Mm, Grits

Posted on March 31, 2020 by admin

There are two kinds of grits in the house. As far as I know, people aren’t hording grits these days, but I haven’t shopped for them since before the pandemic, so who knows.

To the left, the brand I’ve eaten for years. The standard. The go-to. Often the only brand at the grocery store. Easy to make, best eaten after only a few minutes for cooling. Some add butter. I usually add honey, but not always.

To the right, a brand recently acquired. The texture is slightly different, but not enough to put me off of it. Takes longer to make. Naturally, the verbiage on the package tries to make a virtue of that necessity: “You’ll have to hesitate before you eat quick grits again,” it says. Naah.

The standard grits package tube lists the following as ingredients: degerminated white corn grits, plus iron and various vitamins, which are added in the processing. The new grits bag merely lists white corn. Made me wonder if the hull and germ have been removed, which seems essential to grits.

Note this handy definition at Culinary Lore:

Hominy: An endosperm product made from corn, made up of starch, with the hull and germ removed.

Grits: Ground hominy (usually coarse).

I checked the nutrition facts on the new grits package, and indeed it seems that whatever vitamins might have been present in the hull or germ aren’t there, so I assume they aren’t there either.

Anyway, grits and I go way back. As long as I can remember, because my mother made them and I assume her mother did too, though I don’t have any specific memory of grandma’s grits. I learned to make them myself early on.

I also learned that somehow, most restaurants that offer grits serve an inferior version to what you make at home. How is that? Occasionally, though, I find superb grits away from home. For instance, years ago in Mexico Beach, Florida, I had wonderful cheese grits — at a place probably destroyed by Hurricane Michael a year and a half ago.

When I moved to Chicago in the late ’80s, I was glad to find grits in the grocery stores, despite being well north of the Grits Line. I shouldn’t have been surprised, considering how many Southerners, black and white, have migrated to the region over the decades.

Grits aren’t available in Japan. At least they weren’t 30 years ago. We gaijin ordered it by the case from North America, which we then split up. (PopTarts were ordered the same way.) I remember serving them at my apartment in Japan to a Scotsman who also lived in Japan. He liked it well enough.

“Porridge, is it?” he said. I wasn’t sure how to answer. Can porridge be made from corn? Maize, that is. Seems yes, or maybe, since porridge can be any grain, though I think it’s usually associated with oats and not de-germed corn. Porridge isn’t part of my dialect anyway. Growing up I never heard anything outside of children’s stories called porridge, such as what the Three Bears prepared for themselves and Goldilocks pirated.

Yuriko had no notion of grits growing up and still doesn’t care for them. Lilly took to them in a big way, but Ann did not. Different children, different tastes.

Mm, Doughnuts

Posted on March 30, 2020 by admin

Been a while since we’ve gone out to eat, of course, but we haven’t been that keen on takeout lately either. On Sunday morning, I decided to drive to the nearest doughnut shop, an independent, and bring home a dozen. Here they are, a selection of creme-filled delights, since that’s what we prefer.

The siren call of doughnuts is pretty strong, but we only buy them every two or three months. Call this latest box our quarterly ration, then, comfort food for uncomfortable times.

For the first time ever, I bought doughnuts using the drive-through. Not just the first at this shop, the first time anywhere. Not bad, just not my typical method. Given my druthers, and until now I’ve always been given my druthers in the matter of doughnuts, I go into the shop to buy a selection. The rows of cheap pastry, from the alluringly plump creme-filled offerings to the scrawny cake doughnuts, wait behind the counter, available not for self-serve, but upon request of another human being.

Ritual selection, it is. Eye the doughnuts, determine what the shop has that you and your party might want — it’s always good to know the tastes of your immediate family in these matters — order two or three or four of this or that, until your dozen is complete. Does anyone ever say to the clerk, just give me a dozen of your choice? Do such devil-may-care people exist? It’s a large world, so they must. But I’ll never be that person.

I’ve been ordering doughnuts for 50 years, that’s why. In our early years in San Antonio, we would sometimes stop at a doughnut shop on the way home from church on Sunday. By ca. 1970, maybe even a little earlier, I’d be tasked as an eight- or nine-year-old to go get the dozen doughnuts.

It was a Dunkin Donuts. I mention that not as an ad — that brand hasn’t been a preferred choice of mine for many years — but to note that it must have been a new franchise in those days, since the brand exploded out of New England only in the 1960s. I never associated it with New England, at least not then. It was merely a likable doughnut shop. It did not, as it does now, distance itself from its pastry origins.

That shop, on Broadway near the Witte Museum, is long gone. A meat shop is in the building now.

A meat shop associated with the restaurant next door, Smoke Shack, which hasn’t been there long, though some kind of restaurant has been next to the former Dunkin’ Donuts since I can remember.

If you look closely at Meat Market, you can see its doughnut past — the glass wall showing most of the store interior, where people sat to drink their coffee, and the part of the building on the right behind brick, which is where the doughnuts were made.

Downtown Chicago St. Patrick’s Day Parade, 2018

Posted on March 29, 2020 by admin

I fell asleep to light rain and occasional thunder on Friday night. A comforting sound. During the hours when I was dreaming odd dreams — damned odd, but it all made perfect sense at the time — the rain must have picked up its pace, since large puddles had formed in our back yard by Saturday morning, as usually happens with inches of rain. But not quite this much.

Two years ago we went into the city in mid-March and found ourselves near the Downtown Chicago St. Patrick’s Day Parade. We were going to visit the Art Institute that day, and the parade was passing next to the museum, on S. Columbus Dr.

We walked over to see it, but the crowd was so thick that we never really got a close look. Often enough, the view looked something like this.The crowd was festive, with many dressed for the occasion.

We stayed for a little while and saw what we could.

The solid-waste industry was well represented. Downtown Chicago St. Patrick's Day Parade 2018

Some participants were off to the side. I suppose they were finished and watching the rest of the parade.

Crowds thronged in front of the Art Institute and elsewhere.
No social distancing in evidence. It would have been weird if there had been. No wonder the parade was cancelled this year.

Yakov

Posted on March 26, 2020 by admin

Though not particularly warm today, we took a mile or so walk beginning at about 5:30 this afternoon. Just an afternoon stroll. There’s still traffic on our suburb roads, of course, but in volume it was more like a Sunday afternoon than a weekday rush hour.

One more item from the early 2000s. I didn’t realize it until today, but everything this week has been from that period, except for Sunday. An unconscious choice, probably, signifying — like all that sound and fury — nothing.

The first time we ever passed through Branson, in 2001 as a short detour on the way to Dallas, I picked up a Yakov ad pamphlet. Probably at the restaurant we ate lunch, which was the only thing we did in town.

Why? We weren’t planning to see the show. I think I’d heard of him, maybe even seen him on television by chance, such as his beer commercial, though I didn’t watch much TV during his heyday.

I’m sure I picked up the pamphlet because of the billboards we’d seen between Springfield, Mo., and Branson, which amused me. There were a lot of them advertising his Branson show, which he did from 1993 to 2015. The billboards looked a lot like the pamphlet, if I remember right. A big Yakov face promising a wacky Soviet — that is, Russian — comedian.

For the record, Yakov Naumovich Pokhis — his stage name taken from the vodka, apparently — was actually from the Ukraine. He’s still touring, or presumably was until recently, and probably will be again sometime.

The Grim Fate of the Ace of Diamonds, Who Surely Had It Coming

Posted on March 25, 2020 by admin

Back in the spring of 2003, while visiting Manhattan with a coworker, we came across a street vendor selling most-wanted Iraqi playing cards. Officially “personality identification playing cards,” according to Wiki. I’m a little surprised the U.S. Army didn’t refer to them as PIPCs (pronounced PIE-picks). “Sergeant, distribute two PIPCs to each man before 1800 hours.” “Yes, sir.”

I bought a pack from the vendor and it’s still kicking around the house somewhere, along with other souvenir playing cards that I’ve acquired over the years. Such as a pack depicting Elvis — every card a King? — and another one from Mexico City with the Aztec Sun Stone on each card.

That purchase seems like a long time ago. Maybe because it was, though more psychologically than chronologically.

As for the Ace of Diamonds, Abid Al-Hamid Mahmud al-Tikriti, certainly a man with much blood on his hands, a later Iraqi government (2012) showed him the business end of a rope, though that was some years after his boss met the same end.

The Location of Wales

Posted on March 24, 2020 by admin

I have two desks in my office, both of which have drawers that are full of the debris of a home office. That includes a drawer with a lot of business cards in it. Sometimes I throw some of them out, since they date back to the early 2000s, an eon ago in the business world.

Jobs change, titles change, phone numbers change, email addresses change: all the ingredients of bum information in data bases. In some theoretical sense, my drawer of cards is an ancient analog database, but really it’s just a pile of cards. Including one with this back:

Unusual to find a map on a business card. It came with some material from the Chicago office of an organization promoting business development in Wales. It’s graphically interesting and it conveys some possibly useful information, namely that Wales isn’t that far from London or Dublin or various well-known European cities. Then again, it’s Western Europe. Nothing is that far apart in modern terms anyway.

Maybe the main reason the organization included a map is that they were tired of people saying, “Wales, huh? Don’t you guys have a Prince? Now, let’s see — I’m not sure where that is.”

A Journey Around My House

Posted on March 23, 2020 by admin

Snow yesterday around sunset.

All of it melted today. Outbreak or not, it’s still mud season.

Last year I read A Journey Around My Room by Xavier de Maistre (Voyage autour de ma chambre, published in 1794, but of course I read a recent translation by Stephen Sartarelli). I found it at the township library completely by chance, and only a few months later now, I can’t remember why it caught my eye.

I’m glad it did. I won’t review it here, but I will say that it’s amusing, and now and then funny. De Maistres was under house arrest for dueling, an aristocratic punishment for an aristocratic offence. He wrote a short volume about some of the objects in his room, which of course involved various digressions and tangents.

“Towards the end of the 18th century, a young aristocrat, confined to his house in Turin for 42 days as a result of a duel (one presumes his antagonist came off worse), decided to both ease his boredom and make a joke of it all by writing a – well, there it is in the title,” writes Nicholas Lezard in The Guardian. “It was Blaise Pascal who said that all the troubles of humanity came about because of the difficulty men had in simply being happy to sit alone in their rooms; here is the result of such an enforced confinement. And it is wonderful.”

His book comes to mind now for obvious reasons. Time, then, to look around my house and find some objects to write about. I’ll never be as witty as De Maistres, but so what. When circumstances keep you at home, best to ruminate on the clutter around the house. Why else harbor that clutter if you don’t do that sometimes?

Such as one my worn t-shirts, the kind you don’t wear any more, but don’t discard. This is the back; the front is a corporate logo.

In 2002, when I worked downtown editing a magazine, Krispy Kreme opened a location not far from my office. The shop was giving away free doughnuts and t-shirts specially made to extol that particular store, hence the mention of the Loop. The doughnuts didn’t last long back at the office, naturally, but I wore the shirt now and then for a few years, one of the few advertising shirts I was willing to wear.

KK was on a growth bender at the time that didn’t end well, but didn’t put the company out of business, either. The brand contracted for a while, including the closure of the downtown store and one near my house in the suburbs. In the 2010s, the company seems to have grown at a more measured, and presumably more sustainable pace.

In fact, now you can buy KK doughnuts in a score of countries on every continent except Antarctica. But I remember when it was a Southern thing. So Southern, as in the Deep South, that I’d never heard of it growing up in Texas. I discovered it when I went to school in Tennessee, and what a discovery. Delicious hardly did them justice. Good eating by yourself and always welcome at gatherings.

(I realize looking at the 2009 posting that I haven’t mentioned Irwin Hepplewhite and the Terrifying Papoose Jockeys in a long time. Someone has to keep that name going, and that someone is me.)

What I wrote nearly 11 years ago about the KK location that closed is still true when it comes to the nearest open one to us, about 20 minutes away: ” I’m fond enough of their product… but the truth was, the only time we ever bought doughnuts at the Hanover Park location was when we got a hold of coupons offering two boxes for the price of one, since a dozen normally comes at a premium to more ordinary doughnuts.”

Telegram From Japan

Posted on March 22, 2020 by admin

Most indoor spaces are off limits for now, but we’re free to wander around outside for the most part. So what happened today? It snowed. Still, I’m sure I’ve seen more people walk by my house than usual, some with dogs, some without.

Thirty years ago, I boarded a flight in San Francisco bound for Tokyo, with the intention of living in Japan for a while (but not Tokyo). That’s what I did. Occasionally I think for moment, did I really do that? But it doesn’t take much to remind me that I did.

Not long after arriving in Tokyo, but before I left for the Kansai, I went to the main post office in Tokyo and sent a telegram. I had never done that before, and I haven’t done it since, and never will.

A Mailgram, actually. So no uniformed representative of Western Union arrived at my mother’s door. Even by 1990, they existed only in increasingly old movies. The text went to the United States, maybe Middletown, Va., where it was printed and then mailed to her.

Strange Days Indeed

Posted on March 19, 2020 by admin

For the equinox today, rain. Also, robins. A lot of birds, actually, to judge by the volume of birdsong I hear when I’m outside. Only outside briefly today, anyway. Lots to do inside. Sometimes, though, I can hear mourning doves doing their whoo-whoo while I’m inside, if it’s quiet enough.

Speaking of animals, file this picture under the category of Good Luck With That.

Was this only about a month ago?

That’s a short clip I made at the Grand Central Market in Downtown Los Angeles on February 22. I’d planned to leave a few minutes before, but it was raining, so I used the idle moments to take pictures and the single clip.

Ah, those carefree days… of yore? How long ago does yore get to be? Longer than a month, usually, but these are unusual times.

Or usual? So far the 21st century seems to have gone off the rails every 10 years or so.

Late last year, I watched the short series Good Omens, which was amusing, especially for its main characters, and noted that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, who make an appearance, had a substitution. Instead of War, Pestilence, Famine and Death, they were War, Pollution, Famine and Death (and they rode motorcycles, but never mind).

The thinking, I suppose, was that Pestilence had abated enough to give Pollution a slot. Events have overtaken that notion. Seems that Pestilence won’t be denied its place in mankind’s woes.

All Saints Catholic Cemetery & Mausoleum

Posted on March 18, 2020 by admin

Recently I was in suburban Des Plaines in the mid-afternoon on a sunny day, not too cold. I expect such forays, even a few suburbs over, will become much less frequent in the weeks ahead. They already have.

While there, I took the opportunity to visit All Saints Catholic Cemetery & Mausoleum for a few minutes. Such a visit counts, I think, as social distancing. Few other (living) people were there, all of them way off in the distance. I don’t think I came within 200 feet of another living soul.

All Saints is enormous, with two sections straddling N. River Road (US 45), and is just west of the Des Plaines River. It’s also across the road, Central Road, from the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe, which I visited back in 2011.The eastern lobe is the oldest section, opening in 1923. It’s dense with upright stones.

Some larger monuments.

And a handful of private mausoleums.
Curious, I looked up Sherman J. Sexton (1892-1956). In the 19th century, his father founded John Sexton & Co. (Sexton Quality Foods), which evolved into a major Chicago-based national wholesale grocery. Sherman Sexton ran it for much of the 20th century. After much M&A, a corporate descendant is still in the wholesale food business.

Find-A-Grave lists a number of notables buried at All Saints: pro sports players, Congressmen, others. The only one I knew was sportscaster Harry Carey, though I’ve also heard of the band Nine Inch Nails. James Woolley, the group’s keyboardist for a time, reposes at the cemetery. I didn’t come looking for notable graves anyway.

The western section is much larger and includes upright stones, memorials flush with the ground, and a lot of land for expansion.

Along with statues of Jesus and saints and other figures.

The archdiocese must have seen which way the demographic wind was blowing in the 1950s, namely to the suburbs, and so acquired a lot more land for the cemetery while the getting was good. The western section opened in 1954.

The ’70s-vintage community mausoleum, like the cemetery itself, is large. I don’t know that I’ve seen a larger one. It includes a number of wings and looks something like a NASA office building.
I didn’t go inside, but I did take a look at the statues lined up outside. Place of prominence is for Jesus. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s Him.
Six Apostles line up on either side of Jesus.Not long before I left, I drove to one of the edges of the western section, past graves that were clearly for children. Three people were standing there. I drove on and parked at some distance from them, to take a look at St. Benedict, pictured above.

When returning to my car, I looked back in their direction.
They had released balloons into the sky.

Been There, Seen That

By Dees Stribling

Monthly Archives: March 2020