Looking Backward and Forward

On my way to Big City University this afternoon, I decided to detour and visit an historic site with particular relevance. I stopped off at the Martin Luther King, Jr. memorial. Seemed like the right thing to do.

There was a time in my not-so-distant past that I spent lots of time at the King Center. When I was researching for my dissertation, I ate my lunch at the reflecting pool, trying to thaw out from the overly-enthusiastic air conditioning in the archive. Didn't matter how many times I saw it, the memorial always moved me, as did the visitors. I haven't been to the memorial since my last research trip but I easily found my way back. I was heartened to see that the crowds and media hoopla had died down since yesterday's festivities. I'm all for celebrating Dr. King's life, but today, I just wanted a few moments of quiet reflection and to snap a couple of pictures.

I got the car parked in a near-empty parking lot and exited into what can only be described as the coldest day the South has ever seen. Holy crap! I decided that I'd save the quiet reflection for the car. Braving the cold, I walked the block or so to the memorial. I quickly realized that I was not the only person who had this idea. Loudspeakers from two different sources competed to see who could present the most meaningful message on this historic day.

I turned the corner into the courtyard in front of the new Ebenezer Baptist Church and saw the source of the noise. Someone, I'm assuming the National Park Service, had set up a jumbotron screen to show clips from Dr. King's most memorable speeches and marches. I thought this was a nice idea, giving people a sense of history. Would have been better inside where it was warm - but, a nice idea just the same. I noted that no one, and I mean no one, was watching the screen.

The rest of the noise was coming from a stage in the center of Auburn Avenue. I'm trying not to be an old fart, but there's no way that I'll ever be hip enough to appreciate the sentiments expressed by the singer on the stage. Let's just say that it provided a startling contrast to the jumbotron. As I rushed across the street to snap my pictures, I noted that a crowd had gathered in front of the stage. A crowd of approximately 10 very cold people.

The singer finished as I reached the gravesite and let out an enthusiastic, "OBAMA!" that lit up Sweet Auburn. I snapped my pictures, took a moment for quiet reflection, and got my cold little rear end headed back toward the car. As I crossed the street again, a new group of singers took the stage. Three young women began gyrating in what can only be described as "the seizure dance" and began singing. Again, I'm not nearly hip enough to understand what they were saying, but it sounded like, "Jiggle, girls! Jiggle, girls!" "Oh dear," I said, from my old fart vantage point across the street. Here, literally in between a jumbotron showing Dr. King describing his dream and his final resting place, were three young women urging all the females in a 4-block radius to "jiggle." Perhaps they were concerned about frostbite, and figured that people would stay warmer if they moved - or "jiggled."

I got back to the car, face frozen, and fingers tingling. I considered "jiggling" but decided to make my way downtown instead. I suppose I'm thankful that I live in a country where we can all decide if we want to jiggle or not. Perhaps that is the true meaning of Dr. King's dream.

[I'd include pictures from my visit, but I forgot the cord that connects the camera to the computer back at home. Look for pictures in the coming days.]

All About the Jeffersons

Last night, I satisfied my cooking urge by making white chicken fricassee. I found the recipe in my Southern Living cookbook, though the cookbook cites Thomas Jefferson's Cook Book as the original source. According to the write-up, the recipe uses "practically the same ingredient list as the original recipe." I figured that if it was good enough for Tom, it was good enough for me. Besides, fricassee is so much fun to say.

I started by dusting the bone-in chicken breasts with a mixture of salt, pepper, paprika, and nutmeg. Then, I browned the breasts in hot oil (insert sizzling sound here).

Step 2: Roux. I removed the chicken and added flour to the oil. Careful to whisk constantly, I waited until the mixture turned light brown (not shown in this picture). I've burned roux before, so I am familiar with disappointment, unhappiness, and the lingering bad smell. Luck was with me last night as I avoided this mistake.

Next, add a mixture of wine and water. If I make this again, I might try chicken broth instead of water. Tom might have liked a less rich sauce, but I think it might be interesting to see what happens with more flavor in the sauce. Anyway, added the liquid and whisked until it boiled and thickened.

Once I achieved boilage, I put the chicken back in the pot, covered it, and waited 50 minutes. I suspected that I'd chosen a winning dish as good smells filled the house. It also had all the earmarks of comfort food - perfect for a chilly evening.

Fast forward 50 minutes: I removed the chicken again. I knew it would be good when the meat practically fell off of the bone as I took out each piece. Then, like those cooks of yore, I strained the sauce (except they probably didn't have a plastic strainer. Otherwise, it was very authentic).
I returned the now empty pot to the stove and melted some butter. Using my handy dandy chopper, I made quick work of an onion and added it to the pot. More sizzling and stirring and voila - sauteed tender onion. Poured the sauce back into the pot, added some mushrooms, fresh sage, fresh parsley, and chicken. Oh - and a cup of half-and-half. Normally, I reserve half-and-half for coffee only, but I made an exception in this case. Man, was it worth it!

Thick rich sauce over tender, well-seasoned chicken. No wonder Tom liked this recipe. As instucted, I boiled some rice and served up my masterpiece, with a green salad on the side. I decided to treat myself with one of my favorite green salads - Bibb lettuce, spinach, fresh orange, walnuts, purple onion, and homemade sweet and sour dressing. Yum! (Clearly, this picture does not do justice to the chicken. Trust me, it looked much more appetizing than a bas-relief representation of Greenland.)



Overall, I enjoyed my dinner from the annals of Thomas Jefferson's kitchen. I might even try some of the other recipes, though I think I'll pass on Carthusian. According to the cookbook, the dish consists of "blanched cabbage leaves ... filled with boiled carrots and pigs' tongues." Oink.