Frequent flying

Air travel isn’t what it used to be – I’m sure you know this already. But you have to take your pleasures where you can, and they can still be found, even in the air, if you know where to look.

Many airlines these days board “by group number”. This is nothing new – they used to board by row, but the objective is the same: people seated at the back (with the exception of those with children, or a disability, or needing “special assistance”, or first class, or business class, or platinum, or …) board first. This makes perfect sense – or it would if the majority of people were not morons. If you’re a flyer of any frequency, you’ve probably worked this out for yourself, but, in case not, here’s a handy tip: don’t wait for your group number to be called. Wait only for the number before yours. Once the initial rush is over, join the end of the line. By the time you get to the front they’ll be calling your group anyway.

You are then ideally situated, comfortably in your seat, for what is probably the most enjoyable part of the trip: watching your fellow travelers trying to fit what they think is reasonably sized carry-on luggage into the overhead compartments. Giant hold-alls, and backpacks that are overstuffed with what seems to be half a camel, do not fit into this category. It has to be the most entertaining part of the journey – because it surely isn’t the food, or the movies, or the half-drunk Germans a couple of rows behind you.

If you have headphones, preferably noise-cancelling, put them on early, otherwise you risk being introduced to the person in the next seat – in my case, Anita. I shook her limply proffered bony hand as she explained that she and her husband were on an “outreach mission” to Turkmenistan. It’s so nice of the Turkmenistanis to take these American outcasts and show them life on the other side. It’s all about balance – if we didn’t have crime, we wouldn’t need law enforcement; if we didn’t have taxes, we wouldn’t need government; if we didn’t have third world countries, we wouldn’t need charitable organizations. So, for our part, we endure democracy, capitalism, and the consumer society, while they suffer violence, hunger and war. It’s difficult sometimes to figure out who’s better off, isn’t it?

As soon as you’re at “cruising altitude”, the flight attendants will come round with drinks. There’s a reason for this: they want to get you liquored-up before they serve the food. My advice is to heed the warning. When I was much younger, I saw the band Queen in concert. This was on the university circuit, and before they were famous (they were spectacular even then). My only complaint was that they were a little too loud, and when I mentioned this to a friend who happened to know one of the band members, he told me that they turned up the volume when they were a little nervous about how they would be received. It’s something like this with airline food. It’s not good – we all know that – but it seems as though the chefs (chefs?) don’t know that adding salt doesn’t make it better.

When the food is thankfully over, you’ll need your mp3 player – otherwise you’ll be subjected to what the airline believes constitutes “entertainment”. “David Letterman” and “The New Life of Old Christine” weren’t funny when they were on TV, and they still aren’t. Neither are the 2-star movies, especially since most of the even remotely interesting parts have been cut (for the general audience).

Oh, and try to ignore the Americans doing gymnastics in the aisles in the vain hope that it will prevent a DVT – they haven’t yet figured out that it’s really a lifestyle issue.

Longhorn Harley

Before I start, I should apologize to all the recipients of this newsletter of the female persuasion. As you know, I’m not usually interested in “guy” events that feature motorcycles, live music, free beer, free barbecue, Hooters girls and ex-Playboy bunnies. But a friend of mine at work is a biker, as is his wife, and she organizes “social events” at the Harley dealership not far from here. So I gritted my teeth, and went along.

Old bike

The band - a "Heart" tribute

If you’ve never been to a biker event, I should emphasize that it’s not at all a threatening environment. For a start, the guys are largely not too much younger than me – who else can afford a Harley? Interestingly, their female companions are typically much younger … hmmmmm. But it is almost pure testosterone. Beer, barbecue, loud music and louder motorcycles.

Hooters girls

New bike

"Kisses" for Gerry

Anyway, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many motorcycles, let alone so many Harleys, all in one place. There were old ones, new ones, outlandishly customized ones – and all absolutely immaculate. Because my friend Gerry is a biker, I made the supreme sacrifice and got in line for a signed picture of “Miss Longhorn Harley-Davidson” and ex-Playboy bunny Nancy Patton.

I’m not a biker of course, but if I was, the Hooters girls are probably the best way to get it cleaned. I mean, you can’t take it through a car wash, can you?

TXOU

Sunday afternoon – a good time for laundry. Everyone who came to town for the “Red River Shootout” has checked out, and the business-folk coming in for next week haven’t yet arrived. In case you’re not aware, the Red River forms the boundary between Texas and Oklahoma, and the “Shootout” is the annual “derby” match between long-time rivals Oklahoma University (“OU”, or the Sooners) and the University of Texas (“UT”, or the Longhorns) – serious college football. I didn’t see it (either live or on TV), but the game, played at the newly refurbished Cotton Bowl in Dallas, was apparently pretty good. Certainly the victorious local fans (beating their number-one ranked opponents) were celebrating late into the night.

On the theme of football, The Dallas Cowboys are playing the Arizona Cardinals, and I’m watching it on TV. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and no doubt fathers and sons all over the country are watching it on ESPN. I wonder how some of the dads respond to questions from their younger offspring when commercials come on for Viagra. Impotence may have morphed into Erectile Dysfunction, and then to seemingly innocuous ED, but that’s no more than a deliberate marketing ploy to confuse the censors.

At breakfast this morning, a young man in a cowboy hat sat opposite his partner. She was eating her omelette, and drinking coffee, while he was immersed in reading his bible. At the next table, a mother and father, with 3 children seated round one of the larger tables, paused to collectively say grace before eating. This is not at all uncommon.

“Little Britain USA” aired for the first time this week on HBO. It was made in the USA, and features many of the usual sketches and themes, but with an injection of American characters. I’ll be very interested in the reaction to a show that pokes fun at the disabled, the fat, and the gay (and any other normally taboo subjects). In the UK, I think we have the admirable ability to find this amusing, as long as it is done well, and there is no malicious intent. In the USA, political correctness is taken literally, and to extreme.

 As you can see, there’s a curious double standard – not only here, but throughout the “bible belt”. So I also wonder how mums and dads, driving along the major highway I-635 at Farmers Branch, explain the billboard that features a young lady with her knickers around her knees.

Don’t blame me – I only work here.

Canton again

Today I paid another visit to Canton First Monday Trade Days, in Van Zandt County. I last went four years ago. Oh, and just in case you were wondering, there are 254 counties in Texas (I discovered that from a book I picked up at the market).

Once a month, the otherwise small town of Canton holds a giant flea market on the weekend preceding the first Monday in the month – hence the name. Apparently the market dates back to around 1850, when the first Monday of each month was when the circuit judge would arrive to hold court sessions. Everyone would come to town to watch the proceedings, this being in the days before television and the Xbox.

Today, the market is spread over 100 acres, with more than 6,000 vendors, selling everything from pets to food to clothes to crafts to the usual “boot sale” fare and the even more usual craporama. I spent about four hours looking around, but have no idea how much I still didn’t see – I suspect a lot.

Lazy people on "scooters"

Since I last went, they have started renting “scooters” – really mechanized wheelchairs – which, piloted by unskilled drivers, can be a menace. They’re invaluable for the disabled, giving them the mobility that they otherwise lack. Most people that I saw using them, however, are simply bone idle – but that’s sadly a contemporary malaise. Maybe if they actually called them “wheelchairs” the stigma would scare off otherwise healthy people.

Indian taco

For lunch, I tried Indian (as in American Indian) tacos. These are similar to the familiar Mexican tacos – meat, tomato, lettuce and beans topped with cheese, served with a spicy salsa – except that the beans are pinto instead of refried and the base is Indian flat bread instead of a tortilla.

It was hot – 100  ̊F, or 38  ̊C – and the sweat running off my brow made my eyes sting. There’s plenty of shade, though, and the secret is to stay in it as much as possible and drink plenty. I bought a second hand book (signed by the authors) on the back roads of Texas ($2) and a baseball cap to keep the sun out of my eyes ($5). Very restrained, I thought. No need to mention the cost of the fuel to get there and back …

On an entirely different topic, I was unfortunate enough to find myself, a couple of weeks ago, in McDonalds (it’s a long, and not very interesting, story). I only wanted a small fries. It seems they don’t do “small” fries. They have two sizes: medium and large. I know I’m more pedantic than most, but isn’t there an element of lunacy here? If you only have two sizes, shouldn’t they be small and large? If not, why not large and gigantic? Or giant and colossal? Am I missing something? (And, by the way, I still refuse to use that silly Starbuck-speak for coffee – it’s not venti, it’s large; and it’s not tall, it’s small (how confusing is that?). We already have perfectly good words to express these ideas – why invent new ones?)

Mural in Canton

Food stand

Grinding corn, the old fashioned way

Loving again

I went back to Loving today. The intention was to send myself a postcard, with Loving as the postmark.

I’d lined up a few places not too far away – Paradise, Athens, Paris, Palestine – and planned to mail a postcard from each. Fortunately, I got chatting to the postmistress in Loving, and she told me that the only way to do that was to go into the post office, and ask them to frank it. If I just mailed it outside, it would go to Fort Worth to be franked. That saved me some worthless trekking around, because it was 10:45am, and most of the rural post offices close at around 11am on Saturdays. Anyway, I got one; I foresee some early Saturday starts.

I came back through Jermyn, a very small town with a very small post office, and stopped in Jacksboro for lunch. A billboard had announced that “City Drug” had a soda fountain that was a tourist attraction, so I had to check it out. I wasn’t even sure what a “soda fountain” was. They were somewhat bemused by my questions: What’s the difference between a shake and a malt? (a malt has malt in it …) What’s “frito pie”? (fritos with chilli, cheese and onion). I had a chocolate malt and a grilled cheese sandwich. The locals weren’t as chatty as I’m used to coming across, so that’s about all I learned.

From Jacksboro, I headed towards Bridgeport, through Runaway Bay. Runaway Bay is a bit of an oddity – it has the atmosphere of a beach community, although, of course, it’s hundreds of miles from the coast. It is on the shore of Lake Bridgeport, which is quite a sizeable lake (13,000 acres, or 20 square miles, with 170 miles of shoreline), and is obviously affluent. Nevertheless, it’s not quite what you’d expect to find in the middle of Texas. Bridgeport, on the other hand, is distinctly forgettable – and this is a feature, I think, of every city named Bridgeport that I have thus far encountered.

Decatur has a little more going for it – a town square that, like so many others, is at least attempting rejuvenation. I’m sure you can imagine what it looks like – the town hall in a central island surrounded by a square (with ample parking) populated with bijou coffee shops, cafés, antique and “collectibles” stores, and the inevitable attorney’s offices. Unfortunately, for the most part, if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, but there’s almost always something to waste money on. It would be reasonable to think that Justin is the city from which “Justin” brand boots originate, especially since the town has several outlet stores selling principally that. It would also be wrong. The Justin boot company started in Indiana, moved to Texas in 1889 (Nocona, not too far from Justin), and then to Fort Worth in 1925. They bought rivals Tony Lama in 1990, and today are owned by Warren Buffet (probably the richest person in the world, at least, if you believe Forbes magazine). I only bought a couple of shirts – difficult to pass up at $12.95 – and so I’ve probably made Warren just a little bit richer.

Justin is, or rather was, also famous for being the home of the Texas Motor Speedway. I say “was” because, in 1995, the US Post Office changed its mailing address from Justin to Fort Worth. I must confess that I haven’t been to the Speedway. I keep thinking I should go, to see what it’s like, but keep forgetting to pick up earplugs.

On an entirely different topic, on an adjacent table at breakfast, a US Marine sat with his back to me. I could tell he was a marine, because his t-shirt proudly hailed “US Marines – First to Fight, Last to Leave.” I think I know what this means, but it’s easy to see how it could be misinterpreted, especially by another culture. This sort of arrogance is what makes America grate (sic).

Jermyn Post Office

Bridgeport Mural

Decatur Mural

Soda Fountain in Jacksboro

GastroPlus

I had a wonderful weekend cooking at the Ashburton School of Cookery, thanks to all of my kids! I took the “Gastro Plus!” course – a two-day course focused on cooking with local ingredients.

There were only 9 of us on the course: John, a tobacconist from Solihull – the only other male, whose friends had give it to him as a birthday present; two young-ish (late twenties, probably) sisters that were hoping to open their own gastro pub; two friends, both about to retire from the armed forces (a Major and a Squadron Leader, both nurses) who had never really needed to cook much before; a mother and daughter from London, who were using it as a “bonding” opportunity; and a rather intense woman from somewhere else.

The course alternated between demonstrations, cooking in pairs, and individual work. The intention was to cover as wide a range of cooking skills as possible in a couple of days, with some very imaginative menus, and quite a few “how the professionals do it” hints thrown in.

Some of the hints:

·        Vegetables – if it grows above ground, it goes in boiling water; if it grows below ground, cold water. Jersey Royals are the only exception.

·        If you’ve ever tried zesting citrus fruit on a fine grater, you’ve probably discovered that more stays on the grater than goes in the dish. Try cutting a small square of greaseproof paper, and place it over the grater. Zest away, and when you’re done, peel off the greaseproof and take off the zest with the back of a knife.

·        “Pin-boning” fish with tweezers is a pain, but not so much if you dip the tweezers in a glass of water between bones.

·        A garlic clove has a small “heart” that is easily seen if you slice it in half lengthways – take this out to reduce the “garlic-ness”.

·        When sweating onions or shallots, always throw in a pinch of salt – it helps draw out the moisture.

·        A piece of beef that takes 2 hours to cook needs to “rest” for 1 hour.

Since the course was fairly fast-paced, I learned the value of a “mis en place” – a list of what needs to be done, when, and in what order, to prepare a number of dishes. It covers all the preparation as well as the cooking. Most of us, when cooking, carry this in our heads, but it’s invaluable to have it written down for a meal that consists of several dish – timing is everything in cooking, taking second place only to advance preparation.

Which brings me on to the dishes!

We ate everything that we cooked, and cooked everything that we ate. The menu for lunch on the first day was:

• Seared organic salmon fillet, tomato vinaigrette, griddled asparagus and shaved pecorino cheese

And for dinner:

• Local pork tenderloin stuffed with apple, fricassee of cockles, artichokes, broad beans and Cornish new potatoes cooked in cider
• Frozen white chocolate and cardamom mousse served with seasonal fruits, minted sugar, and praline biscuits

And yes, we husked the broad beans individually, minted the sugar, and made the praline biscuits from scratch (well, nuts and sugar really, since you can’t get good quality scratch these days).

On the second day, an “extended” meal that lasted most of the day (interspersed with cooking) consisted of:

• Minestrone broth with baked red mullet fillet and truffle oil
• Plymouth gin and tonic sorbet
• Pink roasted duck breast with confit leg faggot wrapped in lettuce served with a cassis jus
• Potato rosti
• Green bean and carrot bundle
• Strawberry and lavender crème brulee

We had prepared the duck legs the day before, confit-style, by slow cooking, completely covered in goose fat, and refrigerating overnight. Apparently, this is one of the oldest ways of preserving food, and the duck legs would have kept for months like this. The goose fat can be strained and re-used several times. The green beans and carrots were blanched and tied with a thin strand of leek, to be steamed later. The jus was a reduction of red wine, cassis (blackcurrant) and vegetable stock.

The food was fabulous, the ingredients were the freshest and tastiest you can imagine, and the instructor was interesting and amusing. I think I’m not nearly so worried about high temperatures any more, nor meat that is slightly pink (as it should be). And I realize how easy it is to prepare things in advance so that the final stages of finishing and “plating” the dish are simple.

Thank you all for the wonderful experience!

Loving

Today, I went looking for Loving. Loving, TX, that is.

Loving is a small town, but not hard to find. Its nearest neighbor of any size is Graham, where I stopped for lunch at Sanderson’s Restaurant. It’s nothing to look at from the outside, but they serve good “home-style” food, buffet-style. “Take all you want, but please eat all you take.” $7.95, including a soft drink, and coffee. The buffet featured an extensive salad bar, plus meat loaf, shredded chicken, chicken fried steak, gravy (the white kind …), mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, pinto beans, collard greens, green beans, macaroni cheese, and for dessert, blackberry pie, peach cobbler, and ice cream. This is typical, and very tasty, fare. I think they were licensed, but somehow a beer just doesn’t go with this style of cooking – in the absence of lemonade, I had a root beer.

Why is the town called Loving? Look closely at the photographs, and you’ll see. There’s not a great deal to be said about the town, especially on a Sunday afternoon, so I’ll just let the pictures speak for themselves. It’s a pity we can’t all live in a town with such a name.

Loving, TX

The Community Center

Historical Marker

Ranch House

Loving Post Office

Sanderson's Restaurant