a brief foray into the city for a few years in Birmingham. The vibrations are different there. I realized it when I would go and come. I could feel my roots getting reconnected with the soil as soon as I hit Perry County on my way south. I noticed it, too, when I went through Dallas County to visit a friend in Sardis. Somehow, the Black Belt just feels different from the rest of Alabama. The difference is in a good way. The whole thing is a sense of place. It feels like I belong to the land and it belongs to me.
An extension of the feeling of belonging is connected to relationships. Before I went to Birmingham, I knew the people I could count on. The friendships were real and genuine. Once I got to Birmingham, I found a whole different group that would have run over their grandmother with a transfer truck to get ahead in whatever they were pursuing. Maybe cities are all pavements and striving, more cutthroat, faster paced. Maybe as a rural person, I value relationships and nature more than I do fame and fortune. Maybe I care more about sitting on the porch sharing stories with friends than I would about going to the charity balls and having my picture in the paper while wearing a fancy dress.
It’s not as though people in the Black Belt don’t know how to entertain. We’ll easily travel fifty miles to go to a good party anytime. It’s always been that way. One of my favorite stories that I share while sitting on the porch is one told me by Carl Morgan, a former mayor of Selma. He grew up in Uniontown in the 1920s. Carl Carmer says of Uniontown in his book “Stars Fell on Alabama”…”There are two places in the world where they know how to throw a good party – Paris, France , and Uniontown, Alabama.” A friend whose mother grew up in Uniontown recounted the quote to me while we were at a good party in Uniontown.
Carl Morgan’s story sums up a lot of things about entertaining in the Black Belt.
His father had a hunting camp where during hunting season, he would entertain out of town guests. The rest of the time, he and his local friends would go out there to get away from the women and drink whiskey. Nobody drank anything but bourbon whiskey and they drank a lot of it when they got together. Their wives didn’t particularly like it when they drank so much, so they headed for the woods and a hunting camp to hide out.
Mr. Morgan wanted to do something special for his friends at his entertainment. The month had an “R” in it, so he ordered a sack of oysters to be sent up from Mobile on the train. He went to the local railroad station and teletyped to Mobile to find out how long it would take to get the oysters from Mobile to Uniontown. He found out it would take 6 hours by train. The oysters would be sent in a forty pound sack in the shell and packed on ice, so they would be perfectly safe to eat upon arrival. Oysters would only be serve in a month with a “R” in it for two reasons: one was that it would be cooler weather with less likelihood of spoilage ,and the other was that in the months without an “R’, the oysters would be less flavorful because they would be spawning. Oysters have always been considered a winter delicacy in the Black Belt, and Mr. Morgan knew he would please his guests.
When the oysters arrived, Mr. Morgan took them and his cook Zeola out to the camp. He made the cocktail sauce ahead of time, so the flavors could blend. He instructed Zeola to shuck the oysters, and then serve cups of them to the men while they drank their whiskey before dinner.
The men began drinking and awaiting Mr. Morgan’s treat. He called out to the kitchen to Zeola to see if they oysters were ready. She assured him it wouldn’t be much longer. He had to call several more times before she finally arrived carrying one cup of oysters. When Mr. Morgan questioned Zeola on where the rest of the oysters were, she said “When I got through getting all the black stuff out, this is all that was left.” His friends didn’t get any oysters, but they got a great story to tell that lived on long after both Mr. Morgan and Zeola were gone. Getting one cup of oysters out of a 40 pound sack makes a great tale. The guests left knowing they had been well entertained. The meal would have lasted a few minutes, but they could dine out on the joke on Mr. Morgan for the rest of their lives, having a story good enough to be passed into generational lore. All the elements of the Black Belt are there: an appreciation for good food and entertaining, with an even greater appreciation for storytelling, socializing, and being in a natural setting. The people were real. They made mistakes in communication, but the mistakes were honest and without malice, just like the people. In the Black Belt, we treasure who we are: ancestors, warts and all.
An extension of the feeling of belonging is connected to relationships. Before I went to Birmingham, I knew the people I could count on. The friendships were real and genuine. Once I got to Birmingham, I found a whole different group that would have run over their grandmother with a transfer truck to get ahead in whatever they were pursuing. Maybe cities are all pavements and striving, more cutthroat, faster paced. Maybe as a rural person, I value relationships and nature more than I do fame and fortune. Maybe I care more about sitting on the porch sharing stories with friends than I would about going to the charity balls and having my picture in the paper while wearing a fancy dress.
It’s not as though people in the Black Belt don’t know how to entertain. We’ll easily travel fifty miles to go to a good party anytime. It’s always been that way. One of my favorite stories that I share while sitting on the porch is one told me by Carl Morgan, a former mayor of Selma. He grew up in Uniontown in the 1920s. Carl Carmer says of Uniontown in his book “Stars Fell on Alabama”…”There are two places in the world where they know how to throw a good party – Paris, France , and Uniontown, Alabama.” A friend whose mother grew up in Uniontown recounted the quote to me while we were at a good party in Uniontown.
Carl Morgan’s story sums up a lot of things about entertaining in the Black Belt.
His father had a hunting camp where during hunting season, he would entertain out of town guests. The rest of the time, he and his local friends would go out there to get away from the women and drink whiskey. Nobody drank anything but bourbon whiskey and they drank a lot of it when they got together. Their wives didn’t particularly like it when they drank so much, so they headed for the woods and a hunting camp to hide out.
Mr. Morgan wanted to do something special for his friends at his entertainment. The month had an “R” in it, so he ordered a sack of oysters to be sent up from Mobile on the train. He went to the local railroad station and teletyped to Mobile to find out how long it would take to get the oysters from Mobile to Uniontown. He found out it would take 6 hours by train. The oysters would be sent in a forty pound sack in the shell and packed on ice, so they would be perfectly safe to eat upon arrival. Oysters would only be serve in a month with a “R” in it for two reasons: one was that it would be cooler weather with less likelihood of spoilage ,and the other was that in the months without an “R’, the oysters would be less flavorful because they would be spawning. Oysters have always been considered a winter delicacy in the Black Belt, and Mr. Morgan knew he would please his guests.
When the oysters arrived, Mr. Morgan took them and his cook Zeola out to the camp. He made the cocktail sauce ahead of time, so the flavors could blend. He instructed Zeola to shuck the oysters, and then serve cups of them to the men while they drank their whiskey before dinner.
The men began drinking and awaiting Mr. Morgan’s treat. He called out to the kitchen to Zeola to see if they oysters were ready. She assured him it wouldn’t be much longer. He had to call several more times before she finally arrived carrying one cup of oysters. When Mr. Morgan questioned Zeola on where the rest of the oysters were, she said “When I got through getting all the black stuff out, this is all that was left.” His friends didn’t get any oysters, but they got a great story to tell that lived on long after both Mr. Morgan and Zeola were gone. Getting one cup of oysters out of a 40 pound sack makes a great tale. The guests left knowing they had been well entertained. The meal would have lasted a few minutes, but they could dine out on the joke on Mr. Morgan for the rest of their lives, having a story good enough to be passed into generational lore. All the elements of the Black Belt are there: an appreciation for good food and entertaining, with an even greater appreciation for storytelling, socializing, and being in a natural setting. The people were real. They made mistakes in communication, but the mistakes were honest and without malice, just like the people. In the Black Belt, we treasure who we are: ancestors, warts and all.
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