Corduroy Orange

Guest Post by Lewis Sharrard Author Unknown

My dead grandfather wrote typed today’s post for me. I was planning on exploring the history of margarine by tracing its definitions through 150+ years of dictionary definitions, thereby demonstrating that historically, margarine has not been a vegetarian product, and moreover the “spreadable butter” butter-canola oil mix that has recently been introduced to the market ought to be classified as margarine. That research has been mostly done, and no doubt I’ll regale you on that fascinating topic soon enough.

But, while I was browsing my dictionary collection (yes, I collect dictionaries, and no doubt I’ll explain more when I’m re-introducing the history of margarine), I stumbled across a poem written typed by my grandfather who-knows-when, folded and tucked into the pages of his old Merriam Webster’s New International Dictionary, Second Edition. I was thrilled to read new work by this brilliant man, and am even happier to be able to As comments at the end detail, the source of this poem is unknown, but I am glad to be able to publish this truly unearthed text as its content relates, in part, to the reforms in farming policy during the FDR administration that have led to the prevalence of agribusiness conglomerate-run factory farms that dominates our agricultural landscape today. And so, without further ado….

A Stranger Stood at the Gates of Hell
by Lewis Sharrard ???

A stranger stood at the gates of Hell,
And the Devil himself answered the bell.
He looked him over from head to toe,
And said, my friend, I’d like to know
What have you done in the line of sin
To entitle you to come within?
Then Franklin D. with his usual guile,
Stepped forth and flashed his toothy smile.

When I took charge in thirty
A nation’s faith was mine, said he.
I promised this and I promised that,
And I calmed them down with a fireside chat.
I spent their money on fishing trips,
And fished from the decks of their battleships.
I gave them jobs on the WPA,
Then raised their wages and took it away.
I killed their pigs and burned their crops.
I raised their wages and closed their shops.
I double-crossed both old and young,
And still the fools my praises sung.
I brought back beer and what do you think?
I taxed it so high they couldn’t drink.
I furnished money with government loans
When they missed a payment I took their homes.
When I wanted to punish the folks,you know,
I’d put put my wife on the radio.

I paid them to let their farms stand still,
And imported foodstuffs from Brazil,
I curtailed crops when I felt real mean
And shipped corn in from the Argentine.
When they’d start to worry, stew and fret
I’d get them chanting the alphabet
With the A.A.A. and the N.L.B.,
The W.P.A. and the C.C.C.
With these many units I got their goats
But still I crammed it down their throats.
My workers worked with the speed of snails
While the taxpayers chewed their finger nails.
When the organizers needed dough,
I closed up plants for the C.I.O.
I ruined jobs and I ruined health
And I put the screws to the rich men’s wealth.
And some who couldn’t stand the gaff
Would call on me, and how I’d laugh.
When they got strong on certain things
I’d pack and head for Warm Springs.
I ruined their country, their homes, and then
I placed the blame on Nine Old Men.

Now Franklin talked both long and loud,
And the Devil stood, and his head was bowed.
At last he said, Let’s make it clear
You’ll have to move, you can’t stay here,
For once you’ve mingled with this mob
I’d have to hunt myself a job!

I’m not really familiar with many of the political references that are made in the poem, but it smacks of being current: of indignation at the policies as they were being implemented, and I really enjoy how the farm policy changes that made it tougher for family farms to survive are cited as damning evidence.

If you have a piece of food-related writing that you think belongs on Corduroy Orange, email it to me and I’ll see if I agree. All submissions are subject to editing.

Check these out… and while you’re there, look through some of the other bent object diaramas posted on this fantastic page!  Many include food, and most are the sort of quirky humor I really enjoy.
Relishing Life… and Death

The Lonely Life of Lawrence Lemon

Aarsh-Mallows (say it like a pirate would)

Tomorrow is National Waffle Day! What a great holiday–I’m surprised I’d never heard of it before this year, seeing as I am such a big fan of waffles. The obscure holiday celebrates the anniversary of the first American waffle iron patent.

Cornelius Swarthout of Troy, NY received his patent on August 24, 1869—but that’s not to say that he invented the waffle or even the first waffle iron. Mr. Breakfast has a wonderful history of waffles included on his description of National Waffle Day. And while you’re at it, check out his 10 tips for making perfect waffles, all of which are important points. As far as tip #4 goes (don’t overmix), I feel as if Mr. Breakfast’s description of how to fold the egg whites could use some clarification, so as quoted from my recipe for savory waffles with stir-fried vegetables and mustard sauce, here are better how-to hints for making sure you don’t overmix:

“Fold the batter into the beaten egg whites with a rubber spatula, using a twisting motion with your wrist to bring the contents from the bottom of the bowl up and over to the top. Be careful not to stir the mixture because that will lead to your egg whites deflating, causing a more runny texture to your batter than is ideal. Continue until the batter has uniform consistency.”

So, armed with this new knowledge of waffle-making, get out there and make some waffles. Once you get the egg white beating and folding technique down in the relatively low-key realm of waffledom, you’ll be ready to tackle souffles. I’ll try to make one next week and have my lovely wife take some photographs of the process…

I’ve heard about people roasting their own coffee beans, but only recently did I discover how easy it actually is to do. You wind up with the freshest cup of coffee possible, and the beans cost a heck of a lot less than they would otherwise.

Go to your local coffee roasterie and ask for your favorite kind of bean, green. Store the beans in the freezer until you’re ready to roast them. Then, fill the chamber of your hot air popcorn popper about three-quarters full and turn it on. It’s okay if they smoke a little and you can expect that some stray pieces of the bean’s outer covering will float through the air. But, really, you don’t have to do anything except keep an eye on them, especially as they start to get darker. When they reach your desired level of darkness, pour them out onto a pan to let them cool in a single layer.

The darker you roast the beans, the more carbon they develop (that’s the source of the dark color). A french-roasted bean is basically burnt. It gained its popularity during the reign of King Louis XIV, who was a rather odd man. Among his other obsessions was a fixation on his bowel movements. He reportedly had a specially-built dining chair with a hole in the center so that he wouldn’t miss an opportunity just because he was in the process of eating. He enjoyed the darkly roasted coffee because the excessive quantity of carbon exacerbates coffee’s laxative effect.¹

¹Allen, Stewart Lee. The Devil’s Cup: A History of the World According to Coffee.

I highly recommend the above volume. It’s a quick, fun read that gives you a new perspective on the ubiquitous beverage and its place in world history.

Though we ate asparagus fairly often in my house while I was growing up, and though I noticed that occasionally my urine would smell funny, it wasn’t until I was 20 years old and on Semester At Sea that I finally put the pieces together. I remember the circumstances well: the lunch buffet featured cream of asparagus soup and the bathrooms stank to high heaven. I finally realized that asparagus makes your pee smell funny.

Today, several hours after I had tuna for lunch, I noticed that my urine had a definite tuna aroma. Which led me to wonder two things: how many other foods have an impact on urine odor, and by what means do these foods have this effect?

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So, I got this link in my email yesterday: cheese-filled, bacon-wrapped, deep-fried hot dogs.

I must point out, though, that calling them cheese-filled is something of a stretch: they are hollowed out and injected with easy cheese (from a can), a substance classified as “pasteurized process cheese food product”—it doesn’t even qualify as food and quite likely has more in common with silly putty than it does with cheese.

That’s why I recommend that instead of following the plans outlined in the link, you enjoy a somewhat more wholesome version of the same snack containing real cheese and skipping the step of deep frying.

Simply slit the hot dog lengthwise (not completely in half: just enough to open up a pocket).  Stuff the hot dog with small pieces of your favorite real cheese.  I like a hot pepper cheese for this purpose, but any will work.  Wrap the dog with a slice of bacon and secure each end with a toothpick.  Cook in a hot cast iron skillet until the bacon is done.  By this point, the hot dog will be hot, and the cheese will be melted.  The bacon will have constricted around the dog as the fat cooks off and the protein coagulates.  Remove the toothpicks, put the dog in a bun, and dress it according to your preference.

Personally, I think that hot dogs require mustard equal in size to the hot dog itself; I’ll also add sauerkraut and onions if they’re available.  Never ketchup nor relish (ick!—too sweet!)

I was having a tough time coming up with an idea for a post today, so I started browsing through some of the stuff I wrote in college. What follows is a short story I wrote in 1999.

Parable of the Old Man and The Deer

An old man lived in a rustic hut, deep in the forest. He would often see deer run through the thick woods that surrounded his home, but they would never stop. One day, in the hopes of seeing one of the creatures up close, he left a plate of vegetables sitting near his home and watched through a window until, after several hours had passed, a doe stopped and ate.

The next day, the man left another pile of vegetables sitting in the same place, hoping that the deer would return. This time, though, he sat motionless outside his cabin to await her arrival. She returned at about the same time she had come the day before. He knew it was the same doe by the string of successively larger spots that trailed down her back from her left shoulder. Approaching the food, she sensed the man’s presence and stopped, her muscles becoming perfectly rigid. Suddenly, she bolted into the snowy forest.

But the man still did not move. He waited until the hungry doe finally returned and nibbled at the food. Still uncomfortable with the man’s proximity, she left having eaten only a very small portion of the man’s offering. He gathered up the remainder and took it inside with him until the next day, when he put it, replenished with more vegetables and a couple of sugar cubes, in the same place.

The doe approached the plate tensely and tentatively, but ate everything, sugar first. After finishing, she looked at the man for several seconds before she abruptly turned and ran.

In this manner, a relationship was formed. Each day, the man would leave the doe food; and each day, she would come eat it, not caring that the man was always a tiny bit closer than he had been the day before. But still she would not let him touch her. Whenever he would try, she would bolt.

So it went, until one spring morning when Daisy Doe (as he had named the fine-looking specimen) ate a carrot from his hand. Several weeks later, she let him stroke her forehead, with two fingers, very gently. Daisy found that she enjoyed his touch and allowed him to pat her each day when she returned, after she had eaten her meal.

The sun hung high in the blue June sky when Daisy laid her head upon the man’s lap. He worked her sore muscles gently with his fingers, easing out her pain with his skillful touch. Soon, she had drifted off to sleep.

The man ate venison for dinner. This is the way the Devil works.

In 1729, Jonathan Swift (of Gulliver’s Travels fame) wrote “A Modest Proposal,” a great satiric essay on that very possibility, as a possibile alleviation of poverty for families who could not afford to feed all of their mouths. It is amazing how, nearly 300 years after the words were written, Swift’s essay is still quite easy to read and rife with black humor.

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Including instructions on preparing a pincage

The surprising thing about classically prepared tomato sauce is that it’s made with a roux. The venerable Auguste Escoffier (the generally accepted authority on classical French cooking with whom it’s impossible to argue because he’s dead) directs that a gallon of tomato sauce be started with 5 ounces of salt pork.

Once the fat is rendered from the salt pork, he would have you cook 6 ounces each of small diced carrot and onion in the fat, then add 5 ounces of flour to finish the roux before adding a bay leaf, salt, pepper, sugar, ten pounds of tomatoes, and a half gallon of stock. His variation on the recipe would permit you to use tomato puree instead of tomatoes, in which case (because the puree is thick enough on its own), you would not need to make the roux. In either case, the sauce is finished by straining it through a sieve for uniform consistency, and always contains the salt pork (for apparently a classical French tomato sauce requires the presence of meat).

I doubt many people really follow his tomato sauce instructions anymore unless they’re doing so for the purpose of cooking like Escoffier.

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A recent article in The Economist has questioned the wisdom of efforts aimed at making agriculture more sustainable. A key passage from this article contends that chemical inputs help make the most out of available agricultural land by increasing yield per acre:

But not everyone agrees that organic farming is better for the environment. Perhaps the most eminent critic of organic farming is Norman Borlaug, the father of the “green revolution”, winner of the Nobel peace prize and an outspoken advocate of the use of synthetic fertilisers to increase crop yields. He claims the idea that organic farming is better for the environment is “ridiculous” because organic farming produces lower yields and therefore requires more land under cultivation to produce the same amount of food. Thanks to synthetic fertilisers, Mr Borlaug points out, global cereal production tripled between 1950 and 2000, but the amount of land used increased by only 10%. Using traditional techniques such as crop rotation, compost and manure to supply the soil with nitrogen and other minerals would have required a tripling of the area under cultivation. The more intensively you farm, Mr Borlaug contends, the more room you have left for rainforest.

The current state of large scale agriculture is, despite any claims to the contrary from Norman Borlaug or anyone else, disturbing. Admittedly, complete cessation of chemical fertilizer use is not realistic. Relying entirely upon them, however, is short-sighted and will only lead to compounded troubles in the future. Striving toward reduced synthetic fertilizer dependency is not only a realistic goal, but a desireable one, especially because chemical fertilizers show reduced efficiency the longer they are applied: each successive year of fertilizer use requires more of the chemicals to match the yield of previous years.

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