Back in May, I took I picture in a bathroom at the first event I had attended since March 14, 2020
A bathroom selfie
I did it as a joke
The face flushed a thousand toilets
There it is. The one that started it all
Since that time I’ve taken more pictures
Again, all with tongue firmly ensconced in cheek
In reply, I’ve received all manner of comments
“Damnit, I hate it when I click on these”
“About to unfollow”
“Dapper”
🤌
🔥🔥🔥🔥
“Don’t hurt em”
This one got the most comments. I think it’s the sport coat
All are valid responses
I generally let people know that the man in the mirror is a certified fool for doing this if anyone slides into the DMs. (Do the kids still say that?)
My mother calls bathrooms “rest rooms” which she shortens to “RR”. With her accent it sounds like “Aah Aah”. We say Aah Aah in my family when facilities are required for personal comfort
So, I’ve been taking pictures in the Aah Aah trying to make people laugh. Didn’t know I’d be making them mad, seem foolish, tricking their sense of propriety
One follower suggested a coffee table book
One suggested I begin a clothing line
One suggested I should be banned from using my phone
More than one has suggested I stop. Really. Please. Stop
Those who know me well can attest that I may be the least narcissistic person they know, which is in itself the most narcissistic statement I have ever written
In fact, I still have imposter syndrome, even though I’ve tried to get rid of that, too.
As Groucho Marx said, “Why would I want to be a member of a club that would have me as a member?”
These pictures are meant to make people laugh. I had no idea that such stupidity would cause so many reactions.
Especially with toilets, toilet paper, stalls, driers in the background
Again, as I have written to several commenters, “That guy is a fool”
Duncan Clinch Heyward wrote Seed from Madagascar in the 1930s. He wrote to chronicle rice cultivation in the Lowcountry from its beginnings in the late 17th Century to its end in the early 20th Century
First edition…still think it was designed to look like an old croker sack
According to Hewyard, it was rumored that Captain John Thurber gave rice seed to Dr. Henry Woodward while Thurber’s vessel harbored in Charleston. From whence came that rice seed? You got it. Madagascar. At least that’s how Mr. Heyward tells the story of the beginnings of rice culture round these environs. That tale is repeated in the Rice section of that venerable Charleston cooking tome, Charleston Receipts
“Long before there were cobblestone streets along the Charleston battery, there was rice, and there were slaves – the twin pillars upon which colonial Carolina wealth was built.” Duncan Clinch Heyward. Seed from Madagascar, The University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill (1937)
I have copy number 4593 of the original printing. Mr. Heyward claimed to be a distaff relation of Dr. Woodward, too.
From 1685 to 1914, rice grew in the Lowcountry in large amounts. The Big Gun Shoot ended slavery. Hurricanes in the late 19th and early 20th centuries inundated rice fields which could never recover. Subsidence of flooded land didn’t help either. Neither did the discovery that rice could be grown cheaper and easier in Arkansas, Louisiana, and Texas
Local farmers have brought back rice growing round these parts in the last few decades, but we will never be the rice kingdom we once were
Carolina gold indeed
Despite not having large scale rice production for over a hundred years, this part of the world still eats a lot of rice. LOTS of rice.
Mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving? Hell no
It’s always rice and gravy.
Any good meat and three restaurant round these parts always includes rice as a vegetable
Old joke:
Why are Charlestonians like the Chinese?
They eat rice and worship their ancestors
And, oh, what rice they eat! Almost all versions of which evolved from West African cooking through the same people who planted, tended, harvested, winnowed, and packaged the rice for market
From plain white rice steamed hard in the old school rice steamer, to Hoppin’ John on New Year’s Day, to Limpin’ Susan with okra, to all manner of pilaus, and, to get to the point at last, cooked with onions, bacon, and tomato paste to make red rice
Some people add a little sausage to it
Red rice is my all time favorite rice dish, which food historians now tell us is an adaptation of Jollof rice from West Africa. Makes sense considering the slaves who grew the rice were brought from West Africa because of their ability to handle a rice crop
There was rice
There were slaves
My mother makes a baked version with shrimp and sausage. It’s devine. She makes it in an old Le Creuset Dutch oven with a tight fitting lid
The old Piggly Wiggly at the Sea Island Shopping Center in Mount Pleasant made the best red rice. Hands down. Each grain separated. Each grain coated with tomato, bacon grease, a little salt sugar, pepper. Onions cooked to almost liquid. Sausage coins throughout. A little heat from black pepper, but not much else.
I make the red rice from Charleston Receipts. I steam it hard in the old aluminum rice steamer that my parents gave me. It had been given them as a present in the early days of their moving to Beaufort
When I was in college in Chapel Hill, my aunt and uncle who lived there would ask me to make them some red rice and bring it over from time to time. They would freeze it. Both from South Carolina, they just couldn’t find red rice in The Southern Part of Heaven in Orange County, North Carolina
I think red rice might be a dish served from Brunswick, GA, up to Wilmington, NC. The old rice growing areas of the Southeast. I don’t see it anywhere else on the menu
I was asked by a pal in Charlotte, NC, to share the recipe, or I guess I should say receipt
In the old seafood restaurants round here, seafood was always accompanied by red rice and cole slaw
The Shrimp Shack outside of Beaufort always serves red rice with their seafood. It’s perfection, too
This goes great with any manner of fish, shrimp, crab
It’s gluten free
It’s not Keto
It’s not vegan
It is a balm to the soul
If you don’t have a rice steamer, make the rice as set forth below, but add four cups of water, turn into a baking dish large enough to hold all the ingredients, and cover tightly with a lid or with foil and bake for 40-45 minutes, stirring a couple of times
But, really, if you don’t have a rice steamer, then, well, bless your heart
Just kidding
As I said above, my mother has baked her red rice for decades and decades, and it’s amazingly delicious with the addition of shrimp and sausage. I probably should get her receipt
But, I still steam mine
Jeanne Sams Aimar, whom I called Memar, our across the street neighbor growing up, has her version of red rice printed in Sea Island Seasons. Memar steamed her red rice. However, right next to Memar’s version is Mary Olive Whitney’s baked version. No right or wrong to it. Steam it or bake it.
This version is an adaptation of the Red Rice as printed in Charleston Receipts submitted by Mrs. Charles Gibbs (Wilmot Welch).
2 cups raw rice – do not use Uncle Ben’s – trust me
Cook bacon until crisp in a large sauté pan. Remove bacon and crumble when cool. Sauté onions in bacon grease until soft. Do not brown. Add tomato paste, then fill tomato paste can up with water. Add to the onions and tomato paste. Do that two more times for a total of three cans of water. Told you it would make sense. Add salt, sugar, pepper. Cook until smooth, about 5 minutes. Place rice in top of rice steamer and add tomato paste mixture and mix well with a fork. Fill bottom of steamer with as much water so to steam hard but not to touch the bottom of the part that holds the rice. If you steam rice, then you know what I mean. Steam hard for 1/2 hour. Add the bacon and mix well. Steam for another 30 to 40 minutes. If it seems too dry, you can add another half cup of water. You generally don’t have too. Fluff with a fork to mix any sauce that has settled on the top.
Again, if no rice steamer is in your kitchen, add four cups of water and not three cans of water, turn into a baking dish large enough to hold all the ingredients, including the bacon, cover tightly with foil and bake for 40-45 minutes, stirring a couple of times
Serve hot
I put a little hot sauce on the table when I serve it. Tabasco. Texas Pete. Whatever you like
As you savor each bite of goodness, remember to thank John Thurber, Henry Woodward, Wilmot Welch Gibbs (Mrs. Charles), and the thousands of slaves whose names will we never know who really brought, grew, harvested, and taught us to cook that seed from Madagascar
“Wisdom comes to us when it can no longer do any good.” Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Love in the Time of Cholera
In the spring of 1990, there were a privileged group of high school Seniors studying in the southwest back corner room of Bullfinch Hall on the campus of Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts
We were taking a high level English class under the tutelage of Lou Bernieri, then head of the English Department. For some reason, I recall that we had to apply to take the class. I have been told that the class was called “The Myth of America”. I don’t remember what it was called, but I know we read great works, discussed them with great vigor, and wrote great responses to the writing
The material was all over the map, but there was a strong emphasis on magical realism and the beautiful word
Raymond Carver’s Cathedral, Don DeLillo’s White Noise; Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera; Vertamae Smart-Grosvenor’s Vibration Cooking: or, the Travel Notes of a Geechee Girl, which was my favorite since Ms. Smart-Grosvenor was from the Lowcountry. Yankees didn’t get it. A friend of mine and I did. Not sure why we read Garcia Marquez in that class, but we did
Speaking of the work, “A Small Good Thing” by Mr. Carver still makes me cry. “They waited all day, but still the boy did not wake up.” If you’ve never read it, I highly encourage it. Bring some tissues
In that rarefied environment, Hamlin O’Kelley, skinny white boy from the Lowcountry, and Todd Isaac, skinny black boy from the Bronx, sat side by side and cracked each other up and drove Mr. Bernieri crazy. We drove our classmates crazy, too. Wanda Mann still recalls our antics. She rolled her eyes in time with the rest of the girls in our class
“Ok, you, two. That’s enough,” Lou would say to us
“Oh, look, the odd couple are at it again”
“Isaac! O’Kelley! I swear I’m sending you two to [Mr.] Carter [the Dean of Students]!” He never did
Todd and I just found so much of the material to be fodder for jokes, which material could be a bit heavy
“Cholera? More like diarrhea! Of the mouth”
“So, the baker keeps calling and calling and calling. Why the hell doesn’t the dad just pay the damn $16.00?”
“The dude in the Hitler Studies department has a kid named Heinrich?”
“Airborne Toxic Event….like after Chicken Kiev from Commons?”
“Reading this makes me HONGRY, Lou!”
Basically, Statler and Waldorf type cracks all class
Todd and I looked forward to Lou’s class and would high five each other around campus whenever we saw each other
Todd and I did not have the same friend group otherwise. We didn’t eat in the same dining hall. We didn’t live in the same dorm. We didn’t hang out on weekends. We didn’t try to flaunt the rules of the Academy together
Todd’s family, like so many black families in New York City, was originally from the South. He told me stories of going to see relatives in North Carolina. When he found out I was going to the University of North Carolina, he said that he would come visit on a trip to see his family in Salisbury
Todd was going to Holy Cross in Worcester, Mass. He had been recruited to play basketball. I said may be I’d see him if I ever came back to Massachusetts.
“You’re never coming to Chapel Hill!”
“You’re never coming to Worcester!”
“Dude, no one wants to go to Worcester. Not even the people from Worcester”
And, then, Todd would laugh and crack another joke and slap me on the arm
“Hammy, you are terrible”
“Todd Antoine, you are terrible”. I liked to kid him using his middle name.
“Dude, that’s what my mama calls me when I’m in trouble”
“Dude”
We said “Dude” all the time. What were we? Surfers?
After graduating from high school, we went to our separate colleges. After college, I went on to live in Kenya for a year and then on to Law School. After college, Todd went on to working in finance in his native city
He wrote to me a couple of times when I was in Kenya. I wrote him a couple of times when he was in New York. I have the letters he wrote me in Kenya
Lots of jokes about whitey in his homeland. Asking if I felt out of place. Wondering if I had killed a lion on my safari
I can’t remember what I wrote him, but I knew he was off to a storied career already working those crazy NYC finance hours. First in; last out
Then, like a lot of friends, we lost touch. Not because of any falling out but because of entropy
The last I heard about Todd was that he had already become a partner at the place he worked
In big time finance
At Cantor Fitzgerald
One World Trade
Lest we forget
Todd Isaac died at 8:46 a.m. on September 11, 2001
Twenty years ago today
When the news readers repeated the name Cantor Fitzgerald in the aftermath of that terrible day, I knew Todd was dead. We all did
I knew he was probably one of the first ones in to work and one of the last ones out. Always. First in; last out
I knew he probably cracked everyone up as he rode the express elevators to those fated floors. I knew he was cracking up his partners, his staff. I knew he was deadly serious about that which needed to be serious but with a strong sense of humor at the ready to take the piss out of anyone who needed it taking
In those pre-texting days, emails went around among our classmates confirming what we all knew
Todd was somewhere between the 101st and 105th floors of One World Trade that morning that began with the most blue of blue skies over Manhattan. The most beautiful of mornings
On each anniversary of September 11, I laugh and cry thinking about our whispering together, our disrupting, our discussing great literature under Lou Bernieri’s bemused gaze, much to the annoyance of our classmates
You know who you are
Lou acted mad, but Todd and I were the class clowns and class favorites. Lou has since confirmed our obstreperous presences made him smile. He loved that two so different fools found each other and bonded over the written word
In the years after 9/11, our schoolmates have hosted the Todd A. Isaac Memorial Basketball Tournament and an after party in Todd’s memory in New York City. Our high school’s alumni come to play and to laugh and to mourn and to remember. Proceeds established a scholarship to our alma mater in his name. Our class contributed early, often, generously. In two years, we had raised enough funds for a full schlarship in his name. Go Blue!
I need to go to the tournament sometime
Todd would laugh at my showing up and laugh even harder if I tried to play in the tournament
There is a scholarship to Holy Cross in his name, too.
In another twist, our classmate Jake Barton helped design the 9/11 Memorial Museum. Jake noted that Todd was in his thoughts literally every day as he worked on that sacred space
Every
Day
Jake confirmed that Todd would have been laughing his head off knowing that he, Jake, was on the job.
True statement
If you ever go to Ground Zero, please look for Panel N56 on the National September 11 Memorial and find Todd’s name
Last year’s initial college drop off for our elder daughter was tough
Not because of our elder flying the nest. I’ve never read Grown & Flown. Not planning on starting
It was tough because of Covid
Stupid Rona
Hate her
Last year, it was a drop off at the private dorms where I lived 31 years ago
Last year, it was masks and foreboding
Drop off 2020 – not that great
Last year, it was “Where You Heading Carolina?”which was a shaming social media account busting students gathering in groups of more than four and heading out to act like, well, people their own age
Last year, it was uncertainty and dark clouds hovering
Last year, it was graduate from high school and then three days later head to Chapel Hill
Well, this year, it was literally rainbows, unicorns, smiles from ear to ear, joy, joy, and more joy
It’s a great day to be a Tar Heel
#gdtbath
May be that is the benefit of being a sophomore and knowing a good group of people and having a sorority house in which to live in which friends of mine and my daughter’s have also lived. More on that later
May be it was that despite Delta variants and Covid protocols and unprecedented times and admonitions to “stay safe”, life does and will go on and on and on
Thanks be to God
This year’s drop off had a wonderful sense of opportunity and joy
The two weeks before, we began packing, assembling, putting together, organizing, check listing
The week before, we began to amass goods and furniture and items in the dining room
Three days before we had a family farewell supper at a restaurant
Two days before, we had a going away supper with dear pals
The day before, we loaded my car and our elder’s car with everything but hanging clothes and our spend the night clothes
The day of, we were out of our driveway and on the interstate by 8:30 a.m.
We had to be in Chapel Hill in time for a Zoom call at 3:00 p.m. for rush training
It’s a big deal
Trust me
We love Chapel Hill
We don’t love the ride
It’s really dull
I95 to I40
The only good thing about it is that we may stop for food at Smithfield’s Chicken ‘N Bar-B-Q
#scnbbq
There are two that we love
One in Lumberton – Exit 22 on I95 in North Carolina
One in Clayton/Fuquay-Varina – Exit 312 on I40 in North Carolina
Well, it was early, but we stopped at the Smithfield’s in Lumberton
There weren’t many people there
Even though the county seat of Robeson County is only 22 miles from South Carolina, it’s another world
I love their Eastern NC bbq, the fried chicken, the hush puppies, the slaw, the potato salad, the skinny french fries
But, what I really love is the people watching
“Y’all drive careful gettin’ home. We’s fixin’ to have a pour down”
That was the advice from one of the ladies who worked at the Smithfield’s in Lumberton
A pour down
I’ve never heard that term, but it’s mine now
This was also the same lady who said, “Lemme put this tray down right chere, and I’ll hep you with that in a sec”
I love North Carolina
After that repast, we rolled straight on into Chapel Hill
First stop, the Carolina Inn
Early check in requested and granted
We adore that place
Our daughters beat us there by a few minutes. I watched with pride as the elder spoke to the parking attendant, took her parking ticket, and drove over to the self parking lot
Such pride
We took all of our things to check in and Dylan welcomed us. I know him as Dyls at this point
Old pals
“Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. O’Kelley. See y’all will be here in September and November, too”
Our elder child texted her friends “They know my parents at the Inn. So on brand”
She was full of joy to be in town
We threw our things in our room and headed to Student Stores on campus to pick up some loot for a neighbor who is also a Tar Heel. He has to indoctrinate his children
Much to our chagrin, masks are still required in all UNC owned buildings, so it was masks for all of us
NBD
Then a little walk through campus on the way to Franklin Street
The Old Well, South Building, Tourists
Back to the Inn for our elder who had to jump on her Zoom
We wandered around Franklin Street seeking two items of UNC clothing, both of which we found
It was great to see people on the street
So different from last year
Then, back to the Inn for my wife and younger daughter
I stopped in at the Ackland Museum of Art, which is free and open to the public. Mask required. They have been closed for months and months for renovations and rona. It’s UNC’s art museum. Mr. Ackland wanted his fellow Tar Heels to have access to fine art. He did a great job even if the museum is greatly reduced due to staffing concerns during these, wait for it, unprecedented times
I did get to see Cleopatra and The Peasant by Delacroix. I wrote a paper about that painting for an art history class
Then, I met everyone back at the Inn
We heard Dyls telling another couple at the front desk that there were going to be two weddings that night
I told them they could crash both
I also advised that D.J. Joe Bunn would be working one of them
And, come on, free drinks!
My younger daughter was mortified
I have never crashed a wedding
At this point, we were flagging a bit. It was down to the Crossroads Restaurant for a drink and some snacks
And, it being Chapel Hill, for unplanned mini-reunions
I looked at this lady there
She looked at me
Finally, I said who I was
She replied, “Oh my Lord. Hamlin, it’s [So and So]. You know I’m [So and So]’s pal”
I have not seen her or her husband since 1994
She was dropping off her sophomore son
And, I met a dad who was there dropping off his daughter at the same place we would be
Lovely people
Always great to see a Tar Heel or three
We visited and hung out and laughed and talked about people we knew and who was where and what they were doing these days
As we sat on the patio near the front porch and visited with our pals, we noticed two girls on a Zoom not far from us
A few minutes later, our elder sent a text, “Y’all are on the Zoom background of [So and So’s] screen”
It was the daughter of the dad we had just met
“Y’all need to come back here tonight. We’re going to shut it DOWN”
That was going to be a no for me, but I love the idea
Anyway, after our refreshment, we had to go to Target, because one is never fully prepped for drop off
Then, it was finally time that we could go back to the room
We fixed an adult beverage and went to the private courtyard and garden while our children beautified themselves
No one is ever there in the courtyard
View from my private courtyard
Well, usually no one is there. The bride and groom and the wedding photographer of one of the weddings I planned on crashing all showed up. When we offered our congratulations, the groom seemed a bit grumpy
“Guess he forgot about the wedding night,” I said to my bride
“Shhhhh”, she said to me as we walked inside
We went back to the room to collect our people to go back to supper at 6:30
Early birds
Worms
Big day ahead
My younger child and I were leading the pack and crossing the lobby when a lady walking across our path stopped, turn, and said, “Hamlin? It’s [So and So]. I’m going to a wedding. Cocktails in the tent then supper in the ballroom.” I introduced her to our younger daughter
“What are y’all doing in town?”
“Moving [Elder Daughter] into the [Same Sorority She Was In] House in the morning.”
In response, the Wedding Guest did her arms in the Greek letters along with a signature move
“She’s going to have the best time. I loved living there. Ok – off to the wedding. Actually, they got married last year at Bald Head. This is just a celebration. I’ve not been out in months”
It was off to supper where another table of girls in another sorority and their parents were sitting
And we had a lovely meal
We all went back to the room instead of shutting down the bar
Everyone was asleep by 10 p.m. after watching the gripping “Thirteen Going on Thirty” starting one Jennifer Garner. I highly recommend it
The next day dawned early
I was up and at it
Took things to the car
Drank coffee fast
Straight to breakfast
Where we saw more girls who would be moving in shortly
And my new best friend fellow sorority dad
“What time did you go to bed?”
“Oh, we shut down the bar at 12:30”
“Just like [So and So] said she would”
“Oh yeh…see y’all in a few”
As soon as breakfast was wolfed down we hopped in our cars and drove to the Greek lettered building on East Franklin Street
And, then, it began
The sweat filled move in of 2021 at the [Greek Letter] [Greek Letter] House
Our poor daughter had never been in despite being a Sister/Brother for almost a year
We sweated, we lifted, we groaned, we moved, we coordinated
We spoke to everyone
Everyone spoke to us
By 10:30 we were finished
A few minutes later, one of the roommates announced she and her mama were pulling into the parking lot
I saw new best friend dad several times
We also saw other parents we knew and met some others
Old home week style
Ensconsed behind those two windows on the 2nd Floor – great view of Franklin St
Our younger daughter and I were the real man power, real woman power, real girl power
Elder daughter and Mama were decorators, bed makers, arrangers
Clammy with sweat we were
The house mother could not have been more lovely. She was ready to greet the girls with smiles and warmth and ready, willing, and able to help
And to take my check for the semester’s room and board
We walked back to Student Stores for an exchange and liquids
Then back through campus
“How about a picture by the Old Well?”
’24, ’94
So, iconic images captured
Of the Old Well, not the old alumnus and current student I mean
We went back to the house for one last check in with roomies before lunch
Trying to find the one restroom allowing men, I got turned around, again, and, got lost in the constant upstairs, downstairs. Through my sweat dried eyes, I turned and came face to face with a shot of Ginny Meeks, one of my oldest friends who lived in the same sorority house some thirty three years ago.
She died in 2017
She and I had a moment of prayer, then I may or may not have kissed the composite photo. I asked that she look out for our daughter and not let her doing anything she wouldn’t have done
And, yes, I kissed the glass
We went out to lunch at a local spot our daughter loves
We were all beyond hot and in need of more liquids
Back to the house to check that half of the occupants of the room were fully unpacked
Then, it was time to go
No tears at all
Just joyful hugs
“See you in a month”
“Parents’ weekend is going to be so much fun”
“We will mail you that stuff tomorrow”
“One last selfie”
“Let me take a picture of y’all”
All Smiles 2021
So much different this year
So much happier
So much joy
#gdtbath
It’s a great day to be a Tar Heel
The next day, I awoke to a text advising us that our elder daughter had a wonderful night, went out with a fun group, and hung out with a certain group of boys who live in a similarly Greek lettered establishment not too far away
In the summer, when the tomatoes are really great, we make tomato pie, that wonderful concoction of layered tomatoes, green onions, basil, salt and pepper all baked under a mixture of cheese and mayonnaise.
We always buy two deep dish pie shells. Ain’t nothing wrong with store bought pie shells
We always say we’re going to use the other pie shell. We never do. Instead, we throw it in the back of the freezer where it burns and desiccates into a cracked mess
Instead of that waste, I am prone to make a dessert pie to go with the tomato pie
And, what is easy as pie?
Buttermilk Pie
Specifically that from one lady named Sibyl
I have a splattered sheet entitled “Sibyl’s Buttermilk Pie – Junior League of Jackson, Miss”
It’s really the easiest pie in the world
Most of time, I have the ingredients on hand
Yes, I still buy buttermilk
It’s a great summer dessert
Especially on a Sunday afternoon
And so damned easy
Sibyl’s Buttermilk pie
1 9 inch deep dish unbaked pie shell
1/2 cup butter, softened to room temperature
2 cups sugar
3 tablespoons flour
3 eggs
1 cup buttermilk
1 tsp vanilla
Dash ground nutmeg or mace
Cream butter and sugar with mixer until light and fluffy. Add flour and mix well. Add eggs one at a time and mix well after each addition. Stir in buttermilk, vanilla, and nutmeg. Mix well. Pour into pie shell and bake 350 for 45 -50 mins. May need to shield the crust after 30 minutes or so.
Let cool completely before serving
If you want to gild the lily, you can add whipped cream or some such when serving. I never do
I loathe sweetened ice tea. Or is it sweet iced tea? O sweet ice tea? Or sweetened iced tea? It matters not. I don’t like it no matter how it’s spelled or what it’s called
It’s very Un-Southern of me. Like lose your Southerner Card Un-Southern of me. And, don’t get me started on that foul concoction known as banana pudding. That’s a tale for another day
At the now shuttered Price’s Chicken Coop in Charlotte, NC, I once asked the lady behind the counter for an un-sweetened ice tea to wash down my boxed lunch of fried chicken, slaw, hush puppies
She glared at me and said, “Baby, we only have sweet tea”
As she said it, I watched another lady across the kitchen space mixing freshly brewed tea with pounds and pounds of sugar
“But, she’s mixing unsweetened tea with sugar right there”
She was not to be trifled with by me
“Baby, we only have sweet tea.”
So, I drank the sweetened humming bird nectar and felt heart palpitations, headache, and more thirst. Sweetened ice tea does nothing to slake thirst. In fact, it only makes the drinker all the more thirsty
Change my mind
You can’t
Protective even
All that being said, there is one sweetened tea mixture that I will drink by the gallon
It’s my great grandmothers Tea Punch made with strong black tea, sugar, lemons, mint, pineapple juice, and ginger ale, pronounced jin-juh -A-uhl
My great aunt in Savannah used to make it for family functions
“Well, I’m serving mama’s tea punch” she would tell us
It’s really refreshing on a hot summer day
It can be served in a punch bowl with punch cups, too. But, I like it in a glass with a ton of ice
We children couldn’t get enough of it. It’s not cloyingly sweet like that stuff they pour all over the South, but, boy, is it good
I have the index card with my great aunt’s writing on it that reads “Big Easy’s Tea Punch”. Notes included. It’s those notes that are a treasure.
Because it’s the summer, I’m sharing this with all four or five of you who follow me. Some of you have had this at my parents’ house, too.
Wish you could have quaffed it at my great-aunt and uncle’s house in Savannah paired with shrimp creole and hot rice and beaten biscuit along with that green salad with a secret dressing on the side
Pass additional sliced lemon and mint and serve over lots and lots of ice
Mint won’t grow in a henpecked house. It grows with abandon at our house
Big Easy’s Tea Punch
3 family sized Lipton’s tea bags
2 lemons, quartered and additional lemon slices for garnish
1 cup sugar
1 cup pineapple juice
1 cup ginger ale
1/4 cup fresh mint leaves plus more for garnish
In a pot bring 3 quarts water to rolling boil and add the tea bags. Add a quarter cup of the mint. Let steep for at least 20 minutes
In a separate pot, place the quartered lemons and add 3 quarts of water. Place on the heat and remove as soon as bubbles form. Don’t bring to a boil. If it boils, it will be bitter as gall per my great aunt. She used that term a lot, bitter as gall.
N.B. I have no idea what gall is but I know that Sinners, whose love can ne’er forget the wormwood and the gall are told to spread trophies at His feet in “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name” so it must be pretty nasty if our Redeemer took away our sins and exposure to gall
Remove the lemons and add the sugar and stir to dissolve. Once the lemons have cooled, juice them into the sugar syrup
In a pitcher combine the tea, sugar/lemon syrup, pineapple juice, and ginger ale. Let cool completely and serve over ice
This can be doubled, tripled, quadrupled as needed
Serve with additional lemon slices and mint
Guess I can get my Southerner Card back if I admit to at least liking Big Easy’s tea punch. Now about that banana pudding …..
On May 11, 2021, the Southeast lost its collective mind again…this time over gasoline
“The Colonial Pipeline shut down may lead to some gas shortages” the newspaper told us that morning
Well, what does everyone then do?
Hightails it to the nearest Exxon, BP, Shell to fill up the tank
So stupid
I needed gasoline after traveling the prior weekend
On my way to pick up some lunch, I stopped at the convenience store cum gas station not far from my office
This was around 11:45 in the a.m.
I was not aware that the panic buying had begun
There were lines already at the gas station
I got in line behind a car with Massachusetts plates
Lest ye think I was judging just because of the plates, Dear Reader, please know that I went to high school in the Bay State and think that Massh**e is a terrible expression
We sat for a few minutes when finally the two cars ahead of us cleared the two pumps for which we were waiting. Or so I thought.
Mr. Massachusetts, instead of pulling up to the far pump, stopped at the closer pump and pulled up far enough that someone couldn’t get to the farther pump easily
Terrible move
I got out of my car, knocked on his window
He rolled it down and said, “Yes?”
“Sir, can you please pull up so we can use both pumps?”
His reply, incensed, “No…no I cannot…you’re going to have to wait”
So be it
While waiting, I noticed a utility van/service vehicle of a local contracting company circle around the parking lot
Then, I heard the BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP of that vehicle backing up to get to the pump that my new buddy from Boston would not pull up to after being requested to by me
When my Codfish Stater finished pumping his gas, he realized he was blocked in by the contractor and by me
He huffed and made gestures to the contractor who shrugged his shoulders and must have said it would be a minute
Next thing I know, the Baked Bean Stater was at my window demanding that I back up to let him out
I just looked him in the eye and said, “As someone I know recently told me, you’re going to have to wait”
“To understand who he was, you have to go back to another time. When the world was powered by the black fuel” Mad Max, James McCausland and George Miller (1979) from a story by George Miller and Byron Kennedy
What does one do when Jet Blue changes a flight to Florida ?
Well, one calls one’s traveling companions and books an extra night
At the Fountainebleau in Miami Beach
I’ve never been
If it’s good enough for James Bond; it’s good enough for me
One night in Miami Beach might be fun
And, if it’s not, well, it’s only one night
Little did we know about the Spring Break riots to come and curfews and crackdowns
“Largely peaceful protests”
Oh well, we’d already booked our tickets
So, it was up at 4:45 a.m. and straight to the airport on a Saturday morning in March
Sailed through TSA for the first time since Oct. 2019
Felt a little weird, TBH
We landed in Ft. Lauderdale at 8:23 in the a.m.
Straight to get the rental car – mini van naturally
The two teenagers were mortified
The four adults were o.k. with it
The girls were starving, so we stopped at a Waffle House
In Miami Gardens
A wee bit industrial
The manager of the place was originally from Batesburg-Leesville, SC
Always good to find a fellow Sandlapper
Even amid the strip clubs of Miami Gardens
A quick trip down I95 and up and over a bridge or two and there we were
Not much traffic that early on a Saturday morning
“I think I see Crockett and Stubbs,” one of our party said
“I think you mean Crockett and Tubbs,” one of our party corrected
Where is Philip Michael Thomas these days?
Pulling up to the Fountainebleau by 10:00 a.m.
We were sure the rooms would not be ready
As we stood in line for the front desk, it was clear we were no longer in Kansas
I travel in a blazer/sport coat/jacket
I was the only person in blazer/sport coat/jacket
I was also the only person with a Yeti cooler strapped across his chest, too
You can take the boy out of South Carolina
Clerks always treat customers better
With the Yeti cooler strapped across said customer’s body
No, not really, but with the blazer/sport coat/jacket
Really
Try it
Saying “Yes, Sir” and “Good morning” to the nice man at the desk, we were told our rooms were ready
By 10:25 a.m.
Amazing
And, welcome to the United Nations
All kinds of accents, languages, visages
Place was packed
Man in line behind me had just flown in from Tel Aviv
“We finished the Seder and got on a plane. We weren’t able to do it last year. We’re so glad to be back”
“Everyone in Israel is vaccinated”
As we waited to go to our rooms, we stared in wild amazement
So much bling
Have you ever seen a Gucci romper on a man? I have
Have you ever seen a Louis Vuitton romper on a man? I have
Have you ever seen a Goyard bigger than the lady carrying it? I have
Have you ever seen a Rolex so tacky you were embarrassed for its wearer? I have
All in the lobby that morning
Along with a lot of ink
Room was amazing
Full view of the beach and Kingman turquoise waters beyond
We went down to the sundecks/beach/pool where almost every chair was occupied
Attendant found us a spot and said, “Man, you’re lucky. You have to get out here by 6 a.m. usually to reserve a spot”
So, we began to break spring
We lathered on the sunscreen
We roasted in the heat
We watched influencers influencing
Mask?
What mask?
Drank a couple of cold beers
Got the children some drinks
We got snacks from the hotel shop
$40 for almonds
What a bargain
We still explored the place
Morris Lapidus’ design holds up
Goldfinger….the man with the Midas touch
The pool with boompcha boompcha boompcha tsss tsss waaah waaah boompcha boompcha boompcha blaring was not for us
We hung out in the sun for a while, but it was really hot and we had all gotten up really early
Astroturf retains heat
We were tie-uhd
Extended rest period needed
The girls fell asleep actually
We all showered and refreshed and agreed to meet in the bar around six
The Bleu Bar
Bottle service available
Ice cold martinis, margaritas, old fashioneds, and Shirley Temples
Cocktail service available
Ice chunks floating on top
So necessary
“You know what we call a Shirley Temple that we add vodka to? A Dirty Shirley”
Learn sumpin new every day
One martini, two martini, three martini, floor
After the drinks, we summoned our ride for the evening
$95 Uber to Joe’s Stone Crab
Worth every penny
When they brought out the bag of warm bread, well, it was like no one had ever eaten before that moment
Six people destroyed the entire offering in just a few seconds
Foil wrapped butter pats never saw such abuse
Then came the stone crab bisque and cole slaw and stone crab claws with the famous mustard sauce and creamed spinach and hash browns and lobster macaroni and cheese
Worth every penny
We came, we saw, we devoured
The waitress was shocked to learn we catch stone crabs round these parts but always throw them back with one claw
“That’s what we do here, too. Season ends May 1”
Guess we made it just in time.
A storm was blowing up when we summoned our second $100 Uber ride
We had some time and milled about the entrance and closed bar
The manager began talking to us and offered a tour
The numbers they pull in are astronomical, even during a pandemic with a closed bar
Places can’t be legendary for over one hundred years unless they’re doing something right
So damn good
Eat at Joe’s
Really
Eat at Joe’s
When our Uber driver, Miguel, finally arrived, he was across the street
No big deal
When we crossed the street and got in his min-van he said, “Oh, man, sorry. Didn’t know you were at Yo’s”
Miguel was a literal trip giving us a run down of Miami Beach over the last 30 years
He should quit driving an Uber and open up a tour service
“My friend was stuck on the bridge from like 2 a.m. to 6 a.m. the other day because of the curfew. It’s rough around here some times”
I guess he wasn’t lying
We made it back to the hotel and watched people for a bit in the lobby
I called my parents to advise all was well and that we loved eating at Yo’s
“You do know your grandparents went there to see Frank Sinatra?”
What?
How on earth would I know that?
“Yeh, they went to that hotel a couple of times to see him”
I had no idea my grandparents were that cool
“Daddy thought it was full of Yankees but Mama thought it was wonderful with all the people watching”
Not much has changed
These may have been the most Miami people I ever did see
Slide slide slippity slide
Mask? What mask?
The next morning being Palm Sunday, I got up early and went to the beach to watch the sunrise
All Glory, Laud, and Honor!
And this guy
“When I’m out walking/I strut my stuff/And I’m so strung out”
He was listing to starboard and still on something from the night before
“I slept out here, dude…. what time is it?”
He rubbed his face so hard I thought it was going to peel off
Meth is a helluva thing
“You got a cigarette?”
“No, Sir,” I replied
He then went up to the next sunrise gazer and asked the same question
He had to move on down the beach as the tractor raking the sand was a coming
Eat your heart out Frank Zamboni
Back to the room to pack and get the hell out of dodge and head on down to the Keys
More my speed
Our elder daughter tried to warn us
She had just spent her own spring break there
She had way more than one night
But, she is young and fun and the target audience
Guess I just don’t bounce in the club where the heat is on
Cherie Berry, head of the North Carolina Labor Department
Pronounced Sherry Berry, of course
For over twenty years her face was in every elevator in North Carolina verifying the inspection of the carriage, pulleys, hydraulics, brakes
For over twenty years, if you entered any elevator in the Old North State, you saw her
Memes
T-shirts
Jokes
The most well known signature in North Carolina
The most well known face in North Carolina
She assured any Tar Heel and anyone visiting North Carolina that the rider would not fall to his death in the elevator shaft
The Lady in the Lift
There she is in her signature red pointing to a black and white picture
She upgraded to color with a red jacket and blonded hair
The most famous visage in North Carolina
Recently, we learned she retired
The current head of the labor department’s photograph is slowing replacing mon Cherie
He’s not as recognizable
Average white guy
Mon Cherie’s cherry jacket stood out
As the new dude supplants mon Cherie, elevators with her picture in them have now turned into collectors items
Were I to be in such an elevator, I might swipe the inspection certificate and frame it so mon Cherie’s visage could kindly remind me that I would not be plunging to my death
There is a t-shirt company based out of Charlotte, NC, that puts a silk screened likeness of Ms. Berry on it
The caption states “Cherie Berry Gives Me A Lift”
Not any more, though
Being my second favorite state, being a proud UNC graduate, being the father of children who attended camp in North Carolina, and, now, being a father of a Tar Heel, I have flat logged some hours in North Carolina
I have flat logged a lot of time with mon Cherie smiling at me from the corner of the inspection certificates
That she is gone from mechanical hoisters in the Vale of Humility makes my life a little less, well, lifted
My father was and is a proud graduate of the Citadel in Charleston
My mother taught in Charleston
Growing up in Beaufort, we went to a lot of Citadel football games
Also, growing up in Beaufort, it felt like we had to drive to Charleston to buy almost anything
There’s a joke at home that my mother will drive to Charleston for a gallon of milk. She still keeps Highway 17 hot.
From the time I was born until 1998, if we were travelling to the Holy City from Beaufort any time on a Thursday, Friday, or Saturday, we tried to time it right to hit The Edisto Motel & Restaurant in Jacksonboro, South Carolina, known to all in the Lowcountry as the Edisto Motel.
In the heart of the Lowcountry
At one brief time, Jacksonboro was our State’s capital on the banks of the Edisto River
From 1947 when it opened until it closed in 1998, the Edisto Motel was the main draw for Jacksonboro, which consists of a few houses, a few gas stations
Owned by the Hickman family who lived next door and only a stone’s throw from the black tannic waters of the Edisto River, the Edisto Motel remains for me the zenith of seafood cooking. I compare any seafood restaurant to the Edisto Motel. Some restaurants have come close, but none are as good
None
Change my mind? You can’t and won’t
Thirty five minutes from Beaufort
Thirty five minutes from Charleston
Fifteen minutes from Walterboro
Folks flocked to the motel for supper those three nights
Zelda Hickman and her sister Doris Cook ran the kitchen and cooked the food themselves. Really.
I know this because one evening my youngest brother was being very picky about eating his perfectly fried local shrimp
Mrs. Hickman always moved round the restaurant asking if everything suited her guests. That evening she stopped by our table, “Hey, how y’all this evening?”
She could see my brother’s reticence to eat despite my parents’ pleas. She squatted down beside him and with her lilting accent said, “Oh, Son, I need you to eat those shrimp. My sister and I peel and devein each one and then fry them just for you.”
Church honor
He gobbled every bite
People from all over the Lowcountry still bemoan the closing of the Edisto Motel Restaurant. As I said, we compare any fried seafood to Ms. Hickman’s and Ms. Cook’s. Knowingly, we roll our eyes and say to one another, “Still not as good as the Edisto Motel”
It was a family affair not just for the Hickmans and Cooks but for their guests, too
There were no reservations made
Instead, cars pulled in off of Highway 17 and patrons emerged to stand in line. If you were really lucky, you would arrive right at 5 p.m. on your way home from wherever you were going. Or you made that special trip to the Edisto Motel just for early supper
Standing in line and waiting was one of the best parts of the experience, because, it being South Carolina, all the customers would begin to chat and know people who knew people
“Oh, we’re from Walterboro”
“We live in Mount Pleasant”
“Just drove over from Lady’s Island”
“Came down from Summerville”
“We’re on our way back to Savannah”
Sometimes the wait would be for an hour or so
It did not matter one bit
I don’t recall anyone saying, “I’m not waiting in this line”
If they did they were a fool
The line was completely democratic and a cross section of humanity
The wealthy northerners that wintered at nearby plantations
The local folks who cleaned their houses
Black, White, Old, Young, Singles, Families, Folks from Off, Home Folks, Binyahs, Comeyahs, everyone went to the Edisto Motel
Menu art by Carew Rice.
Inside the hallway of the building holding the restaurant there were long, metal, industrial coolers stocked with beer and soft drinks
Dads would always go inside and grab a couple cold ones and pass them around
By the time you snaked through the line and reached Mr. Hickman to seat you, he would ask, also in a wonderful Lowcountry brogue, “How many?” Then ” How manydidya have?” It worked on an honor system for the beer and cokes. They never monitored the coolers.
But no one came for the drinks
If you did not experience it, then there is no way I can describe it
Sorry
But, I’ll try
The seafood was fresh and local
Small creek shrimp
Mr. Hickman would drive to B&B Seafood at Bennett’s Point, to Gay Fish Company on St. Helena, and any shrimp dock in between to get the shrimp
They bought local oysters
Their flounder was flounder that had been swimming earlier that day
Their scallops were never skate wing
Crabs were deviled in the shells
Each meal was served with coleslaw or salad, baked potato or French fries, and hush puppies
I can hear Mr. Hickman now
Holding his order pad and pencil ready to go
“What ya having?”
“Slaw or salad?”
“Blue cheese, French, Thousand Island, Eye-tal-yun, Ranch, Oil and Vinegah, or Honey Musstahd?”
“Baayked or fried?”
He asked every diner that same question
Meanwhile, in the kitchen the ladies would put the seafood in a little egg and milk mixed together with some salt while you waited
They would then coat the seafood in cracker meal
Cracka meal as we say
Crushed crackers reduced to a flour like consistency
(N.B. Recently, a friend asked the Hickmans’ son what the secret was and he divulged the method and the brand of cracka meal. I’m in on the secret, but I’ll never tell)
Then, they would place the seafood into hot oil for just a brief spell then onto the plate with either the baayked or fried, some tartar sauce and some cocktail sauce. A lot of customers would order slaw just to have it to go with the seafood
The hush puppies fried in the same oil accompanied unnecessarily but oh so necessarily
The fried oysters in the winter were a work of art
During the early spring, if the shad were running, Mrs. Hickman would let you know that they had shad roe. She would fry it up and bring it sizzling to your table. I can taste the fried fish eggs popping in my mouth right now. I might be drooling
John Martin Taylor put the Edisto Motel fried shrimp receipt in his book Fearless Frying Cooking
He knew perfection when he found it
Like him, we knew perfection, too
We went their often growing up
During Law School in Columbia, a group of us went to the Edisto Motel for supper one night. Mrs. Hickman smiled and said, “I just love seeing people I’ve known for years all grown up” Little did we our days of fried perfection were not for long back in the 1990s
My family’s strongest and strangest memory of the Edisto Motel was sometime when I was in middle school. On a cold Saturday night on the way back from something in Charleston, we stopped for supper. It being cold, there was not much of a line. We were seated quickly at a table near the front corner of the restaurant
Across the restaurant were the Graces and Tuppers who also lived in Beaufort
We were next to a table of folks from Walterboro one of whom had draped what looked like a cheap rabbit fur coat on the back of her chair
After the usual slaw or salad, baayked or fried inquiry, we sat and chatted about the day, the weekend
In almost no time, our food arrived
Several of us had chosen the French fry option that night
Out of habit, my father grabbed the glass bottle of Heinz ketchup and began to shake it
Not knowing that the top was loose, he began to shake ketchup all over the dining room
He thought my mother had been shot
Mrs. Hickman, walking through the dining room, got ketchup on her glasses
Gene Grace’s shirt got hit from behind
The woman from Walterboro would never wear that cheap rabbit fur again
He shook with great vigor
No half measures
Finally, Mr. Hickman got hit behind the counter
Ketchup coated the ceiling
Once my father realized it was his violent shaking of the ketchup bottle and not a Stephen King movie come to life, he really started to laugh. So did all of us. My brothers and I didn’t get a drop on us
For years, whenever we went to the Edisto Motel, Mr. Hickman would wink at my father and tell him he checked the ketchup bottle tops just for him
I think there was a bill for the rabbit fur cleaning, too
I don’t know what that cost my parents
I do know that I would pay any exorbitant sum of money to have those shrimp and oyters again with some baayked or fried
On a camping trip a couple of years ago, a group of us almost recreated the fried shrimp using local shrimp, the right cracka meal, and hot clean oil
It was pretty close
But, it wasn’t the same without hearing Mr. Hickman asking if we wanted our potatoes baayked or fried
Dad, what's for supper? 