Food trivia from my in-progress compendium

Crabapple jam-jell made by Pat with fruit picked up from under a tree at an Arby's somewhere. Picker was James, the regional manager, who DID get a couple jars for his trouble.

by Pat Laster

 Here I sit at 9:30 p.m. eating a 6-inch pepperoni pizza––(“Is it too late to eat a pizza?” I asked myself. “Yes,” I answered, but my arm and hand opened the freezer door, pulled one out anyway, thus counteracting my left-brained answer.)––and taking notes from one of the paragons of humorous writing, Dorothy Parker.

           Her humor isn’t rubbing off on me, but here are some facts I didn’t know, and which I thought interesting at the time. Before –and if—I publish this book of journal jottings, I will update each item.

            *As of January 2010, Taco Bell was owned by Yum Brands and is the largest Mexican fast-food chain in the US. (Associated Press, hereafter AP)

           *Paul Newman and A. E. Hotchner, author of Papa Hemingway, started Newman’s Own line of salad dressings in 1982.

           * Two varieties of pumpkins are Jack B. Little (miniatures) and Sugar Pie.

           * Two varieties of pear are Moonglow and Harrow Delight.

           * Two varieties of fig are Brown Turkey and Celeste.

           * Jersey Red is a variety of apple.

           * A ‘butter bell’ is the name of a French-inspired crock to keep butter soft without refrigeration. Now, it is a brand name for such a crock.

 Did you hear about the guy who robbed a Staten Island pizzeria and fled with a bag of dough?

            * Oreos were introduced in 1912.

             * PepsiCo Inc. is the world’s largest snack-food maker. – D Welch, Bloomberg News (2.16.12)
             * Kellogg Co. is buying Proctor and Gamble’s Pringles potato chip business for about $2.7 billion, making it the largest maker of savory snacks sold in 140 countries.

            * According to David S. Bachman, MD, writing in the September 2011 issue of the now defunct Aging Arkansas, bananas are better than apples. He said bananas prevent depression, build brain power, control blood pressure, helps avoid constipation, helps cure hangovers, heart burn, mosquito bites (rub it with inside of a banana skin) and nervousness. Bananas suppress food cravings, help SAD sufferers, aids in quitting smoking, reduces stress and helps prevent strokes.

            * In the fall of 2010, Sara Lee sold its Fresh Bakery to Grupo Bimbo, a Mexican baking giant based in Mexico City, which made it the largest US baker (sic). Sara Lee said it will keep its Hillshire Farms meat and Senseo Coffee, its frozen desserts and deli meats. (S, Skidmore & M. Chapman) Since then, Sara Lee has made other changes, some of which are mentioned later.

           * Statements from a news article quoted the late Julia Child as saying, “Don’t snack. I never snack. The French don’t snack.” Don’t tell me she didn’t lick her fingers or ream the batter from beaters and bowls when she baked.
            “If you eat three sensible meals,” she continued, “you shouldn’t snack.” She didn’t specify a sensible meal, but I’ll bet a bagel it wouldn’t have been the same as Bridgette Bardot’s!          

           *Speaking of updates, here’s one: Sara Lee, long a conglomerate, has further slimmed down to only meat and cheesecake, and has been renamed to Hillshire Brands. For further details, see Emily York’s article from the Chicago Tribune that was published in the Arkansas Democrat- Gazette on July 1.

c 2012 by Pat Laster dba lovepat press

Happy Birthday to my firstborn, plus a vacation wrap-up

Gordon and his niece Lainee at an Arkansas Razorback football game in 2011

by Pat Laster

          Fifty-one years ago today, Gordon Allen was born, and from the first instant I laid eyes on the tiny blond, I knew he was a keeper. He, his wife Karen and their daughter Breezy live in Pensacola area. Happy birthday, son.
            Poet John Berryman’s “Dream Song 104” begins, “Welcome, grinned Henry, welcome fifty-one.” I hope that’s your attitude, too, Gordon.
           Speaking of birthdays, I observed my seventy-sixth on the ninth of July, but the sisters gifted me early with a gorgeous long, ruffled scarf and multi-beaded bracelet to match the army-green tunic I’d bought in Lebanon on the way to the rendezvous. My song for the year is “Seventy-six trombones.”

Now to the unfinished sisters’ vacation report. Thursday morning, while others were at various activities, I sat out on the deck and journaled. Several black wasps circled. I reached up and flailed the air to dissuade them, and one attached itself to my left thumb long enough to sting.

           I knew to go straight for the ice and the sting abated, but I kept watch on the digit. First, the lower thumb swelled, then the poison spread from there to the back of my hand all the way across. I’ve been stung before and am not allergic, but it was the end of the day before the swelling disappeared.
           Later that morning, we piled in (literally--with three in the back seat) Barb’s Honda hybrid sedan, and began our daily foray for fleas and ‘tiques. And lunch at a tearoom we’d discovered two days earlier.
            We had a reservation for a 5:00 pontoon boat tour of Lake Dartmoor, so—without going “home,” we drove (quite a ways) to the marina. Clouds had moved in during the afternoon like they often do in the summer. We hoped it would cool the air through one of the half-covered pontoon boats that we’d heard were piloted by “comical old geezers.”
           We paid our $8 fares and soon an “old geezer” called for “the Stefan party” to board. The fine-looking older man saw us safely in and, being first, we headed for the back seats. Three retired couples joined the tour. We putt-putted out of the slip even as the clouds darkened.
            Lake Dartmoor, the largest of seven lakes in Fairfield Glade, lapped up against huge houses with terrific lawns. Mr. Guide pointed out one house belonging to a retired Fed-Ex executive who retired at fifty. Other owners were similarly well off.
           The wind began after we’d passed the first golf course. Many tiny white caps dotted the water. Mr. Guide looked worried. He asked his passengers what to do? One of the Stefan party (not me) said, “Turn around!” He seemed glad to oblige; we started back to the marina.
           In the meantime, a blast of water hit one of the women, soaking her shirt. She quickly took cover with us who’d scooted closer together to make room. Another woman came back, too, and their mates stood up on either side of center. The other couple stoically stayed put.
             The second pilot was waiting for us and helped to get us moored. The wind whipped and whirled. We held on to each other walking down the pier and to the safety of the inside. “Don’t go for your cars, yet,” one of the men said. “The wind’s too strong; a limb might break off.” We obeyed. One sister took all five rain checks against the possibility that she and Husband might stay at this resort later.
          The next day, we packed—not a short-term task—and a little after 1 p.m., all three cars pulled out—two headed for Virginia and us homing toward Arkansas—and many good memories went with each person in each car.
         By the way, Tennessee is 440 miles long, but only the 36^th largest state in square miles. Arkansas is 29^th! I guess it only seemed like a long way. I still like the idea of hover cars or monorails.
           And I think I’ll watch “The Music Man” tonight. (“Seventy-six trombones…”)

Memorial Garden in Oak Ridge in memory of my Aunt Arlene Ziegler, the "lady who loves flowers"

Why is Tennessee so darn long?

by Pat Laster

             Oh, for the advent of hover cars or zippy monorails to lessen the time it takes to drive from central Arkansas to East Tennessee.

             Four sisters, each with morning rituals: two walk early and fast; one can’t keep up with the seasoned walkers, so she and I walk together—every other day, slower, and for a shorter time. Still, every little step counts, right?

             Lacking a daily paper delivered to our door, my ritual was scrubbed, so on my off-walking days, I took my journal and my writer-friend Freeda’s new novel and sat on the deck until the heat became unbearable.Not wanting one opportunity to go by, we loaded up on Sunday to hit the various flea markets, antique shops we’d scoped out in route. All of us were active church women except when we were on vacation. Nothing was open at 10 a.m., of course.

            After the church hour, we did find enough venues open to satisfy our day’s outing. That night, back at the condo, I heard thunder. “No,” one of the others said, “it’s someone opening or closing the patio doors. Or moving the iron furniture around on the patio.”
           But it WAS thunder, and the next morning, it was cool and breezy. We sat out and breathed in the woodsy, bird-song filled air. Poems written during this time can be found on my poetry blog, pittypatter@blogspot.com.
           That night, a thunderstorm hit, so we turned up the AC and opened the heavy doors, leaving the screen doors to shield the bugs. While the others waited for maintenance to reprogram the TV-DVD after management installed new programming, I betook myself outside under the deck overhang and enjoyed the storm--with a glass of chardonnay.
         Later, we watched the movie “Chocolat,” a sweet tale about a woman (gypsy?) who moved into town and opened a chocolate shop during Lent. Despite efforts of the mayor to poison the townspeople to her, her child and her shop, in the end, the town became more friendly, more inclusive and more accepting. Johnny Depp and Judy Dench (my favorite) also starred. I recommend it.
        We’d talked about doing nothing on the Fourth, but that was not to be.  I’d bought a Knoxville News Sentinel that morning while walking, so I begged off the mid-morning foray to Jacqueline’s boutique, which had been closed heretofore, and for gas and groceries.
         At 4-ish p.m., they returned after Barb’s friend Glenda from Evansville met up with them. She would stay the rest of the week, and then spend a week with Barb in Virginia. We were in for a treat. She’d brought “crafts,” so that night, before supper, we decorated wine glass bases with glittter, faux stones, strips of sequins, glue (a bottle for each), tiny shells—the works.
         After supper, we played UNO until time for the fireworks, which we watched through the trees from the deck.
          NEXT WEEK:  the wasp sting and the pontoon boat ride on Lake Dartmoor. And why Tennessee is so darn long.

plpalaster21@gmail.com
c 2012 by Pat Laste dba lovepat press

Also hot in Fairfield Glade, Tennessee

by Pat Laster

          Hello and cool breezes to you who have to work outside in the stifling heat. Sitting in the cool of a condo situated in a resort town beyond Nashville but before Knoxville, I finish typing this during our annual sisters’ week.
          It is Sunday afternoon, July 1. We four have been out today since mid-morning, and it is now 4:30. All antique stores, flea markets and thrift stores were closed until noon.  We drove to Crossville and ate a Shoney’s breakfast buffet, which we all remembered with fondness until the chain closed all its stores in central Arkansas
         The Couch sisters, from youngest to oldest, are Beverly, Barbara, Carolyn and me. Fifteen years separate us. I remember, because when I was 15 and typically teenager-ish, I was embarrassed that Mom was . . . was.  . . expecting (ahem) again. Beverly lives in Little Rock and has worked at Blue Cross Blue Shield since she graduated from Hendrix College (the fifth Couch child to do so). She is still gaga over her one-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter, Hazel Rose, who, with her mother, was visiting even as she left.
           Barbara, still a church musician, has both a new home in Herndon Virginia, and a new job at a nearby Presbyterian church. She loves both. And as usual, the church loves her.
         Carolyn is a retired teacher, a volunteer, church choir alto, wife, mother of two grown sons, and “Gram” to Marlee. In late October, Carolyn will –for the second time— walk down a church aisle as the mother of the groom. Her younger son is marrying in Fayetteville.
            And you know about me.
           We three Arkansans loaded a Honda Civic with clothes, food, coolers, purses and laptops. We pulled away from Couchwood at 2:30 p.m. and headed east.
              Driving I-40 toward Memphis was a pain with all the road work, so we cut down to Highway 70, as did many others, mostly truckers. By the time it took to actually get to 70, and then drive to Biscoe, we might just as well have stayed on the freeway.
              We were at Dickson, Tennessee by 10 o’clock. We stopped for the night, and then drove on Saturday morning. During that leg of the trip, our Virginia sister called. Her Honda hybrid had developed brake trouble.  What did we ever do without cell phones?
            Bev had an iPhone, so she pulled into a church parking lot in the shade, Googled brake repair businesses in the area. She found, and then called a Hondo dealership in Knoxville. Barb followed her directions, got new brake pads and both vehicles eventually met at the condo, phones still up to the two sisters’ ears.
          Again, I ask, how did we ever get to our destinations without the technology to guide us to the exact addresses?
         Tired after two days of driving, the Hoochie Mamas were finally together again!

c 2012 by Pat Laster dba lovepat press