New Years, Hoppin John, Chaos, and Butler's Lecture

A few times this weekend, in the miniscule moments when my brain reached the surface of chaos gasping for air, I found myself thinking about Hoppin' John.


BUTLER (Dressed in his finest professorial robes and holding his instructional pointer, steps forward to the lectern that he had placed behind me, previously unnoticed in the whirlwind of playing with kids, dismantling the Christmas tree that broke my arm, dogs that -- because we were too busy to notice them -- had been pooping in the house -- and begins teaching in a practiced monotone): "Hoppin' John is the traditional New Year's meal consisting of black eyed peas, rice, and collard greens. Now a popular New Years tradition in many places, the earliest mention of Hoppin' John comes from coastal regions of South Carolina, Georgia, and blah blah blah..."

This year, I had forgotten our Hoppin' John tradition until 10:00 p.m. on New Year's Eve when Karen suddenly announced, "Oh no! I never got to the store!! We don't have any black-eyed peas!! Mark! Mark! Can you make a quick run to the supermarket?!!!!"

I was overjoyed to take on the task since I was, at the moment, trying to hold a crying baby with my good arm and picking up dog poop with my bad arm. I handed her the baby, grabbed my car keys and bolted for the door where I heard her calling out, "...And collard greens!!!"

BUTLER (tapping his pointer on the lectern): "...although some gastronomic historians trace the roots of this dish to the Middle Ages where the tradition of eating beans on New Years arose in France and Spain where it was supposed to bring good luck and blah blah..."

Speeding to the supermarket, which I expected to be closed this late on New Years Eve, I was thinking that I don't particularly like collard greens. For that matter, I don't really like black-eyed peas all that much. Why couldn't the traditional New Years meal be pizza and ice cream?"

BUTLER: "...Nobody really knows why Hoppin' John is called Hoppin' John although some scholars think that it is a corruption of the Haitian Creole term for black-eyed peas, pois pigeons."


BAGMAN (Sitting in the back of the class and raising his hand) "How the heck do you get Hoppin' John from 'Post Pigeons?"

BUTLER: "Say it with a French accent! Pwa Pi-je-on. Then say it three times fast"

BAGMAN: "And I thought you said it started in the South! Where did Haiti come into the picture?"

BUTLER: "Because many of the African slaves came from Haiti because of the rice trade which blah blah blah..."

BAGMAN: "Oh yeah. The Civil War and all that crap. But how did the Middle Ages bean-eating thing get from France and Spain to Africa in the first place?"

So, anyhow, I get to the supermarket and it is actually open although the sales clerks are a bit surly having to work on a Holiday. I run around the store making their worse by demanding where the black-eye peas and collard greens are. In the bean section, I find tons of great northerns, snap peas, chick peas, but only a big gap in the shelf where black-eyed peas are suppose to be. The collard green bin that sits between the kale and spinach is also empty.

The manager looks suspiciously at me over the top of his bifocals as if to say, "How can you be such an idiot to wait until two hours before the ball drops in Times Square to start shopping for Hoppin' John -- particularly when you live in South Carolina?!"

"Do you think they have any in your other store?"

"No, sir. They've been sold out since yesterday. Have you tried France or Spain?"

BUTLER: "...One tradition is to always leave three beans on your plate at the end of the meal to ensure luck, fortune, and romance..."

I'm thinking we'll be lucky to have three beans at the beginning of the meal...

So I buy some Great Northern beans, knowing I'll be returning them, and drive home to confess my shopping failure to Karen, suggest pizza, and finish cleaning up after the dogs.

BAGMAN: "Maybe you should walk the dogs instead!"

Too busy, too busy, too busy...

But Karen is not the kind of person who ever gives up on anything. It's a desperate measure, but she pulls one of the decorative mason jars from where it has been gathering dust for decades and says, "We'll just have to see if these are still good."

I blink with dismay. This jar of black-eyed peas was decorating her kitchen when I met her in 1996! They should be petrified by now! It takes a plumber's wrench to open the jar. But we leave them soaking and go to bed. I dream of pizza and ice cream.

BUTLER: "The collard greens that go with the meal are supposed to represent good finances since they are the color of money..."

...and will probably be the color of my face after eating prehistoric beans.

But, believe it or not, the black-eyed peas cooked up pretty well despite the fact that I suggested we plant them instead to see if we could grow a beanstalk, climb it, and find the golden goose. The meal was not bad despite the lack of collards -- or, perhaps, because of the lack of collards.

I forgot to leave three beans on my plate but did remember to walk the dogs. In the middle of the night, I slipped quietly out of bed, snuck into the kitchen, and made myself a bowl of ice cream.

Happy New Years, everybody...even though it is already January 2nd.

BUTLER: "Don't forget that January 2nd is also an extremely important day. It is National Inspiration and Motivation Day as well as National 55-Miles Per Hour Speed Limit Day. It is Science Fiction Day and National Cream Puff Day. It is the day the drinking straw was invented although some people celebrate this on the 3rd. And finally it is "Run It Up The Flagpole and See if Anyone Salutes" day dedicated to creativity. Furthermore, blah blah blah...






As for me, I'm just counting the hours until tomorrow -- January 3rd -- National Festival of Sleep Day!

Friday Shoot-Out – My town – foods

Although Charleston, South Carolina, is a restaurateur’s paradise, I have no photos of them to share. Despite the image of a bon vivant that I present by posting exciting photographs from decades ago when I actually had a life, I hardly ever eat out. At the end of this blog, however, I will post a photograph or two of my refrigerator and pantry which are the best this town has to offer! Come on down!.

But first, in the spirit of the hometown foods theme, I would be remiss if I did not post a dissertation on GRITS.

As everyone who has received a tourist T-Shirt from the South knows, GRITS stands for “Girls Raised In the South.” Bagman is hoping that Reggie Girl, who surely must own at least one of these T-shirts, will provide photographic evidence.

However, the “Girls Raised in the South” acronym was a new learning experience for me, coming from Massachusetts where I always thought that GRITS stood for “Glucose Rich Icky Tasting Stuff”.

The common belief in the North is that grits are made by puréeing hash browns and then removing the taste. Grits are actually made from Spanish moss which is another Southern mystery. Despite numerous research grants, nobody has yet been able to discover whether Spanish moss is animal, vegetable, or mineral. Or how it gets into trees. But grits are made from Spanish moss which puréed before having the taste removed.

But I am not really as negative about grits as I sound. When I first proposed to a “girl raised in the south” and was being traditionally paraded before her mother and the esteemed tribunal of aunts, they all insisted on feeding me grits. It is a kind of ritual or test which Northerners must pass before being allowed to marry into the family.

Determined not merely to survive but to thrive, I soon taught myself to make grits on my own. I’m proud to say that my personal secret recipe has gained me, after 22 years the reputation for being the family’s premier grits gourmet. Either that or they are just happy to have someone else get up and make breakfast for a change.

But today, I will, for the first, time reveal my secret grits recipe:

Mix one cup of grits and three cups of water and a tablespoon of milk in a bowl. Microwave it on high for eight minutes. Add three sticks of butter and a pound of American cheese. Place it back in the microwave for three more minutes. Check for consistency. If it is too thick, add milk. If it is two thin, add more butter and cheese. Note: If you want to cut down on cooking time, the cup of grits is optional.

As you may have noticed from the photograph, I tend to favor grits made by Quaker. If you are not from the South, you probably know that Quaker also makes oatmeal. These two products have led to Quaker’s famous advertising slogan: “We make food with no taste for people with no teeth.”

But since this is a photo shootout instead of a scholarly dissertation, I’ll finish up with pictures of

where I usually obtain the best food in Charleston:

Here is my refrigerator -- open and closed.

And one of the world renown pantries of Charleston...actually Mt. Pleasant.

And finally there are strawberries. This coming weekend is the annual Mt. Pleasant Boone Hall Plantation Strawberry festival (next door to my Subdivision) which would have produced more pictures if this shoot-out were next week instead of this week. Although I will not actually be going to it now since Brian and Melody are having a yard sale on Saturday and will require muscle, which we all know Bagman and Butler have in copious amounts even though I myself am the one who has to take aspirin afterwards.


Also this weekend about 20 miles away is the Low Country Grits Festival which I will also be unable to attend but next year plan to make it. The big event is the Grits Diving contest in which kids leap into a huge vat of grits (with insufficient butter and cheese, I'm sure) and the winner is the person who can climb out with the most gook sticking to their body based on being weighed before and after the dive. Stay tuned for photos next year.