December 2013 Newsletter
Supplemental Edition

The Goodness of Greens

Sometime later today, once I’ve completed this newsletter, I’ll head out to the garden to harvest some winter goodness. Right now my fall/winter bounty includes mixed types of lettuce, cabbage, broccoli, kale, Swiss chard, and what mountain folks have always described with the simple term “greens.” In the case of my garden, those greens actually fall into three distinct categories. I’ve got old-fashioned curly top mustard, large leaf mustard, and purple top turnips. Many folks grow the latter strictly as a root crop, but to my way of thinking turnip greens are just as delectable as the roots.

Greens have always been a staple of mountain diet in the colder seasons, and they were standard fare on our family table when I was a boy. We probably ate them at least two or three times a week, and the way both Momma and Grandma Minnie prepared them remains my favorite means of preparation although it likely won’t satisfy the cholesterol Nazis (alas, my wife is a member of that clan).

Preparation involved cutting several slices of streaked meat, frying it in a cast iron skillet, and using the grease thereby produced as seasoning for the greens as they cooked. Sometimes, instead of frying the meat the slices would be cooked directly with the greens. I preferred the former approach simply because one of those crisp, crunchy slices of fried streaked meat (also called side meat or fat back), placed inside a piece of cornbread, made the perfect accompaniment for a mess of greens. Indeed, often that would be the only meat we had in a meal which featured greens, cornbread, pinto or October beans, and canned apples.

Momma liked to mix mustard and turnip greens when she cooked them, and she had two distinct approaches when it came to the actual root portion of the turnip. Sometimes she would dice it quite thin and cook it with the greens; on other occasions she stewed the turnips separately and once they were done topped them with a bit of butter along with salt and pepper. My oh my, was that ever fine eating.

Grandpa Joe loved his greens, and he had an interesting way of eating them. He would get a hefty helping of the greens and place in his plate, but that was only part of the culinary attention he devoted to greens. Once he had a satisfactory sized helping (which mean a whopping one, because he was flat-out a first-rate trencherman, never mind being slender and tough as a seasoned hickory stick), there remained a second dish associated with the greens. He would crumble cornbread up in a bowl and pour a liberal splashing of pot liquor from the greens over it. Although it never occurred to me at the time, I suspect he was getting the best of the vitamins and nutrition in the greens in the pot liquor.

I’ll relive some of that simple feasting from boyhood later today, although I’ll probably skimp a bit when it comes to the pork seasoning and use lean, low sodium bacon instead of fatback. That will keep martial harmony somewhat on an even keel, and while fancified bacon ain’t fatback, no matter how you look at it, I reckon I’ll have to acknowledge it’s better for those of us who lead a life which is far more sedentary than what was the case two or three generations ago. After all, Grandpa Joe did manual labor from dawn to dusk six days a week, and that hard work more than offset any negatives associated with the kind of foodstuffs he liked to have on the family table.

Recent Reading

As I’ve probably made abundantly obvious over time, my reading interests are rather eclectic. Right now, after a concerted spate of enjoying several books featuring Vince Flynn’s character, Mitch Rapp, and the combined efforts of Lincoln Child and Douglas Preston in their series involving the exploits of Aloysius Pendergast, I’ve turned to historical novels. A week or two back I stumbled across a list of 50 top works in the field and perused it to see how many of the books I had read. I was conversant with 20 or more of them, but that left plenty of elbow room. It might also be noted that, no doubt predictably, I found fault with the list. How Wilbur Smith could be left off was beyond me, for the historical settings of his African-based works are invariably spot on. Similarly, I was disappointed to see no mention of George Macdonald Fraser’s rollicking series starring that irresistible scoundrel, Flashman.

Still, my recent reading includes some dandies. M. M. Kaye’s The Far Pavilions (I had read several of her “Death in . . .” mysteries but not this massive magnum opus, which must be two and a half inches thick and runs to just short of a thousand tightly written pages), Margaret Atwood’s Alias Grace, Patrick DeWitt’s The Sisters Brothers,and Guy Vanderhaeghe’s The Last Crossing have been on my list, with Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth, Willa Cather’s Death Comes for the Archbishop, James Michener’s Caravans, and Joseph Boyden’s Three Day Road lying in wait.

This Month’s Author: Rudyard Kipling

Continuing the theme from my mid-November newsletter, I’m going to opt for another poet, Rudyard Kipling. Of course Kipling wrote far more than poetry, as novels such as The Light That Failed, Kim (the work was autobiographical in nature), and Captains Courageous suggest. Then too, he was a master of the short story, and to delve into collections such as The Jungle Book, Plain Tales from the Hills, Just So Stories, or Stalky & Company is to be transported to a world of wonder. Kipling was born in India and much of his finest work is set there. Yet the compass of his writings went well beyond that sub-continent, embracing the British Empire at its peak and offering an unapologetic view of the grandeur of imperialism.

I personally find many of his poems enchanting. Part of that comes from their rhythm, for Kipling didn’t write what my contrarian mind views as “lazy” poetry (that where rhyme, meter, and often, meaning, are sadly missing or else beyond the ability of my weak mind to discern). Kipling didn’t just write poetry; he wrote verse, and he did it in a fashion which moves one’s soul even as he captures the heart. If you doubt this, read (preferably aloud, which is the best way to get the full impact of his words) poems such as “Gunga Din,” “Recessional,” “If,” “Fuzzy Wuzzy,” “The Ballad of East and West,” or “The White Man’s Burden.” He was masterful with dialect, such as that of the Cockneys with dropped aitches in “Fuzzy Wuzzy,” and he understood India in a fashion rivaled by few if any Englishmen.

In today’s world, obsessed by political correctness, Kipling’s popularity has declined immensely and he is a decidedly controversial figure. For my part, and I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being either politically correct or particularly diplomatic, his stuff is pure delight. Many of you probably haven’t delved into Kipling since school years, but I would heartily recommend getting reacquainted.