The Big Blue Brute

The Blue Brute

I have only one motorcycle left. So sad. Up until a couple of weeks ago I was a TWO motorcycle family. My main ride was a sweet little Kawasaki ZR7S that I christened the Screaming Yellow Streak -- a misnomer really, since the Streak was a mild-mannered machine with no vices.

Alas, the Yellow Streak is now somewhere in the middle of a wholesale change of ownership, even though I never thought I'd sell him.

But the Big Blue Brute still inhabits my carport and beckons me to burn asphalt at every opportunity. Arizona is the perfect place to ride during the winter months, but I seldom seem to do it. Along about October, it starts to get chilly in the evenings and I get out of the habit of riding. I should change that; much of the time, even in January, you can ride here without even so much as a jacket if you choose to. But from October until glorious spring arrives, my bikes have been left to their own entertainment in recent years. But then March and April start to show a little warmth and the days are clear and bright in the sunshine and my mind turns to motorcycling

So I dragged Big Blue out into the yard and washed the dust off of him. I added a bit of good oil just to top it off – he’s about ready for some new oil anyway – adjusted the tire pressures to the proper levels and charged up the battery. After all of this, that nasty old thing fired right off with a choke and a rumble.

The only view most folks ever get of the ZZR1200

I rode him about 30 miles a couple nights ago on an errand and today, I took him to lunch. This 1200 cc motorcycle is God’s gift to horizontal rocketry.  A simple short twist of the throttle and about 2 seconds elapsed time can have you and your Italian Racing Jacket at well over 100 mph.

Top speed, if you’re an idiot, is somewhere above 170 mph; I’ve flown airplanes that wouldn’t go that fast.  So I have to be on my toes all the time to control that power and weight. The more I ride him, the more I discover that he’s really very nimble. Because of the excessive power (about 150 hp), I’ve always been a bit timid to throw him around much. But I am getting used to the thing and I am judiciously getting more comfortable.



The Sweet Departed

I am awful busy this week with other things, things with deadlines. But I am really hoping that late in the week before I run out of days off those projects will be complete and I will be able to spend a day on some Arizona back-road highways – no dirt mind you, this isn’t the machine for that, but some twisty two-lanes perhaps? Now that’s the ticket!

Like I said... "All I want is a piece of the road!" Keep the shiny side up!

Barbecue Review, Part II

Today at Honey Bear's...

The first restaurant review I ever did was on three barbecue restaurants in my hometown of Phoenix – an article which can still be read on RoadTrip America. I stopped in at Honey Bear’s for lunch today, and was thinking about how long ago that was, and how things have changed since then – some for the worse, some for the better! I’ve added the text of that first review at the bottom of this post, just for informational purposes.

My first review of Honey Bear’s found some “deficiencies;” later visits proved that the original criticism I wrote was misleading – which was further corroborated by my lunch today. Honey Bear’s is legendary around here. There was a time when they were hands-down the best to be found anywhere in Arizona. They are still good – but they have more and more competition all the time!

The not so good... Since I wrote my original article, A & J Barbecue on north 16th Street has closed. My friend Abraham sold the place and retired, and a younger couple took over. I continued to eat there occasionally, but discovered over time that the food quality had diminished slightly – I suspect but am not certain that attempts to cut costs were responsible for the changes. Eventually I passed by and noticed the place was empty and gutted. That makes me sad -- they were nice people and that place in its prime was always a top favorite.

For the better... A new place has opened and become one of my favorites – a long-time Phoenix family opened a place called Town Talk II on 19th Avenue north of Osborn. Chris Rideaux’s Grandfather had the first Town Talk here in the 50s. Chris and his family opened the second edition a couple years back to honor that first restaurant and his Grandfather. I think with Chris the operation is a labor of love and it shows. I always find the foods there delectable and the staff is friendly. These are good people and while I don’t get down to that neighborhood as much as I used to, I still think of them often. The food has a Louisiana-Creole flair to it – with great sides like dirty rice, gumbo and jambalaya.  One of my favorites is the fried cabbage with bacon, and I love the hot links at Town Talk II!

In addition, as I blogged earlier, I have a newer barbecue joint here in the neighborhood (The Hammered Hog). I’ve reviewed that elsewhere so I won’t repeat anything here -- but I no longer have to leave my neighborhood to find great 'cue.

Roger Wagner’s “Thee Pitts Again” out on west Bell Road is still roaring along strong – the food is consistently excellent and everything I said in my first review is still true. When I am in that end of town, I go out of my way to eat there.  Thee Pitts Again rocks!  I've noticed that they seem to have expanded and opened a place up in Silverton, Colorado.  Road trip!

I had some GREAT St Louis-style pork ribs a few days ago at a new incarnation of an old-tyme 1960s Phoenix institution – The Satisfied Frog up on Bell Road. A pork rib has a joint and a flap of extra meat that is normally trimmed off – for the Saint Louie rib you smoke it with the flap still on it so it is a bit meatier than a normal spare or baby back. At the Frog, I had a half-rack of these, with their lightly-glazed-on sauce and a serving of their great home-style fries, and while I couldn’t eat the whole thing, the leftovers didn’t last too long in the fridge. The rest were gone in a few short hours – it seemed like every time I passed by I could hear dem bones beggin’ to be eaten. So I did.

I've learned that Phoenix isn’t the desolate place it used to be when it comes to great barbecue. We’ve moved into the big leagues, my opinion. I can get as good smoked meat here as can be found anywhere in this barbecue nation, no matter on what side of town I want to look!  The only problem is deciding which one.

More better... Oh… today at Honey Bears’…

I had a pork sandwich, “Cowbro” beans and slaw. The sandwich was meaty (see the photo!), lean and the sauce was excellent -- spicy! The meat was piled up on there like the proprietor was related to Miss Piggy or somebody! It was, like, half a hog. The coleslaw was coarse-chopped and subtly cool! It has a flavor a bit different than most slaws – I can’t quite put my finger on it. The flavor, whatever it is, isn’t strong. Today, the cabbage head they used was a bit woody and old – but it is really hard to tell an old cabbage by looking at it, so I suspect they didn't have a clue and I cannot fault them for that. The taste though gets a bit… woody… and even slightly bitter. I ate it anyway, and it was still good.

The beans though…. Yee Haw! I love Honey Bear’s beans. They are spicy, they have MEAT in them (chopped up links I think) and they are chock full of peppers. These beans ain’t wimpy. They've got a strong, snazzy flavor! The prices on the side dishes have gone up a bit – but the portions are large. The sandwich was still about the same price I remember (less than $6)  – and the value is excellent given the size of the thing. Two people could share a sandwich and a couple of sides and not be hungry afterwards – maybe even have room for dessert! Share THAT too, without any guilt whatsoever! Dessert at Honey Bear's is cobbler, sweet potato pie, or an made-in-store gelato.  I had no room left to try them... today. Take your honey to Honey Bear’s!  Did I tell you I love those beans...

Today's visit reaffirmed my earlier belief that Honey Bear's Barbecue (several locations) deserves its reputation as some of the best barbecue anywhere.  Of all these places, I can never name a favorite -- I can't name JUST one.  It's really great to be in that predicament, ain't it?  So many great choices, so little time...  Life is good.

My first review… (2003)

Many of us think the crux of good barbecue is in the sauce. Not true! Barbecue is the method of cooking. The sauce is just an auxiliary delight, although very important, as we shall see. True barbecue is prepared by smoking meat over relatively long periods, at low temperatures, typically 200-250 degrees. Barbecue as a method of cooking has its roots in the most primitive methods of preserving meat, thousands of years old, both as meat was dried on racks in the air above a fire, and also in the pit-cooking common to Polynesia. As for the most popular styles of barbecue, I've heard of these most often: North Carolina, Tennessee (or Memphis), Chicago, Kansas City, Texan, and Polynesian. There are many others, probably almost as many as there are barbecue masters.

In North Carolina, the sauce is usually vinegar-based, and the meat is typically smoked over hickory or pecan wood, perhaps with a dry rub applied. The sauce is usually served on the side. South Carolina-style is similar but has a mustard-based sauce.  [Bob's 2011 note... Carolina-style is my least favorite sauce.  It's tart and sour.  I like mine a little sticky and sweet.]

A vinegar-based sauce is popular in Tennessee, although my experience is that the Tennessee sauce is usually quite a bit sweeter than the Carolinian style, and it seems usually to have tomato in it also. Carolina barbecue sauce is not sweet, not at all. Both are typically thin sauces. In the mid-west, you can find thicker tomato-based sauces, often with smoky flavors added. These include the "Kansas City" varieties, which often include cinnamon or cloves in their ingredients.

In Texas, you'll find coffee is a common ingredient in the sauce, and hot spices are the norm—whether Tabasco, red pepper, chilies, or whatever else is handy that has heat in it. Traditionally, Texan barbecue uses mesquite wood, the meat is smoked with a dry-spice rub and the sauce is almost an afterthought. Farther west, Polynesian sauces have tropical flavors such as orange and pineapple—very different and exotic.

In the south, particularly in the Carolinas, you say "barbecue" and people think "pork." In Texas, barbecue is beef, often brisket. As a general rule, pork is preferred east of the Mississippi, beef to the west of it.

For this field report, I have undertaken a quest to discover the best barbecue to be found in Phoenix, Arizona. My first stop was A&J Chicago-Style Barbecue, owned and operated by Abe and Jean Hawthorne. My first question to Abe was "what exactly is 'Chicago-style' barbecue?" Abe explained that he distinguishes his cooking method from those that roast their meats in an oven, add sauce, and call it 'cue. He slow-roasts his pork spare ribs, chickens, hot links and other meats in a glass-enclosed smoker, over a mesquite fire. It is closely akin to the traditional, slow cooking process, although his wood fires are hotter than you might find in other establishments. For this reason, Abe uses thicker cuts of meat, and pork spare ribs instead of the baby back ribs that are popular in other establishments. They are thicker and hold up better in the slightly hotter temperatures without drying out. They are also meatier than the baby ribs.

Abe serves his victuals lunch-counter style (no linen table cloths here), smothered in sauce—which is vinegar and tomato based and is about a 7 on the Schaller "heat scale" of 1 to 10. The sauce is very southwestern in terms of heat; you can definitely break a sweat while enjoying A&J's foods. Meals come with the choice of several great side dishes, such as pintos, coleslaw (fine-cut & very mild), fries cut on premises with skins on (excellent), green salad and potato salad, etc.
[Note: As noted above, A&J is no longer in business.]

Next stop was Honey Bear's Barbecue. Honey Bear's offerings are renowned far and wide, and are touted as "Memphis-style." According to the counter staff, this means simply that the "sauce is thinner." The sauce is somewhat sweet, but as served was not spicy. The sides include slaw among others, and it is very good, a sweet and creamy version. Another highlight is the "Cowbro' Beans." They are not your typical bowl of plain-Jane pintos, but have generous amounts of peppers and hot links all residing in a thin tomato sauce. They are excellent. Honey Bear's says, "put a little south in your mouth," and "you don't need no teeth to eat our meat." Amen. Choices include pulled pork, beef brisket, hot links, ribs and chicken. You cannot go wrong with a pork sandwich, and sides of slaw and "Cowbro' Beans."

Out on Phoenix's northwest side, you'll find Thee Pits Again ensconced in a stainless-steel diner-styled building on the north side of the road.. Of the three businesses I visited, Thee Pits Again had the best facility by a nose over Honey Bear's [at the time], and the most varied offerings on the menu—including that old Arizona stand-by, fried rattlesnake. I say "stand-by," because if that's all there is to eat, I'll "stand by" until something else comes along. I hear it tastes just like chicken. That's your first clue, folks. Run away! Run away!

Roger Wagner, owner of Thee Pits Again, takes his show on the road frequently to national competitions. His place is full of plaques and trophies attesting to the excellence of his work. For pork and ham, the meat is marinated in beer before smoking over mesquite in the time-honored, traditional way. His meats are as excellent as they sound—I tried beef ribs, pork ribs, pulled pork, beef brisket, ham, and a chopped mixture of beef and pork. The ribs (both varieties) are tender and succulent. The smoke flavor comes through most in the sliced beef and pork. The sauce, according to Roger, is Memphis-inspired, but it is different in texture and taste from the others I tasted. It is sweet, tangy, and thick. A highlight at Thee Pits Again is the corn bread; not too crumbly, slightly sweet and served with honey butter. It is definitely a cut-above the other two places, as they serve only sliced bread or institutional-style white rolls.

All three establishments prepare their meat in the traditional barbecue style, and all are excellent. I suspect all three use mesquite. Of the three, Honey Bear's sauce was not as tasty in my opinion, but the other two are great, with the edge, I think, going to Thee Pits Again. But A&J's is close and also excellent with the added heat. I suspect first place would go to whatever I was in the mood for on that particular day, sweet and tangy or hot and spicy. All have some great sides, but overall, Thee Pits' sides were a shade better -- their potato salad is the best I've ever had, anywhere. Thee Pits Again shines on dessert offerings, and if you don't try the Caramel Apple Granny, you aren't living right, and your intelligence may be suspect!

My final suggestion to you is that if you love barbecue, and you can get to Phoenix, look me up and we'll make the rounds so you can decide these important questions for yourself. Let me be your guide! Meanwhile, I will continue my quest, as I'm certain there must be at least one great place I've missed on my pilgrimage! I'll keep you posted.

UPDATE: September 2004

My review for the original article rated Honey Bear's sauce as less tasty than the other two establishments on the day of my visit. This was a surprise to me at the time, as Honey Bear's always seemed very good on earlier visits. Since I wrote the article, I have been back to all three establishments repeatedly -- as a fledgling food critic, I believe it is important to keep up with all the latest "developments" in the field!

I have discovered that the less than perfect sauce I encountered that day at Honey Bear's was an aberration -- each time I have revisited, I've found their sauce to once again be as delicious as I remembered from visits prior to the review! Of course, this makes it even more difficult to choose a "favorite." So, I will keep bearing this heavy burden, checking and rechecking, and searching for the Holy Grail of Barbecue, sampling and tasting until there is no further doubt. This may take a good long time, so please "bear" with me!

General Patton's Ivory-Handled Pistols

It is misguided to blindly worship or idolize anyone. Even our most revered heroes were human and flawed; but there are those we can look up to who excelled in their endeavors, who seemed to value and pursue a higher purpose no matter what it might have cost them. What would we have done without men like George Washington or Abraham Lincoln, without military leaders like George Patton?

Patton was and remains the most effective battlefield general this country has produced in the last 100 years - maybe even ever. It is difficult to compare generalship when experience and events vary so widely. Some generals who may have been just as great maybe never had the opportunities to really shine. Others who were effective battlefield leaders perhaps just didn't get the press Patton did, because they weren't as "good" a story at the time (like Omar Bradley). But without doubt, Patton was, in terms of tactics, the very best of his generation. He found himself in the right war, in the right place, with the right army and equipment; the stars aligned just right for him, given his chosen profession. He himself recognized this and even publicly stated so -- in almost the same words I used.

Patton's was the consummate warrior spirit – and he knew not only how to inspire and lead soldiers, he also knew how to win a battle and a war. His biggest weakness was he was no politician; today, we seem to think that a man cannot have any flaws and still be any good. George Patton had his weaknesses and some of them were not insignificant. Absent war, he was a piece of work; he was at times a lost, depressed and wandering beast. He was often extremely arrogant; publicly, at least, he wasn’t known for any degree of humility. But in terms of generalship and his craft, that of prosecuting and winning war, I don't think he has an equal. Give the man his due... his results speak for themselves.

Of all our great WWII Generals, not one of them can stand next to Georgie in aggressiveness or willingness to engage, nor in battlefield effectiveness; not one. GSP had the will to fight and to win. More than once, Patton said that he loved battle. His tactics and learned-lessons still shape American armored doctrine today.  If I had to go into battle, I'd want to serve under a general like Patton. Not that I'd want to... I'm not a fool. Unlike the General, I see no "glory" in the death and destruction of war; but I revere excellence.  
 
If you have seen the film "Patton," you probably noticed that much of what he did was carefully planned for the greatest effect on his troops. He knew what made a good general – supreme confidence, competence born of thorough planning, swagger, drama and game. The film is very true to life by the way – the General said and did almost everything the movie script includes – often verbatim. Hollywood changed and misrepresented some of the settings and the chronology of the actual events, and some of the deeds or the relationships he had with others were mis-characterized.

If you listen carefully to the dialog in the film, for which Omar Bradley was an advisor, you can hear some of Bradley's disdain in their (movie) interactions. Reportedly, Bradley despised Patton. I am not so certain (and perhaps “despised” is too strong a word) – the two worked so closely together from 1942 on to the end of the war.  Omar Bradley's memoirs relate some of the facts concerning Patton's stellar successes - and there were issues that Patton may or may not have been aware of. Some of these had the effect of making Patton look good, while making Montgomery appear less effective. 

As I write this, I am reading Bradley's book and so far I have found it to be critically even-handed. Since GSP never got the chance to write his own unvarnished memoir, we don't know what he would have said about Bradley, once he was no longer restrained by the strictures of Army culture and politics. We have only his wartime diaries and notes, carefully shaped and redacted by his wife and advisors -- and much of the General's colorful (often crude) personality was skinned out.  But in Patton's writings as they exist today, nothing I saw indicated anything but respect for his European-theater commander. 

Montgomery and Patton quite often worked together in concert, not against each other. For example, in Sicily. Bradley portrayed their relationship as adversarial. Biographers have stated that Patton and Montgomery had a load of mutual respect and admiration for each other. They left that out of the film. In Sicily, the film shows Patton disobeying orders in order to beat Montgomery to Messina. It did not happen quite that way -- while there was most certainly rivalry between the two, Patton and Montgomery both knew what the other was doing and were working in concert, even if both generals wanted to beat the other to the objective.  

The overall plan had been agreed upon and approved by the Allied commander in that theater. That bit of Hollywood falsification in the 1970 film (for the purposes of humor, perhaps) was a major disservice to two great generals. Patton was a loose cannon in many ways, but not in that way. Georgie was to Eisenhower, as Jackson or Longstreet was to Robert E. Lee; a trusted and effective executor of battle plans, no matter whose they were. Eisenhower knew and was appreciative of Patton's battlefield skills, even as he was stressed by his very public political liabilities. Field Marshal Montgomery was also a great commander, if a bit more cautious than was Patton.

Patton's Guns: The ivory-handled revolvers were the accouterments of Patton’s carefully cultivated image and the high drama he created around himself. This was showmanship and his keen sense of perfection in costuming; George Patton wore his uniforms much like a Latin-American dictator (or British royalty). He intended and planned to look like a general. His pistols were not always a matched set by the way. He originally had two matching Army Colts and their ivory grips were engraved (as was the bright-work on the guns themselves). If you can imagine what kind of pistol Buffalo Bill would have carried in his Wild West show -- you'll have a good mind-image of what Patton's Colts looked like. But he later gave one of those original Colts as a gift and afterwards wore a .357 Smith and Wesson revolver, usually on his left side. That one, at least, wasn’t just for show. While it also had an engraved ivory grip, it was the pistol he used if he found it necessary to fight. That happened more than once, as the General was prone to risk-taking and appearing (as well as working) near the front lines. He wanted his men to see that “generals could get shot at too.”

These mismatched sidearms were at least once accurately portrayed in the 1970 film – which surprised me. That level of accuracy to detail isn’t common in Hollywood. However, in most of the later scenes in the film, George Scott (as Patton) wore only one revolver. Patton also often carried a third weapon (tucked into his waistband, or under his field jacket in a shoulder-holster) – like the semi-automatic pistol he used in the film to shoot at the German bombers outside his headquarters in North Africa (that one was sometimes a .45, sometimes a .380). That was a true incident – including what he said about it in the film (that if he could find those two German pilots, he'd decorate them for showing up right when they did). George Patton was a master at training troops and building morale. Of course he knew he couldn't shoot down a German bomber with a sidearm -- but he wanted his men to see him standing alone and shooting at the enemy. That picture (and the mythic stories that arose from it) were worth six months of training when it came to morale and esprit de corps. 

Why two and even three handguns? As a young officer, Patton served with General Pershing in the Mexican punitive campaign. Patton went off in search of Villistas one day, found some and started a gunfight with them. He killed some of them (including one of Villa’s top aides) and I believe he got his first decoration for his daring and bravery in that fight. In the event, he fired a revolver until it ran out of ammunition (five shots) and then had to stop and reload while others – several others – were all shooting at him. He never forgot how that felt – to be empty while other folks are shooting at you. After that he always carried more than one sidearm. The ivory grips?  Well, he was a gentleman, after all, and as I've said, one who was more than a little bit interested in "putting on a show."

That fight in Chihuahua was the first time in history that American soldiers went into battle on an automobile. That's the way Georgie was -- he was an ancient warrior spirit but at the same time he was always looking for new ways to prosecute war, better ways to fight it, better ways to ensure that his soldiers got back home alive again. He used any means of mobility he could find, he spearheaded the use of tanks in the American army, he quickly grasped the advantages of fighting in concert with tactical air power, he adapted anything that gave his army the advantage. He might have been in some ways an historical anachronism but he wasn't trapped by it. When he made a mistake in battle he tried to learn from it and not make it again - and then he shared the experience with others. As a fighting man, he was the best of everything and he learned and adapted as he went along. He was willing to change the plan if he found it didn't fit the circumstances he found his army facing. If you are going to war, you need a General Patton to take you there.

By the way, if you'd like to see Georgie's side arms, complete with their ivory-grips... they are reportedly in the collection of this museum at Fort Knox.  That collection also includes the Cadillac staff car the General was riding in when he sustained his fatal injuries in Germany in 1945.

An Encomium for Otto - Bob buys a new Chevy

A Chevy in the Sun

I have been horse trading this week… My truck was showing its age a bit, and even though it was still reliable, the gasoline mileage was killing me with gas at almost $3.50 per gallon here in the neighborhood and around the state.


I realize that is not high when compared to some other parts of the world, but before you say “poor baby” remember that a 4.7 liter V-8 motor is capable of only about 16 mpg on a good day around town. It was definitely time to give up that irresponsible luxury. A good portion of my new car payment is going to be covered by my gas savings!


There were other considerations as well – a vehicle with 165,000 miles on it is not going to be reliable forever and the market and economy being what it is right now, this was a spectacular time to purchase a new vehicle, both in terms of interest rates for car loans, but also in the willingness of the car dealer (and GM) to make a deal.


I already knew what I wanted, at least almost.  I had been considering what I would buy for many months. I have owned Fords and Chrysler products – this time I thought I whould give a GM product a try. I considered the Silverado (same gas consumption problem), the Malibu, the Colorado (better mileage than a Silverado, but not by much) and the Chevy HHR – a PT Cruiser clone with a GM badge. I looked at the Impala, but they are too big and ungainly for me; an Impala wallows down the road, much like a Crown Vic.  I would have considered a Pontiac or an Oldsmobile -- in my opinion GM killed the wrong brands!  As things are, I do like Chevies.

I had pretty much decided on the HHR, due to its utility (after all, I am a TRUCK kinda guy…) and the HHR seemed like a good compromise between car and truck. When the bank offered me a 3.9% loan I started seriously shopping. I did this almost entirely online. This is the way I do almost all of my shopping these days. I did consider a buying service through the credit union or perhaps Costco, but things went so well the way I started that I never made the first attempt in that direction.


I didn't get the HHR after all -- this Malibu was SO pretty!  It took me quite a while to decide, I have to say that.  Since then, I have regretted this a little bit.  I just drove a rental HHR about 4,100 miles and I really like them. But I did get a quality car that will provide great service over the next ten years. I am pleased with the new vehicle.


I am not pleased with the sales/service I received from the dealer, Sands Chevrolet in Phoenix. They have never, after repeated requests, fulfilled everything they agreed to when I purchased the vehicle.  I do not know if this was simply incompetence, or whether there was intentional dishonesty involved.  Maybe it was both. They also pulled some crap with the financing that irritated me.  So I no longer do business with them and I do not recommend them to anyone else.  For me, they were more trouble than they were worth, and no amount of discounted price can make up for that.





Jeneviéve

My long-time friend Otto the road truck is now part of my history. I’ll miss that Dodge, even though it was always the vehicle I loved to hate. Otto and I saw a lot of road in the last ten years and he was always a reliable companion.


I also traded my yellow motorcycle as part of this deal – and as it was my favorite of the two that I owned, that is going to take some getting used to. There was never a sweeter riding two-wheeler I ever rode. Of course, Big Blue has its charms as well. Things change.


Do you know this car has her own phone number! What's up with THAT? One more photo... I think I will name this vehicle Jeneviéve!  She's pretty... she's golden... I think she's going to be a good friend.  It seems to fit her.




Update JAN 2014:  My car is now almost three years old.  She has about 43,000 trouble-free miles on her.  There have been no malfunctions of any kind. Even the OEM tires and battery are still OK (although the tires are nearing the end of their useful tread-life, maybe have another 10,000 miles left in them, or maybe not).  I still think I'd have been happier with the HHR, but I cannot complain about this vehicle in any way.  The vehicle looks good, rides comfortably, way more comfortably than any foreign vehicle I've ever owned, gets great gas mileage (34-36 highway) and has been perfect in reliability.  This is my third traditional "American" big three vehicle in a row (with like results, one a Ford, one a Dodge) -- and I can't think of ANY reason why anyone would buy "foreign" when American manufacturers build vehicles with this kind of quality.

My favorite buttermilk bread

I often find myself with leftover buttermilk – I use it for various things like ranch dressing, biscuits, etc. but these recipes rarely use the whole carton (I have a hard time finding small containers of buttermilk!) and I hate letting anything go to waste because it sat too long, right? So I might make some breakfast flapjacks with it, or in this case… bread. Yay!

Buttermilk Bread

This bread recipe is a keeper – I found it on About.com, written (or posted) by Ms. Elizabeth Yetter. I didn’t change a thing* – and after making it a couple of times, I finally got a perfect loaf!  The bread turns out soft, moist, and makes great toast! I slice it thick and slather it with the appropriate accompaniments, such as cinnamon-sugar, orange marmalade… It's a bit fragile for sandwiches but you can do it.  Thanks, Ms. Yetter!

(*Except a little bit in process, combining a couple of what I think were unnecessary single steps and I added the wheat gluten).

A couple of bread dough lessons I have learned in general – don’t let it rise too long – and be careful of the temperatures. If it rises too long, the bread will collapse during baking. And... I get better results if the ingredients are room temp or warmer, but not too hot or you’ll kill your yeast critters. You want healthy yeast-beasts.

Ingredients (for one loaf, can be doubled for two):

¾ cup water
1½ TB butter
1⅛ tsp active dry yeast
1 heaping TB wheat gluten*
½ cup buttermilk
1 TB honey
1½ tsp sugar
1½ tsp salt
¼ tsp cider vinegar
3 cups bread flour

Method:

Set your ingredients out to come to room temp. Grease a standard size loaf pan with butter or shortening. When all is ready…

Melt the butter in the water and set aside to cool to about 105 to 110 degrees, but NO warmer. Once the water/butter is the right temperature, mix in the yeast and allow it to proof/dissolve. You should have some yeasty-looking bubbles after a few minutes.

Meanwhile, in a large mixing bowl, mix the gluten, buttermilk, honey, sugar, salt and vinegar.
Mix the water/butter/yeast into the buttermilk bowl. Once it is mixed well, add all but about ¾ cup of the flour and mix it up until the dough is formed well.

Turn this out onto a cookie sheet or a bread-working surface. You’ll knead this mixture about 7 to 8 minutes, working as much of that remaining ¾ cup flour into it as you can to get a smooth and elastic dough. (Before I start kneading, I fill the used mixing bowl with warm water to soak, and then when the kneading is done I clean and dry it, and oil it to use the same bowl for the rising process.) Turn the dough ball once or twice in the bowl to coat it with oil, then cover and let rise about 1 hour or a little more.

Roll the dough around in your hands to gently collapse it and shape it into a loaf. Place it into the prepared loaf pan and make one long slash down the top with a very sharp non-serrated knife. Lay a piece of Saran wrap loosely over it to cover, and let it rise about 45 more minutes or until about doubled. Mine rises slightly above the top of the pan when it is ready. For about the last 15 minutes of the 2nd rise time, preheat your oven to 375.

Bake the bread about 30 minutes and check the internal temperature to be 190 degrees or a little bit above. Brush the top with some melted butter. Turn the loaf immediately out onto a cooling rack. The cooler it gets, the easier the slicing…

Note on baking time: I placed the risen loaf into a cold oven and let the temp come to 375 with the bread already in there. My loaf was done at 30 minutes using this method.  If you preheat, I'd suggest checking it at about 24 or 25 minutes.  Once my bread reaches 190 degrees internal temp, I take it out. Your experience may vary, of course...

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

I am not Irish -- not at all I don't think.  I suppose there could be a little bit o'Irish blood in there somewhere.  But like all English with a conscience, and given my relation with the Irish through the Scot side of my family, I always celebrate the Irish holiday with the best of 'em, having a certain amount of brotherly feelin' for my lovely Irish brothers and sisters... and lovin' a hornpipe or a jig the way I do, as I sit here listening to the Chieftains...  it's the music, friend, it's the music.

So on this St. Patrick's Day, 2011, would that I were in Dublin or Glengarriff, I'll tip a wee dram o' whisky in your honor, and offer an Irish benediction...

May the sun shine warm upon your face
And the Lord's breeze soothe ye
May your path be smooth
your load light and easy

May there be no stones in your fields
May your bed be soft
your rest deeply peaceful
May love be your companion

And may ye be in heaven a half-hour
before the devil knows you’re dead

Éirinn go brách!

Love,
Uncle Bob Schaller Pruitt Stonebreaker McKinney

Where I got my good looks

Doyle and Lula Pruitt

Take a look at the photo. If I look like anyone, it is this guy. It's not an exact match, but it's pretty close. His name’s Doyle Ivan Pruitt, and he was my Grandpa. I only ever called one man Grandpa, and this is him! 

I don’t remember him much before 1966, not specifically anyway. We moved to Arizona before I was born and I saw him once or twice when I was too little to remember, but in 1966 we went to Indiana for a summer visit.  I was 13. I know I saw Grandpa in 1961, and in 1959, and 1957, but I have no memories of those visits, at least concerning him. I always knew what he looked like – I have that much memory at least.

I think that may be because he didn’t have much use for little kids. At least that is the way it seemed to me. He was a little gruff, and I think he probably just went about his business as if we weren’t there. He was still working in those days and he didn't have a lot of free time I don't think. I don’t know, maybe.

But in ’66, I was big enough that he could deal with me. I remember sitting on the front porch with him – there were chairs out there. The highway (Indiana 28) came right up the hill from town and out to the east – right past the house. So we’d watch for the cars and trucks as they roared up the hill, and we'd name them as they came by… there’s a Chevy, there’s a Ford… there probably weren’t any that we couldn’t name. It was a good game to see who could recognize and call them out first.

He worked on cars – and bought and sold them on the side when he could. He was also a farm-hand. My grandparents weren’t ever well-to-do; Grandpa worked and saved, and Grandma worked too. They grew a lot of their own food. My Grandpa grew the best tomatoes I’ve ever had – tomatoes that were bright, deep red, and yellow. He grew enough, at least some years, that he could sell them to passers-by out by the road. The way I remember those tomatoes, I’ll bet those folks felt like they’d really found something. I’d kill for one of my Grandpa’s tomatoes today. I grew great tomatoes on Ruthie’s mulch patch one year (1996); my Grandpa grew them every year.

Doyle Pruitt

He “let” me mow his lawn. Probably the first time was in 1966 – and each visit thereafter as long as I was a kid. Of course, he would supervise. But he’d fire up the lawnmower and keep an eye on things as I mowed that soft green Indiana grass. This must have been something like Tom Sawyer and that whitewashed fence – remember how he made the job sound so desirable that pretty soon all the boys in town wanted a piece of the action?  Well, that’s about how it was with my Grandpa’s lawn.

Later on, in 1968 or 1970, he gave me a lawn mower. We took the wheels off of it, and packed it into the trunk of the car for the long road-trip home, with newspapers to protect the other things packed around it from whatever grease was on it. Nothing was visible except the Briggs and Stratton motor, sticking up from its base into the trunk. We’d pull into a gas station – this was before gas stations were self-serve – when you stopped for gas, a clerk came over and pumped it for you and checked the oil, etc. I’d open the trunk and point at that 3 hp motor and ask them to fill it up and check the oil. Most of them had never seen a Toyota before so it was a good joke.

Dinnertime was another great time at Grandpa’s house. They’d have a little bit of everything set out – vegetables from the garden, some kind of a main dish, maybe some cream gravy and toast, country dishes, nothing extravagant. But I still remember it as being some of the best food I’ve ever eaten. Grandpa would sit there, giving Grandma a hard time about how she cooked the taters, or how she’d dropped something, anything where he could get something started. After supper, we’d watch TV. He’d always go to bed fairly early – maybe 9:00 or so. But I can remember watching Hee-Haw with my Grandpa -- and I still love that show.

I am a little introverted, and a little anti-social. Maybe more than a little. I do not like parties – or crowds – or even medium-sized groups of people. Not even when it is just family. You don’t have to look far to see where that came from; like they say, “the apple don’t fall too far from the tree.” There’s more than one of us in this family that inherited these traits. My Grandpa stayed home so much he didn’t even go out to eat, not that I ever saw. He never came to visit in Arizona. If you wanted to see him, you had to go where he was.

About once a year he’d take Grandma down to Brown County in the fall – he and Grandma were born there, grew up there and started their life together there and he loved it and so did she. When they got married, they rode to Nashville, Indiana in a wagon drawn by a mule, or a horse. They got married there at the courthouse -- which is still the Brown County Courthouse today as far as I know. That was probably about 1919.

I had the good fortune to go to Brown County with my Grandma in the mid-1980s, after Grandpa had died. I think it was probably the last time she was able to go. Both their families had lived in Brown County, Indiana since about 1815-1820, and had at one time owned land there. I've always felt that I was honored in going there with her -- I think it was a great day for all of us. We went to Spurgeon's Corner where Grandma grew up, visited the McKinney family cemetery there, and also drove past Beck's Grove where they lived when my Mom was little. Ruth was along on that trip as well. It was a special day, I think more so because we lived 1,750 miles away; we didn't grow up where she and Grandpa lived and so we don't have too many of those memories with them. The ones we do have are very special to us.

Grandpa was pretty tight with a dollar… maybe even with a penny. He worked as hard as he could and he saved money all his life when he could. They were never rich – but he left my Grandmother without anything to worry about, barring any unusual disasters. That’s saying something, given that he lived and worked through the Great Depression. Sometimes he wasn’t very nice about it, but I do not hold that against him. He was a hard case and the Pruitt’s and the McKinney’s were tough people; tough, poor people. In his times, in his place, people in similar circumstances did starve to death. He did everything he could to keep that from happening to his family, and the work ethic that he instilled in his children meant that, along with a certain amount of good luck, I never went hungry when I was growing up. 

One of the ways he made ends meet during Prohibition times was making bootleg liquor. I don’t know the whole story, but I know he still made wine occasionally when I was a kid – and he probably made beer. I don’t know how much – but I’ve heard that some rather prominent local people were customers of his.

He always wore an undershirt with no sleeves and denim coveralls when he was working around the house. I have a photo somewhere of me and him washing my Mom’s Toyota – a bright yellow 1968 Corona. Toyota was new in the United States at that time – most people east of New Mexico had never seen one or even heard of Toyota. When we pulled up in the driveway, he took one look at that loud, bright, shiny yellow car and said “why didn’t you get a yellow one?” It was vacation and I didn’t have “work clothes.” So he loaned me a t-shirt and some coveralls – we were about the same height but I was a skinny little kid. But there’s that photo with me and him and that yellow Toyota – out there with the hose and the bucket, Grandpa pointing out where the bugs were, and me scrubbing them off with good old-fashioned elbow grease. Lately, I’ve started wearing those same sleeveless t-shirts (what some call a "muscle" shirt). I’ve got one on right now. I don’t wear coveralls yet though.

One time, on one of our visits, Grandpa was sitting on the porch in the afternoon. Right inside the door of the house, he left a little .22 caliber rifle – maybe a single-shot carbine, I’m not sure. Grandpa loved martens, but hated starlings… He’d see a starling in the tree, reach in, grab the rifle, take a shot at it, and then put the rifle back inside the door, out of sight. The neighbors would hear the shot and call the Law. Pretty soon a patrol car would slowly cruise by. Grandpa would wave… they’d wave back… and they’d slowly cruise away. Pretty soon, Grandpa would see another starling… and he’d grab the rifle and take another shot...

I went to visit several times in the 1970s, and later in that decade I bought a tractor and started driving for North American Van Lines. I was back and forth through Indiana frequently and I always tried to make a stop at Attica when I could – it seems all highways lead through Indiana. So I saw quite a bit of him and Grandma for a time, the only time in my whole life when my grandparents were ever familiar to me, in an everyday sense.

He lived to be about 78 or 79 years old. In early 1981, he developed a cancer that was too strong to beat. He died that year, the day before Thanksgiving if I remember correctly and he was buried in the Riverside Cemetery in Attica. My Grandmother joined him there in 1991.

When I was very small, it was almost as if he didn’t exist, and Pampaw Mills, who loved kids, was first in my affections. But Ernie Mills died in 1965; he was my favorite but he was the first of my grandparents to go. After he died, and as I got older, I learned to appreciate Grandpa Pruitt's mischievous humor, his sense of responsibility, his hard work; he became my favorite, the only one I called Grandpa. He always made me feel like he liked me, that I was important to him. He never said the words – he never said much; but I knew, because I could sense it in the way he treated me. This plainly-evident affection, from a non-demonstrative, terribly taciturn and restrained old man, was absolutely enough.

I think he lives on in me – I can feel him in my attitudes, my beliefs, even in my quirks; some of those came from him too. I can see some of the same traits in my sisters and our cousins as well. Take a look at my photo and his… I am my Grandpa’s son.