Monthly Archives: December 2022

“Thoughts and Ramblings: England Always Bottles It; Witches, Not Messi, Are Why Argentina Won the World Cup; Selena, Emilio, and Jay Perez Got Me through Houston Traffic; Snow Miser Sucks; There Are Consequences to Having a White Christmas; Susie Spindletop Gives You the Rub on Xmas”

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Well, the World Cup is over, and we can all go back to work and be productive again, at least until Euro 2024 begins. As a Three Lions supporter of forty years, I assumed England would bottle it. I must say, though, that I expected more from #Cymru. Wales’s heart is strong, but the team has no depth. El Tri looked horrible going in, but Memo Ochoa will always be remembered as the heart of this team because he cares about being there. Japan were also not on their game going in, but the Samurai Blue showed up! Pride, fair play, and victory! The US looked a lot better than they have in a while, but I hate Pulisic and half the team, so here we are.

Apparently, Argentina won not thanks to Lionel Messi, but because of thousands of Argentinian witches doing their thing. I find this ridiculous as everyone knows that Strega witches are always on their game, and yet Italy didn’t even qualify for the World Cup. I guess Mount Etna was still inactive and enjoying England’s loss to Italy in Euro 2020. See, I told you England always bottles it. It’s never coming home.

Beaumont Enterprise 12.25.1903

Last week on “Thoughts and Ramblings,” I acknowledged my love of Tejano music. Back in the 1990s, I enjoyed a few artists—Selena, of course, followed by Emilio and Jay Perez. We’ve lost both Selena and Emilio, but Jay is still the voice! These three got me through Houston traffic in the ‘90s while I was driving a truck, usually to Julian’s Machine Shop in Sugarland. The radio would stay on 108 Super Tejano until I got back to the shop, and then it was probably pop country from my Caney Head coworkers. No, it wasn’t! There was one guy, who every damn time the song “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion came on (which was about six times a shift), would turn it up. This is why I always volunteered to drive to Houston for a pickup or delivery. To this day, I will not listen to that song, and dare anyone to play it in my presence. I still blame this on my anger management issues. Or is it my current problem with libraries taking my signage before a cemetery tour? I guess I need to delve back into some Jay Perez music to find the answer. To quote one of his songs: “Eres Tú.”

December 2008

Okay, I’m just going to say that Mr. Snow Miser sucks, and I don’t want him in my area. I was always in favor of Heat Miser. Maybe it goes back to some of my DNA from Mount Etna. I want to remind everyone who wished for a “white Christmas” that the last time we had one of those we also had Hurricane Rita, in 2005. The next time it snowed was in 2008, after Hurricane Ike. It snowed three times after Harvey in 2017. Hurricanes Laura and Delta in 2020? That ice thing that happened in February 2021? Is it all related? Ancient astronaut theorists from the History Channel may agree that something is going on, but I have no idea. Do you really want it to snow? Sorry if I’m channeling the Witch of Endor, but you can’t have yin without yang. So, Saul, if you want snow, go to Sonic and buy that terrific bag of ice they sell and use in their slushies, then post videos of your dog with antler ears on Facebook. That way, we will all live Hurricane- and snow-free like we did for thirty years before Rita.

#Cymru #QPR

Wow, that’s a lot of football, witches, Tejano, and hurricanes/snow. Sorry, but I tend to ramble on with what I know. But it’s Christmas Day, so I guess I should mention something about SETX’s origins. Nope, I’ll let Susie Spindletop do it because she’s not as brash as me and had fewer anger management issues. Seriously now, I hope all of you and your families have a safe and happy Christmas. We’ll get into your merry New Year’s Day next week. Until then, here’s Susie getting into your family’s gossip.

Dear Della,

It is no scoop to tell you this is Christmas morning and allegedly the happiest time of year. Sometime during the night Santa paid us a visit, and left me a wealth of stuff, among it, four sets of pipe cleaners, a pair of boxing gloves, a tire tool and a trick doojigger used for shining shoes. I am not one, Della, to take the old fellow to task, for goodness knows he would pay a little more attention to his addresses he would avoid no end confusion.

I am writing him a letter with a few suggestions for next year, hoping to get in an order well ahead of time. I propose to him that he give Mr. Duff and artificial flower for his boutonniere as soon as possible, for Miss Clint’s stock of fresh flowers is sorely being sorely taxed. I propose that he give Dr. Williams a new philosophy of women, the Santa Fe switch engine that hangs around Calder a new whistle, Cecil Easley something to talk about besides golf, and the city of Beaumont more sidewalks for Willie Kinsloe to exercise on. Of course, I am mentioning a few things for myself, Della, figuring on the law of averages to produce results.

Incoming Christmas card have wished me, by actual count:

Merry Christmas, 42 times.

Happy Christmas, 24 times.

Joyous New Year, 35 times.

Prosperous New Year, 27 times.

Season’s blessings, 14 times.

An early remittance, one time.

Enjoy myself and then come around and buy some Blank insurance, two times.

A check on the First National bank, only one(I regret to say) time.

My records show that last year I was Merry Christmas-ed and prosperous New Year-ed only about two-thirds this amount, so I am sure that 1928 will bring an improvement. N’est-ce-pas? As tourists from Waxahatchie say.

Reports have it that the mistletoe crop in Texas is a dud this year and that little of the famous kiss foliage is on the market. One wonders, Della, of course, if the absence of mistletoe nowadays will slow up a party of the young-uns any.

And how long is it since you saw mistletoe hanging from a ceiling?

Had you ever stopped to think, Della, that each stage in our progress from cradle to the grave has it’s different Christmas? Old age forgets itself, the ghosts which haunt us memories, and enters into the young creatures happiness with a relish second only to the childs. The grandmother no longer wishes sleds or hoops or gingerbread monkeys for herself, but she looks with love and wonder upon little beings who respond so radiantly to these objects of domestic manufacture. Between these generations stand the parents, with their own lives of bustle and responsibility and desire, their own games and gewgaws to pursue, but yet with a beginning of the change, from living for themselves, to living in their young.

It’s a very happy Christmas and all that for me, Della, but I can’t be perfectly so until a measure has been enacted providing capital punishment for all those who still persist in writing Xmas.

Before saying good-bye, must tell you somebody gave me a subscription to “Time.”  That’s what’s worrying me now, Della.

And also in conclusion I regret to announce that there ain’t no Santa Claus.

Yours for bigger and redder cranberries. Susie

“Susie Spindletop’s Weekly Letter,” Beaumont Enterprise December 25, 1927

Thoughts and Ramblings Evening Edition: Mari Lywd, Ol’ No. 503, and Bryan Park

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Christmas is a week away, and it’s time to guard your food and alcohol. The Mari Lywd is on the prowl and here to challenge you. Actually, you’ve probably never heard of them because it’s a folktale from Wales. I believe it began around 1800, but I’ve not gone in depth into this history. Tradition holds that the Mari Lwyd was a group of men with a hobby horse made from a horse’s skull mounted on a pole. One man dressed in a sackcloth and held the pole, and the entourage would accompany him to local houses and request entry by way of songs or poetry. Of course, many homeowners would deny access by the same means. The group would thus continue until one side or the other relented. If the Mari Lywd were permitted into the house, they would be given food and drink, but if the homeowners were victorious, then the Mari Lywd would have to go to the next house. To me, this is akin to trick-or-treating, and I love the Welsh for this.

Here in SETX, we’ve never had to rap battle some drunkards with a horse’s head on a stick, but if anyone else has, I want to know about it. #YmaOhid #Cymru

To be honest, I was aware of a movement that wanted to move Ol’ No. 503, but I wasn’t paying attention. The City of Port Arthur wanted to scrap it, as they always want to focus on historical things; that’s how Port Arthur operates. In the day, you could ask Sydalise Fredeman, savior of the Pompeiian Villa on Lakeshore Drive, for help. This treasure would have been torn down if it wasn’t for her, but Sydalise took no crap from local politicians, and she also had friends with deep pockets. A docent who conducted tours of the Villa in 2012 stated that if Mrs. Fredeman had run for president, she would have made a great one, and I tend to agree.

Again, I haven’t delved into the research on why the 503 was moved from the corner of Gulfway Drive and Augusta Avenue 100 feet away to look centralized at Bryan Park. I know there was talk of asbestos, and I would assume they remedied that with the donated money from a GoFundMe page. I assume this because the 503 is still there. The city of Port Arthur hasn’t thrown it into the scrapyard.

The best thing I saw today on my visit to Bryan Park on Gulfway Drive, where the 503 is located, was a family there doing park-like things: Having fun while other kids were also having fun in this well-groomed part of Port Arthur. The engine might not be up to speed, but this park is. I’m glad to see that the kids are taken care of, but if possible, work on the history.

Donate to the Empty Stocking Fund

https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=X94T5X2AMU82S

“Thoughts and Ramblings: Praise the Lard and Pass the Tamales; Mi Ranchito; Selena; Toodlum; Ol’ 503”

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Ol’ No. 503

It may be because I’m hungry, but all I’m thinking about right now is early eateries, which I enjoyed. I’ve already rehashed this, so I won’t go into my love for Pie Face, Fish Net, Guadalajara, or Monceaux’s Drive-In. However, I will state that you can put a cheeseburger and three greasy onion rings in a white box, but it’s not the same as the original. So, there’s your Gulfway Drive memory for today; you can share it with your Facebook friends. And I will add that those three greasy onion rings were divine. Only the Lard knows how they were prepared.

Speaking of the Lard, it’s tamale season, and I’m happy about that. Growing up, Christmas dinner was never a thing. We went to parties, and that’s where I got my love for olives, but a proper tea cup-sipping meal was never on the menu. However, as you evolve as a human being and marry into a Hispanic family, you quickly figure out that Mexican food is not the Patio TV dinner on which I grew up. You know those aluminum trays with the three tacos, beans, and rice? Tamales are divine but a lot of work. Because of this experience, I know what real Mexican food is, yet I always have a can of Hormel tamales in the cupboard. They are part of my hurricane rations and go with no other type of food, except maybe Wolf Brand chili, but my stepchildren rightfully judge me on this.

Thinking back, I remember that my friend Adam Troy Rodriguez, the owner/operator of Mi Ranchito in Groves back in the 1990s, made an immaculate fajita potato, which I indulged in. Still, I want to tell a couple of truths. The first one has to do with when Selena Quintanilla Pérez died on March 31, 1995. I went to his restaurant expecting a fajita potato, but I discovered that Yolanda Saldívar had murdered la Reyna de Tejano. We both were distraught. I remember the weather that evening was dark and thunderous, almost like it was here in SETX when Jack Kennedy was terminated near a grassy knoll, back in the ‘60s. The second one is I was and am a fan of Tejano. Eventually, I hope that Yolanda rots in hell for what she did, and if hell doesn’t exist, I’m hopeful that she ends up serving eternity inside the ghost of St. James School in Port Arthur. Shout-out to Sister Mary Perpetua—I digress.

I will admit that Mr. Rodriguez makes the best dirty rice. Haters can line up and shill their granny’s stuff, but Adam Troy Rodriguez is the best dirty rice chef and a fajita potato extraordinaire. My condolences to the chefs of other eateries that think they bring the baked potato to new heights. And I’m not the only one to rave about him. Toodlum, a.k.a. Martha Ferguson, rambled on about him in one of her articles in the Port Arthur News back in the ‘90s.

Speaking of Toodlum, I want to dive deeply into her articles this winter to uncover any nuggets of history that she graced us with. For those who didn’t know Martha Ferguson, she was famous in Port Arthur for being Martha. She was the ultimate cheerleader of sorts for the city, and she dearly loved the Ol’ No. 503 Kansas City Southern Engine, which is located in Bryan Park on Gulfway Drive. She wanted very much to have this engine restored and was chair of the Save Ol’ No. 503 Committee back in 1985. Today, the 503 hasn’t been restored. A few years ago, there was a movement to relocate it because the city wanted to scrap it. As I really don’t have all the facts, I’ll just say that the engine wasn’t scrapped and was indeed moved—about one hundred feet. I’ll leave a link at the bottom of this blog to a video the company made while moving it. Years from now, when alien archaeologists come across this video, I’m sure they’ll have the same reaction I had. (This sentence has been left out because it contained nothing but profanity.) One hundred feet?

Well, in case you missed it, here’s my “Food for Thought in Port Arthur” post from 2013.

Bon appétit for now!

Growing up in Port Arthur in the 1970s did have its finer points to some degree. As a kid I had no idea what Bernis Sadler (then the mayor) was up to nor did I care. My main concern was whether or not Monceaux Drive In had those delectable and greasy onion rings with my cheeseburger deluxe served in a cardboard pie box. Truth be told, there is nothing that comes close. Similarly, onion rings are unbeatable one ! (Baby Boomers will remember Monceaux’s for the root-beer among other things.)

Over the course of two decades, I have discovered many eateries in my hometown, and there were many. One that comes to mind is a little takeout place called Hartman’s, which was located on Bluebonnet Avenue. If you loved home-style cooking, then this was a gem. I can remember walking in and feeling as if I was in someone’s house, except for the screen door attached to the kitchen from which an elderly man emerged with your plate lunch after you had ordered it from a very nice elderly lady.

These two people were delightful. As far as I could tell, these were the Hartman’s, and one could believe this except for their heavy Cajun accents. One thing that sticks out in my mind is that, when I would call ahead, the lady would ask what I wanted. My answer, of course, was the Étouffée, but there were many things besides the main course. “So what are the sides?”

“Well, we got lima beans, string beans, pinto beans, red beans, white beans, and (it always ended with) black-eyed peas.”

Whatever the sides, this was something to treasure. Speaking of treasure, I also remember a place next to Roy’s Food Center on Lewis Drive called the Brisket Room. The chip beef sandwiches were the best barbeque—or at least they were until I found Billy Joe’s in Port Neches.

Port Arthur seemed to always promote itself as the friendliest city by the sea. Well, Port Arthur is not by the sea, it’s by a lake, but I will give credit to the seafood. There were three restaurants that I enjoyed. The first and foremost was Leo and Willie’s. There was no place better in the 80s—except on Thursdays. On Thursdays I would order a seafood platter from the Texas Fish Net Restaurant. There was no one who had better catfish than the Fish Net!

And let us not forget about the Farm Royale on Memorial. Back in the day, most knew this place to be an upper-class eatery, and they weren’t mistaken. Other eateries offering decent seafood (technically I do not know if they are in Port Arthur, but they are worth mentioning) are Domingue’s on the Neches (under the Rainbow Bridge) and of course, Esther’s. Yes, I do know the latter is in Groves, Texas, but it was just a great place to eat back when.

Finally, sometimes we craved Mexican food, and there was no better place at the time to treat ourselves than under the train bridge at Taco Rey, or my favorite, Guadalajara on 9th Avenue. Both had pretty good Tex-Mex food. Nowadays Taco Rey can be found in Nederland, and Guadalajara still has a restaurant in Orange Texas.

Please forgive this minor indulgence because this blog really has no historic value other than me remembering those greasy onion rings, chip beef sandwiches, plate lunches, catfish, and tacos from places and times long since passed.

Food for Thought in Port Arthur Texas (70’s- 80’s)

Selena:  

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Selena

St. James school photos:   

https://flic.kr/s/aHsjHbBt2P

Ol’ No. 503 video:

Thoughts and Ramblings: Pearl Harbor Meant the Age of No Candy; Audie Murphy; Cecil Bordages; The Gates Memorial Library; Interurban; Bill Quick.

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The eighty-first anniversary of Pearl Harbor was this week, and all those I’ve talked with, who were children at the time of the attack, have similar memories. Most didn’t know where Pearl Harbor was and didn’t understand what was happening, but later, when the rationing of sugar and candy began, as children, this really hit home. The older folks, from age fifteen to people in their thirties, who understood what had happened, signed up for service soon after the attack. And yes, many fifteen-plus-year-olds attempted to serve their country. Some even made it to the theaters of war. Audie Murphy was sixteen when he infiltrated the US Army with the help of his older sister, who falsified documents for him. I guess the US Army should be glad that they got duped because no other soldier was decorated more than that little underweight sixteen-year-old.

During the Great War, a fifteen-year-old from Beaumont named Cecil Bordages was attending a private school in New York but decided to enlist to serve his country in 1918. Being large for his age, Cecil looked older than he was, so he was accepted into the Mounted Service Field Artillery 162nd Ammunition Train Twenty-Seventh Division; I would assume he then went off to France with Company F 102nd Ammunition Train. His actual age was discovered, and the army was ready to send him back, but his mother basically told them not to bother, as he would just go back to his unit if they did. He served a year and made it back to the United States. Based on some of the Beaumont Enterprise articles I’ve read, he lived a good and fruitful life with many mentions of helping others. I even saw an article that said he helped the Empty Stocking Fund.

A couple of other anniversaries that occurred in December were the opening of the Gates Memorial Library in Port Arthur and the inauguration of the interurban. The Gates library opened to the public on December 1, 1917, but wasn’t dedicated until May 18, 1918. The library, a gift of Mrs. Dellora Gates to Port Arthur, was in memory of her husband John “Bet-a-Million” Gates and her son Charles. The dedication coincided with another event called “Gates Day.” This event began in 1912 to pay tribute to the late Mr. Gates on his birthday for his contributions to Port Arthur. Gates died in Paris on August 9, 1911. The annual celebration took place each May 18 until 1921, when the Gates family requested its end.

I’ve mentioned John “Bet-a-Million” Gates before, and I stand by the fact that if he hadn’t been here, nothing in Port Arthur would have been built. Arthur Stilwell was all hat, no cattle, and a bit of a loon. But I digress.

December 15 will mark the 109th anniversary of the opening of regular service on the interurban line between Beaumont and Port Arthur. Yes, the Texas Historical Marker in front of the building that used to be its starting point says August 16, but all evidence states otherwise. Would I dare talk smack about the Texas Historical Commission? Of course I would, because it’s wrong. As the final piece of evidence, I’ll throw in a photo of a plaque in which William D. “Bill” Quick’s name is at the bottom, which gives the same info. So, what is an interurban you might ask, and who is Bill Quick?

First, the interurban was an electric train that serve Jefferson County residents from December 15, 1913, to August 15, 1932. The tracks extended from Austin Avenue in Port Arthur to Orleans Street in Beaumont. The train would make nineteen trips per day with an early start at 5:45 a.m. and a midnight finish. Tickets cost ninety cents for a roundtrip or fifty cents one-way and were prorated for the ten stops between the two cities. Stops along the way included South Park, Spindletop, Nederland, Rice Farm, and Griffing/Pear Ridge.

I’ve always found the fact that our county had an electric train in 1913 fascinating. Even more intriguing is how someone in Jefferson County could make ice in August in the 1900s. I’m not a scientist, so I don’t know how that’s possible; I’ll leave it to you engineers who run the great ice Illuminati.

William D. Quick was a historian who lived in Nederland. I never met him, but I guarantee you that every time I do some research, he is in my head, guiding me to try to be as accurate as possible. I attended my first Jefferson County Historical Commission meeting a year to the day that Bill passed. He influenced many people in his life as a researcher/historian, and I talked to many of them in the last ten years. I was honored and excited to be able to go through his research at the Sam Houston Research Center in Liberty. He was very thorough in his work, and I often draw on his example. I was told that when doing research, you should have at least three sources. Bill didn’t go for hearsay; he wanted facts, not content with publishing books.

Bill Quick’s interest in history was vast; he particularly loved Sabine Pass, the beach, and the Sabine lighthouse. Hell, I believe he owned the latter at one point. There is so much information on the Sabine lighthouse in his research at the Sam Center—it’s a researcher’s dream. I’ve used a couple of articles he had in his notes that I’ve never seen anywhere else. One is the 1932 article on the abandoned Lewis Cemetery; the other talks about when Magnolia Cemetery used to have barge funerals because it was too wet and muddy to get to the site. Although I never met Mr. Quick, I follow what he brought to historical research. No one is perfect, and I usually suck at dates and details, but I do want my research to be accurate for others to use. I like to think that Bill Quick is still guiding those of us who care about our history.

Well, that’s it for this week. If you’re in a giving mood, please donate to the Empty Stocking Fund.

https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=X94T5X2AMU82S

Life in Jefferson County in World War II: https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2013/05/25/life-in-jefferson-county-during-world-war-ii/

Audie Murphy: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Audie_Murphy

John “Bet-a-Million” Gates: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Warne_Gates

The Interurban:

Interurban Railway
100th Anniversay of the Interurban

Sabine Lighthouse:

Sabine Lighthouse

Thoughts and ramblings: Santa is a mobster, so meet his henchmen, Krampus and the Belsnickel; The Milk and Ice Fund, the Empty Stocking Fund, and Florence Stratton; What the hell is Vichy water?; The dog got a military funeral; Kaitlin Bain.

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Photo credit: Beaumont Enterprise

December is here, and I assume Santa is tuning up the sleigh and flight-testing his reindeer for the big event this month. A dodgy elf, to whom I venmoed twenty euros for his secret dentistry school fund, told me Saint Nick is also giving marching orders to Krampus and the Belsnickel. They will deal with those not-so-good children who don’t like to be judged by an old fat guy who keeps tabs on them. If you don’t know who these two Santa mobsters are, there is a link at the bottom of the blog. Basically, these two are doing Santa’s dirty work. Yes, I’m calling Saint Nick a mob boss. Sorry, not sorry!

December is also a time when people tend to be in a giving mood. You might have read Florence Stratton’s reference to this in last week’s “Thoughts and ramblings.” As part of my research, I found many examples that suggested she had a big heart and cared about those who were less fortunate than her. The last “Susie Spindletop’s Weekly Letter,” which Bill Beaumont wrote because Florence died after undergoing surgery in January 1938, mentions her philanthropic side. Florence always gave money to those who sought her out. This was the ‘30s, and there were many people in need. One thing I will add is that this area didn’t suffer as much as the rest of the country during the Depression, but SETX wasn’t immune to the global downturn. People suffered. Bill Beaumont brought up a reference to Florence’s worries about the Chinese people. Again, this was the 1930s, and the Japanese did all kinds of things to civilians in the Chinese territories they invaded.

Florence was a single woman who lived from 1881 to 1938 and who relied on no one to feed her. Although she was not rich, she was self-sufficient and made a good living. She cared for those around her, which is why she started the Milk and Ice Fund at the Beaumont Journal in 1915. The exact date of the beginning of the Milk and Ice Fund is currently lost, but someone who cares is presently in charge of the Empty Stocking Fund at the Beaumont Enterprise, which followed Florence’s fund, and I’m happy about that! I assume that the Milk and Ice Fund began in San Antonio in 1915. There was an active fund at the San Antonio Light newspaper, and Florence had ties to San Antonio, Brazoria County, and the whole country. Throughout her life, Florence used other people’s ideas for the good of others and herself. She made a profit on her book about O. Henry’s postscripts, which rehashed old William Sydney Porter’s (O. Henry) collection of articles from the Houston Post, owned by her good friend W. P. Hobby. She also published a book entitled Favorite Recipes of Famous Women. Willie Cooper, her best friend, who was also married to W. P. Hobby, would siphon off these recipes to her. The book starts with Florence being ticked off because a man wrote Favorite Recipes of Famous Men. In her forward, she rails against this book’s recipes and its author. She was right in doing so, but I want to know what the hell is Vichy water,” which she mentions in her book. The recipe for how to boil a potato by Alice Robertson, a former congresswoman from Oklahoma, is pretty much in line with that of the original men’s book, but at least no one died, unlike when Florence tried out one of the recipes. I’ll put the full text at the bottom of this blog, but at least she gave the dog a military funeral.

I’m happy that someone at the Enterprise cares about revamping this project—it should be done. Florence would have loved this, and I’m all in if she is behind it. Thank you for your efforts in updating this charity, Kaitlin Bain.

And with this, I hand over the reins to Susie Spindletop, because no other person could rant and ramble here.

A Foreword

I am going to be frank with you. In a misguided moment I began a study of dietetics. This comes into every person’s life at some time and I was not immune. I purchased a cook book, and took it home filled with conflicting emotions.

It was assembled recipes of noted men of this country. I took the compiled ignorance of the intellectuals of America and went singing into my kitchen to indulge my gustatory proclivities on a feast of fat things.

I hummed in a business like manner as I opened the book on the page where Thomas H. Ince gives his famous recipe for chicken halibut and I sang in melodious unison with the teapot as I “boiled some slices of halibut in court bouillon.” The instructions then required that I “have a layer of bechamel on the bottom of the dish.” I have never heard of bechamel, and it sounded like a trick ad in Health Hints. I didn’t know whether it meant another fish or was a Latin name for table soda. I looked at every bottle and box in the pantry and I couldn’t find any, so I asked the cook if she had any bechamel in the house and she said: “Naw, m’m, Ah use vanilla and it’s jes’s good” So I flavored the dish well with vanilla and went back to my book for additional instructions, and found that I had to sprinkle with “parmesan.” I hadn’t heard of that. I never even dreamed that a cook required a college education. Again I turned helplessly to the cook and asked her to find me some parmesan. She looked as blank as I felt or rather as I wanted to express myself. I could have used several blanks. “We don’t never use dat stuff; jes a little coconut in it and let it brown.”

I did it.

I guess I must have let the “slices of halibut boil too long in the court bouillon.” Something was wrong. It didn’t jell. I threw it out of the window and the dog ate it.

The next day I gave the dog a military funeral.

Florence Stratton

Krampus:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krampus

Belsnickel:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Belsnickel

Donate to the Empty Stocking Fund: https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=X94T5X2AMU82S