Supermarket Dumpster Diving

WH VaseSometimes you have to do what you have to do.

I was coming out of our Whole Foods in Mountain Brook, Alabama, when  I saw something unusual: a woman being held by her ankles, rummaging upside down through a giant dumpster in the parking lot. Actually, only her top half was upside down: she was bent over the top edge of the dumpster, and was digging like crazy. If her male companion had let her go, she would have literally dived head first into the dumpster.

Fortunately, I was parked right next to the dumpster, and would have a close up seat to this enterprise, never having seen a well dressed woman dumpster diving before. I paused to savor the sight, when a Whole Foods employee passed me with buggy load of galvanized pots, headed toward the dumpster. They were throwing those away? I had to know.

Me: Are you throwing those away?

WFE (Whole Foods Employee, a young woman): Yes, we’re getting all new displays for the floral department.

Me: You don’t mind that woman dumpster diving out there?

WFE: It’s that, or the landfill.

Hmmm. I thanked her for the info, and headed to my wife’s Prius Eco to unload my goodies. Then I had a brain infarction: I could use those flower displays she was throwing away as growing containers for my favorite fruit, the pomme d’amour, the love apple, aka, the tomato. Wild Galapagos, Wild Cherry, Cherokee Purple, and my favorite, the deliciously ugly Purple Calabash, was all I could think about. By the time I had finished my mental catalog of what I could grow, the lady dumpster diver had hauled off a carload of really nice galvanized pots. Now it was my turn to become a dumpster diver.

I had no one to hold me by my ankles, so I took a more cautious approach. Looking over the edge of the dumpster, I saw a big stack of practically pristine galvanized flower holders, with copper handles, perfect for growing tomatoes. Bingo, that’s a goody, as Bear Bryant used to say. I grabbed nine of them, and loaded them into the Prius. My first dumpster dive was a complete success.

One corporation’s trash is another man’s . . . 

Corn Meal Bread (1824)

Corn Meal breadI only took one small bite. I swear.

This is Mary Livingston’s original recipe from the 1824 classic The Virginia HousewifeHere’s the original recipe:

Corn Meal Bread

Rub a piece of butter the size of an egg, into a pint of corn meal–Make it a batter with two eggs, and some new milk–add a spoonful of yeast, set it by the fire an hour to rise, butter little pans, and bake it.

Using yeast as a leavening agent makes for a slightly finer texture than with baking powder cornbread, as I discovered when I made this. Here’s the recipe I used:

1 cup stone-ground cornmeal

1 tablespoon melted butter

1 egg

1/2 cup milk

Salt (not enough)

1 teaspoon yeast, dissolved in 1 tablespoon of water

Butter the pan, or do what I did, and lube up the pan with lard.

Salt and a little water were my only additions to the original recipe. Keeping it old school, I cooked it over hot coals. Temp was uneven, but cast iron cooks better than almost anything.

FireThe corn meal bread is in the #10 dutch oven, which was a little too large. A chicken and vegetables are in the larger pot. Man cannot live on corn meal bread alone.

The result? Would have been a grand slam with more salt. Still, this is a superior recipe. More people should try cornbread made with yeast. I’ll make it again for Thanksgiving.

Grits–Better Know a Southern Staple

I grits

Instant grits? Really?

My alcoholic writing Professor at the University of Alabama would often repeat the following: “College is like a grit factory. You all come in looking different, and then you all leave looking exactly the same: bland and lily white.” There is some truth to that, as my Alma Mater has now devolved into a country club with a football team. But that’s a subject for a different kind of blog.

The Prof had one thing right: grits back then were pretty horrible. Multiple James Beard award winning chef Frank Stitt says, “the life had been processed out of them.” There were none worse than those served at UA cafeterias. Mine would be so hard that they needed to be cut with a knife, and were topped with a pat of margarine, that would bleed across the top like a yellow oil slick. If the settlers at Jamestown had been given those, they would have jumped back on the boat, and headed back to England.

But that is where grits came from. It is a certifiable, documentable, dish that came directly from the Native Americans of Virginia. The English in 1607 couldn’t handle the native name “rockahominie,” so the dish became “hominy grits,” a term which a real old school type will still use. Now they are just grits, and we are living in something of a grits renaissance.

Before I get to that, let’s have a quick rundown of modern grits.

Instant Grits

These jokers come in a little paper bag for the culinarily impaired. I risk it all with this comment: there is hardly a better backpacking/camping food. It’s inexpensive, goes with anything, conserves fuel and weight, and can be eaten with any meal. Also packs some serious carbs. Also does not have the sodium punch that something like ramen noodles have. With that said, I will not eat these at home.

Quick Grits

More flavor than the instant ones, but still highly processed. Cooks in around five minutes.


High speed ground corn that takes a while to cook. Buy a bag of these, throw the grits into the compost, and use the bag for something else.

Stone Ground Grits

Here’s the ticket. There are both national and local brands available now, and the quality varies from excellent to superb. I go with the organic ones to make sure there are no weird genes in my grits, as in GMO. Our local brand, McEwen & Sons, is served at everything from breakfast joints to some of the best fine dining restaurants in the country, including the James Beard most Outstanding Restaurant in the US in 2018, Highlands Bar and Grill in Birmingham.

GritsWhite, but not bland.


This is a basic recipe for a couple of people, to which many things can be added, the most common being grated cheese.

1/2 cup stone-ground grits

2 cups milk

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon butter

Pepper to taste.

Heat the milk and salt, and add grits gradually. Stir regularly for 25-30 minutes, until the grits soften and gain a smooth texture. DO NOT LET THIS BURN, or you may be buying a new pan. Add more liquid as needed. When done, add the butter or other fat (apparently the natives of Virginia used bear fat), and pepper if desired. Serve hot.

Uses for leftovers are manifold, one of the most common being “Grit Cakes.” If you really get addicted, buy the book Glorious Gritswhich was written by Susan McEwen McIntosh.


Great Southern Cookbooks, Part One–The Virginia Housewife, by Mary Randolph (1824)

Virginia Housewife Facsimile

We began with the best food book, so why not go next to the first cookbook? Buy the Dover Publications print facsimile from Amazon, or your local bookstore, or download a text only version from Project Gutenberg.

Praised by writers as diverse as James Beard and chef Jose Andres, Mary Randolph wrote the first Southern cookbook, and what is arguably the first completely American cookbook. What makes this book so special? It is a fascinating historical and culinary fusion document. Many of the recipes are familiar and accessible, especially to Southern cooks, and others are exotic and challenging. Chef Andres says he still serves her gazpacho at one of his restaurants. Which begs the question–what is a Virginia housewife doing serving gazpacho in 1824?

Mary Randolph was no typical Virginia housewife. She was an entrepreneur, an executive chef, and a chef de cuisine, all at the same time. Her husband David Randolph was fired from his cushy government job by his second cousin, President Thomas Jefferson, for being a worthless crooked Federalist party lowlife. (Strangely enough, Mary Randolph’s father was raised in the household of Peter Jefferson, who just happened to be the father of Thomas Jefferson.)

Mary, who counted among her ancestors a woman named Pocahontas, in order to support the family, became a business woman. (Can stories get any better than this?) She opened a boarding house in Richmond, Virginia, in 1807, for “Ladies and Gentlemen.” The main attraction of this establishment was the magnificent food, which I will address shortly. Mary, notably, WAS NOT A COOK. Here’s how much time she spent in the kitchen, according to the Introduction to the book:

When the kitchen breakfast is over, and the cook has put all things in their proper places, the mistress should go in to give her orders. Let all the articles intended for the dinner,  pass in review before her: have the butter, sugar, flour, meal. lard, given out in proper quantities; the catsup, spice, wine, whatever may be wanted for each dish, measured to the cook. The mistress must tax her own memory with all this: we have no right to expect slaves or hired servants to be more attentive to our interest than we ourselves are: they will never recollect these little articles until they are going to use them; the mistress must then be called out, and thus have the horrible drudgery of keeping house all day, when one hour devoted to it in the morning, would release her from trouble until the next day.

Anyone who has worked in a commercial kitchen, such as myself, will recognize the brigade de cuisine. The boss tells you what to do, and you do it. Also notice the mise en place: everything is in order, and in it’s place. Notice that the slaves and hired servants are put on the same level. Arguably, Mary Randolph was the first American celebrity chef, as the book went through nineteen printings in less than forty years. If current celebrity chefs were as honest as her, we would have a more realistic picture of the restaurant business.

The Food

Man, did those people eat well! As Joel Salatin, the world’s most famous farmer, who also lives in Virginia, loves to point out, our diet is much less diverse now than it was a hundred years ago. What about two hundred years ago? Turtle, rabbit, eight or nine species of fish, goose, duck, woodcocks, brains, and eyes were all on the menu, as well as about thirty different varieties of vegetables. From the recipe, “Mock Turtle Soup of Calf’s Head,” “The eyes are a great delicacy.”

Here’s where the fusion part really kicks in. Recipes in the book encompass cuisines from the native American, American, African, and European, as well as some Caribbean regions. French and Spanish recipes are well represented. African vegetables such as okra and field peas are mentioned, right alongside potatoes and English peas. My only editorial comment will be to assure Northern writers that African “yams” are not grown in the South, but that the word is a synonym for sweet potatoes, which came from Central or South America. (I have even read that slaves brought tomatoes to the South!)

I will cook a few of these recipes in the next few weeks, and reveal the results in a new Recipe section. The first will be “Corn Meal Bread,” which is not cornbread, but a yeast leavened bread made with corn meal.

Undoubtedly a good deal of this book can be said to be influenced by the great chef James Hemings, but the extent of that influence is impossible to determine. Two of his signature dishes, ice cream and Macs and cheese, make their first American appearance here.

Jerry Brown, Southern Folk Potter

Face JugYou talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me?

Jerry Dolyn Brown, whose shop is located in Hamilton, Alabama, was one prolific potter. For decades he was also recognized as the most traditional potter in the US. He dug his own clay, ground it in a mule driven mill, and fired his pieces in a traditional southern “groundhog” kiln. His work was featured at the Smithsonian, he was named a National Heritage Fellow by the National Endowment for the Arts in 1992, and he was Alabama’s Folk Artist of the Year for 2001. The remarkable fact about these various recognitions is that his work was always primarily utilitarian, and he made everything for a kitchen except the pots and pans.

The handsome fellow in the above picture is a face jug, which is, shockingly, a jug with a face on it. There are more theories about the origin of this form than there are about JFK’s assassination, so pick out a favorite, and insist that you have the correct one. Besides being decorative, it also makes a perfectly usable jug, with the advantage that most people won’t mess with it. Hence a good place to hide some hooch.


Big MixerThis seriously big mixing bowl is a full 14″ across the top. Notice the finger indentations in the surface where the bowl was thrown. Decorated using Brown’s celebrated “splatter” technique.

Mixing BowlSmaller mixing bowls came with spouts, and with or without handles.

Soup BowlsSoup Bowls! With or without handles, these can take on a seriously hot broiler. We never use anything but these for our Creole onion soup. I love the black glaze on the one without the handle.

BowlThis small very decorative bowl was striped with cobalt glaze using a chicken feather,   which was another favorite technique of Brown’s.

Pie Plate

Pie PlateNow, on to the subject of bakeware. This one is almost too pretty to use, but that was what it was made for.


PitcherFor  years I thought this was a pitcher for iced tea, as that is what we used it for. Imagine my surprise when I saw a very old, very similar piece at The Museum of Appalachia, which was described as a “milk pitcher.” The lid would keep the flies out.

Cookie Jar

Cookie JarA fat version of the pitcher, with two handles and no lip. “Stop, move away from the cookie jar.” That’s from the BBC version of The Office, where they had a talking cookie jar.


Canisters 1Essentially smaller versions of the cookie jar, but without handles. Brown made other forms of canisters as well.

CanistersA more modern style of canister, but with the same great glazes.


ChurnA small churn, for someone who has a very small cow, perhaps. My guess is people buy these for the country look.

Big ChurnThere’s a more realistic size churn for a real farm. Now I can make up stories about Grandma and her favorite cow.

Face Mug

Face MugThis guy looks like he’s had one cup of coffee too many. Believe it or not, you could actually drink from this mug, if you can stand the stare. At least it should wake you up.

I had to end with that one, to show that the Brown family designs continue to evolve. Though Jerry Brown died in 2016, the pottery continues on with another generation. Jerry’s stepson, Jeff Wilburn, now serves as principle potter. If you missed the link to their store at the beginning, here it is again: Jerry Brown Pottery. You can also visit the Jerry Brown Arts Festival, which is held each spring. It also helps to keep our traditions alive.

Great Southern Food Books–Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, by Barbara Kingsolver, and Family (2007)

Kingsolver BookWhy not begin with the best?

If you are looking for a Southern Fusion “Food” book, this is it. This is not a cookbook, in any sense of the word, but a series of interlinked essays about food, Southern and otherwise. Naturally, there are recipes here, but the concept of the book lies in the subtitle: “A Year of Food Life.” It doesn’t hurt that it was written by one of the best writers around, Barbara Kingsolver, who really is a national treasure.

The premise is this: Kingsolver and family move back south from Arizona, after spending years in the Cadillac desert (check out the book with that title). Instead of her native Kentucky, she, her prof husband Steven Hopp, and her two daughters end up in the beautiful mountains of southwestern Virginia, on a large farm. What a sacrifice! Soon thereafter, they decide to conduct a year long experience of living as “locavores,” or people who eat primarily food that is grown locally, within a reasonably short distance from their home in Washington County, Virginia.

Not wanting to give away the entire contents of the book, I will add that Kingsolver goes to New England and the Midwest, and even manages to make it all the way to Italy, as part of her exploration of local food aficionados. It doesn’t get much more fusion than that.

Speaking of that, here is a weekly May menu, compiled for the book by daughter Camille Kingsolver:

Sunday~Grilled chicken, fresh bread, and a giant salad of fresh greens, carrots and peas

Monday~Asparagus and morel bread pudding

Tuesday~Asian summer rolls with spicy peanut sauce, served with rice

Wednesday~Vegetarian tacos with refried beans, pea shoots. lettuce, spring onions, and cheese

Thursday~Cheese ravioli tossed with stir fried spring vegetables, oregano, and olive oil

Friday~Chicken pizza with olives and feta

Saturday~Frittata packed with cheese and vegetables, salad, strawberry-rhubarb crisp

Applebee’s menu, this ain’t. I personally would like to be there for the Monday meal.

In short, this is as inspiring a food book as there is. It even ends with a completely fascinating chapter long examination of turkey production and reproduction, written after Kingsolver made herself an expert on the two subjects. I guess everyone has to be an expert on something, other than just winning one writing award after another.

Corn Meal–Better Know a Southern Staple

GrinderThis is an actual native American original ingredient. And these are the remains of an archaic native American corn grinder, which came from just a few miles downriver from my house.

Corn, another one of those invaders from Mexico, has been ground into meal around here for awhile. It’s a damn good thing there were no ICE corn police in place way back when, or there would be no cornbread, corn muffins, hush puppies, hoe cakes, cornbread dressing, or cornhole tosses. Which brings me to my favorite cornmeal story.

Back in the 1970’s, or so the story goes, there was a locally famous meat and three restaurant in Tarrant City, Alabama. A meat and three serves a protein and three vegetables/side dishes, for all the foreigners reading this. The restaurant happened to be across Alabama Route 79 from a gigantic limestone quarry, and you could eat there, and enjoy dynamite blasts, all at the same time.

An elderly friend of mine swears this is true. He went to lunch there one day, and there was a tarp over the roof, and a giant hole in the ceiling. Despite that, lunch service went on as usual.

He sat down at his usual table, and ordered fried chicken livers, fried okra, blackeyed peas, and bread pudding. After his favorite waitress took the order, he asked why there was a hole in the roof and the ceiling.

“Way-l,” she said, “They uzed too much dynymite over at the kwarry. A bold-er shot all the wayz across tha rode. Hit came thru the roof and lit in the sweet rolls.” This was across one of the busiest roads in the state.

“So what are you going to do?” he said.

“Serve corn muffins instead,” was her answer.

Corn muffins. It’s what’s for lunch.


All cornmeal needs to be stored properly, as it has a good deal of fat and protein that will go rancid. Refrigerate in a zip-lock bag for short term storage, though a freezer is a better place for it in the long run.


Cornmeal comes in various colors, but yellow is the most common. The main difference is in the grind–how it was ground, and by what. Commercial cornmeals are often ground at a high heat level, which is not so good for the flavor. Traditionalists use stone ground meal, though not necessarily ground in one of those grinders in the above picture. Stone ground is normally whole grain, so it really really needs refrigeration.


This is the rub, right here. There’s coarse, medium, and fine, depending on the source. Every miller has a different label, and many don’t bother with the distinction on grinds. Look for one that does. I’m going to use the example of Coosa Valley Milling, in Wilsonville, Alabama. For those of you who don’t know your geography, that’s only a few miles from Harpersville. Alright, it’s just south of Birmingham.


Fine groundUnlike many people, this is my go to grind. Most people add wheat flour to their cornbread, but not me. This powder fine grind is easily the best I’ve ever seen. It’s made by a great family company as well.


Coarse ground

This one is the work horse grind, with something of the consistency of sawdust. That’s why I put it on my workbench. (Clever, eh?) Great for Hush Puppies and other crunchy things. It’s usually cut with flour when used to make cornbread.


A cornbread and a cornbread dressing recipe here.

Bama Cornbread

1 cup fine McEwen cornmeal

3/4 cup milk

1 egg

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

Mix this up and put in a roasting hot, oiled cast iron skillet, into a 400 degree oven. The quality of the cornmeal is the key here. Double the recipe for a family meal.

Bama Cornbread Dressing

One double recipe of Bama Cornbread, crumbled (see above)

2 cups croutons

2 cups cooked onions and celery

Handful of rehydrated dried Porcini mushrooms, cooked in butter, chopped

1/2 stick of melted butter

2 eggs

Chicken stock (at least one cup)

Salt and Pepper to taste

Sage, sage, and more sage

Cook at 350 degrees. This is a seat of the pants recipe. I like lots and lots of sage and mushrooms. Recycle into turkey or chicken and dressing after the first meal.

Here are the testimonials about McEwen products, from famous chefs across the country. You can read about the awards they have won. Their eggs are fantastic as well, but you’ll have to drive to Wilsonville for those.


I was a Teenage Fast Food Worker, Part Two–The Dead Mouse in the Deep Fryer

Dead Mouse

Just a bit disturbing. Maybe the little fellow is only sleeping.

Readers of the first installment of this sordid series of tales, “The Night I Cooked for the Mob,” may recall that my job at our local fast food fried chicken establishment in Cullman, Alabama, was to man the deep fryer, a stove sized implement that held gallons and gallons of deep frying fat. I say “fat” because that was the only word on the label of the package that contained the possibly hydrogenated substance we used in our deep fryer. Oil and lard were too expensive, apparently, and so we had this shortening like concoction that came in large, paper wrapped blocks. Even then, our manager guarded it as if she had been the supervisor of prisoners at the Bastille. No one touched her fat without her permission.

Because of the hydrogenated nature of the “fat” we used, the contents of my deep fryer would congeal every night, after I turned off the gas to the thing. When I had the day shift, I would come in and turn it on, and it would liquify, and gradually warm up to the 350 degrees that it needed to be. Then it was time to fry some chicken for the unwashed masses.

On this particular June day I was greeted by a visitor to my fryer. A dead visitor. A series of tiny footprints lead to the middle of the fryer, where my late friend the mouse had apparently hit a soft spot in the shortening. The little guy had drowned in fat. In fact, he was as dead as a cliche. He did have what appeared to be a slight smile, so I suppose he died happy, like a mouse in fat should.

Be that as it may, this was definitely a job for our manager, who loved making executive type decisions. I interrupted her daily reading of the Cullman Times with a knock on her office door, and said, “Manager manager manager, there’s a dead mouse in the deep fryer.”

“Expletive,” she said, as she put down her paper. “Not another one. I’ll show you how to take care of this.” This was a teachable moment, apparently.

She took a look into the fryer at our dead mouse, and said, “Go to the pantry, and get that biggest stainless steel spoon we have. You know which one it is?”

“Yes, Manager,” I said. I assumed she wanted me to get the spoon that was larger than all of the others. As it turned out, it was a real beauty.

When I got back to the kitchen, she said, “That’s it. Now scoop out the dead mouse, but get as little of the fat as possible. It’s too expensive to waste.” I scooped out the mouse with very little fat. Then she said, “Take it across the street, and throw it in the dumpster over there. We can’t have people thinking that we have mice in here.”

“Good thinking,” I said, and headed out the back door.

The street behind our restaurant was a busy one for our town, and crossing it was compounded by the problem of having a dead mouse in a spoon. I thought this might one day make a great Olympic sport, crossing busy streets with a mouse filled spoon. I took my time, ran across the street, and backhanded the poor bugger into the dumpster. I was going to win on style points.

On my way back across the street, I suddenly thought that the mouse had to have crapped all in the fat when it died. My suspicion was confirmed when I got back in the kitchen, and saw all the mouse sized black pellets that were in the fryer. It was time for another executive decision.

I knocked on the manager’s door again. I said, “Manager manager manager, I think the mouse did something in the fat when it died.” Now she was reading the paper, and having a smoke.

She didn’t even look up from her paper this time. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It will cook out when you turn the fryer on. No one will ever notice, or even know about it.”

“Yes, manager,” I said.

I think I gagged a bit when I turned on the fryer. That was the last day I ever ate anything that came out of that kitchen.

A Field Guide to Southern Hamburgers

HamburgerHamburger meat is on the way. The grinder just needs a few more cranks.

A. D. Livingston, in his great book On the Grill, tells the best hamburger story I have ever read, and it actually qualifies as one of the best stories I’ve ever read, period. It’s a tragi-comic tale of the decline of Southern food, and the Southern diet, both at the same time. It also involves high school football, cheerleaders, and grilled hamburgers. It doesn’t get much more Southern than that.

A. D. has a unique explanation for the year after year success of his local high school football team. It was the hamburgers served at each home game:

Above all else, however, I credit a few good ol’ boy chefs and the great American hamburger. Thick and juicy. Hot and tasty. Grilled to perfection.

Fans from both sides of the gridiron would mob the hamburger venue at the home field, lured in by the smell of ground beef cooking over hickory and charcoal, and the resulting revenue went to support the team.

Just as no good deed goes unpunished, however, all good things come to an end:

But slowly things changed and un-American activities began to gnaw at the spirit of the thing. By the time my son reached varsity football and I was called upon to lend my services as a chef, the situation had really become hopeless.

Locally ground quality beef had been replaced by Sam’s Club type pre-formed burgers. Not surprisingly, no one wanted to eat that garbage. When confronted with that reality, the new head of the Quarterback Club had the following answer for A. D. :

“Look, feller,” he said, fed up with me. “This is a ball game. If people want hamburgers, they’ll go to Hardee’s.”

And in that manner, the South fell again. Only the Southerners who fell this time were all so obese, they couldn’t get back up.

Let’s look at Southern burgers, traveling from East to West.

Carolina Burgers

This is something of a barbecue burger, and I have compiled a list of the most important ingredients. I think of this as being a North Carolina, instead of a South Carolina, burger.

  • Gotta have: Coleslaw, American Cheese
  • Gratuitous meat added: All meat chili
  • Burger: Ground Chuck

Anything with coleslaw is good, and I would throw in a slice of dill pickle as well. Be gratuitous.

Pimento and Cheese Burger

Originally a coastal specialty, this burger was something of a craze for awhile, and has spread around the country. Talk about a cheeseburger! Cheese, with peppers and mayo. That’s what I’m talking about.

  • Gotta have: Good Pimento and Cheese, and lots of it, and a slice of tomato
  • Gratuitous meat added: Bacon
  • Burger: Ground Chuck

Though this may be a slow motion infarction of a meal, one every so often probably won’t kill you. Probably.

Slug Burger, Penn Burger, Mystery Burger

This is the one I have been wanting to write about, a burger intended to be consumed by the Southern lumpenproletariat. You’re going to have to google that term. This low priced specialty is concentrated in the Tennessee Valley region of Tennessee, Alabama, and Mississippi, and surrounding environs. The Southern Foodways Alliance has a blog post dedicated to this curiosity. Let’s just say this one is not for everyone.

  • Gotta have: Filler, filler, filler. Usually Soybean Meal, Flour, or Oatmeal, as well as a boatload of condiments, to cover up the taste of the filler
  • Gratuitous meat added: As little as possible
  • Burger: Ground Beef, Pork, or whatever was found dead in the road

My hometown of Cullman was so special that we had TWO Mystery Burger joints, including a C. F. Penn franchise, where they deep fry the burgers. I had my first Mystery Burger when I was about ten, and even my ten year old brain said, “What the f*** is this?” Actually, it was also my last one. Foodies like to talk about “mouthfeel,” a term I find to be borderline obscene. Walk up to someone on the street, and ask, “How is your mouthfeel today?” This thing had the mouthfeel of the refuse from a lumberyard. Hence our family name for it: Sawdust Burger.

Louisiana Burger

How about from the ridiculous to the sublime? I’ve always thought that if Mississippi had not gotten in the way, Louisiana and Alabama would have been like two brothers who lived next to each other, and always tried to best each other at everything, be it good or bad. Corrupt as hell, and football and food crazy, Alabama has the James Beard award winning best restaurant in the country, Highlands Bar and Grill, (Frank Stitt, the owner and Executive Chef, just happens to be from Cullman), and the last I heard, a pretty good football team. Louisiana has chef Donald Link, among others, and LSU ain’t bad at football, either. Here is a short version of Chef John Folse’s Southern/Louisiana Burger:

  • Gotta Have: Egg,  Bread Crumbs, and Parmesan Cheese as a binder
  • Gratuitous meat added: None needed
  • Burger: Ground Chuck

Cheese IN the burger? Absolute genius. Whenever we had beef that was too lean back on the farm, we would use egg and flour as a binder. That’s when the connection struck me-it all goes back to the original hamburger from Germany. Donald Link is something of a German Cajun, having ancestors named Zaunbrecher, who helped establish rice farming in Louisiana. Talk about fusion. Talk about good.

The Basic Burger

Let’s get back to the basics, after all of these variations. Hamburger obviously originated in Hamburg, Germany, as Frankfurters originated in Frankfurt, and Wieners in Wien (Vienna). A Berliner is a kind of jelly doughnut, and people still debate if JFK stood before a huge crowd in Berlin in 1963, and said, “I am a Jelly Doughnut” (Ich bin ein Berliner). The more normal construction would have been “Ich bin Berliner.” I asked my German friend Torsten, who was an engineer at the Mercedes plant in Vance, Alabama, about that, and he said that context is everything, when it came to statements like JFK’s. So JFK was not a jelly doughnut, after all. He was a Mensch.

This basic burger recipe is similar to A. D Livingston’s, with a couple of additions:

  • Ground Chuck (I grind my own)
  • Salt
  • Black Pepper
  • Worcestershire Sauce
  • Soy Sauce
  • Garlic Powder

Proportions are a matter of taste. I cook my burgers on a Lodge cast iron sportsman’s grill, over oak and hickory charcoal. I also like really strong dijon or creole mustard on my burger, and Vidalia onion. One thing I will never cook on my grill, however, is Mystery Burgers.

Coffee and Chicory–Better Know a Southern Staple

Coffee 1A hot homemade English Muffin, and homemade Fig Preserves, and an old Cafetière of Coffee and Chicory. Breakfast!

When I left the farm in Good Hope, Alabama, for college, I knew that there were people who drank coffee without chicory in it, but I had never met one, as far as I knew. It could have been because I didn’t drink coffee, or even alcohol. Then when I started graduate school, and entered into the teaching profession at the same time, I found I needed something to wake me up in the morning, and put me to sleep at night. My girlfriend Melanie Jane and I headed out for the Kroger’s in Tuscaloosa, on a mission, after my first class. We left there with two new items in our buggy: some Luzianne Coffee and Chicory, and a bottle of BV Beau Rosé. Being an adult wasn’t all bad.

The other thing we bought at about the same time is a cookbook that is still my favorite, the 1901 edition of The Picayune Creole Cookbook, from New Orleans. For years the only two cookbooks we owned were that, and The Joy of Cooking (it should be noted that Irma Rombauer, who wrote the original Joy, was from St. Louis, which is sometimes considered to be Southern, though usually not). Truthfully, those two books, and a little curiosity, is all a cook needs. However, the very first recipe in the Picayune Creole Cookbook is Café à la Créole: Creole Coffee.

Though chicory is not mentioned in the recipe, the praises lavished on coffee are next level. Coffee “supported the old age of Voltaire,” and I challenge anyone else to find a cookbook that begins with a reference to Voltaire (a bust of Voltaire welcomes visitors to the entrance hall at Monticello). I have to throw in another quote about a French writer, this one by Henry James: Honoré de Balzac could not have written so many novels without “deep potations of coffee,” allegedly around fifty cups per day. But here is the real kicker from the recipe:

Coffee is now regarded by physicians as an auxiliary food substance, as retarding the waste of nerve tissue and acting with peculiarly strengthening effect upon the nervous and vascular systems.

Coffee. It’s what’s for breakfast. As much as I have drunk, I should live to be two thousand years old.

Now, New Orleans Creole Coffee is most famous for it’s various coffee and chicory concoctions, and just one producer has at least six varieties of coffee and chicory to choose from. Chicory is a southern European plant with blue flowers, from the Aster family, though the part used in the beverage is the roasted root. Chicory root has claims of medicinal qualities about it that would have made the writers of The Picayune Creole Cookbook blush.


This marriage of African coffee bean and European roasted herb root made it to France in 1801, and was well entrenched in N. O. by the time of the Civil War blockade. According to Smithsonian Magazine, folks from New Orleans tried everything from acorns to beets as additives and fillers for their coffee, in order to stretch out their supply. Apparently Coffee and Chicory tasted better than Coffee and Acorns.

If you are brave enough to try this incredibly smooth, addicting drink, locals throughout the South recommend just about everything available. The general consensus is that there are two favorites: Community Coffee Coffee and Chicory, and Union Coffee and Chicory. Consider all other brands as tied for third, and they all have slight variations in flavor. Prices vary widely, so do a little searching before purchasing. I personally buy the 32 oz. bags of Community Coffee Coffee and Chicory, but I probably should consider coffee rehab.

If you have a super special coffee variety already that you have sworn allegiance to, say, something grown only on three acres on a mountain in Jamaica, and picked only by left handed Ganja smokers, despair not. Chicory is sold widely, and even Community Coffee sells bags of it. Mix one part of chicory, with three parts of your Ganja smoker picked Jamaican primo, and there you have it. That’s the standard mix ratio, but experimentation is encouraged. Believe it or not, instant chicory is also available, for fans of instant coffee.

Now, naturally, to the world famous Cafe du Monde in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Starbucks it ain’t. Unless you want your coffee cold or frozen, you have two choices: black Coffee and Chicory, or Cafe au Lait, which is half strong Coffee and Chicory, and half hot milk. No lattes, no frappuccinos, and definitely no pumpkin spice. If you go there and ask for a doughnut and some pumpkin spiced coffee, please have the word “TOURIST” tatooed across your forehead first.

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