"Sweet Concoction" revised

It is nearly impossible to pick as single food that stands out to me but a drink does jump into my mind, an Arnold- Palmer. It is a strange combination of lemonade and tea, bitter and sweet. This drink was named for a famous professional golfer born in 1929. It is a popular drink in northern West Virginia, western Pennsylvania and parts of the south. But that history of the drink holds no significance to me. In my history with Arnold Palmers they have come to be a symbol of sorts for my favorite restaurant, La Fonda.
Saturday afternoons always meant a family trip to La Fonda, a local tex-mex restaurant. The Arnold Palmers were always just a part of the things we ordered, a thanksgiving meal of a sort. There were always the same things at the table: fried rabbit, supreme nachos, margaritas for the adults, and those Arnold Palmers, with a few infrequent substitutions. It wasn’t the food that made the meal but rather the company and the environment.
Before being able to explain my direct relationship to the restaurant it is necessary to provide a brief history. Opened in 1957 by Mr. Lee- Bob Cox it soon became a favorite hang out not only for the restaurant but for the bar as well. We were not the only family whom frequents La Fonda but one amongst several others including the founders family. These Saturday afternoons soon became filled with stories of our parent’s past. When I asked why we always ate at La Fonda, since truthfully other places in town had better food, my dad explained that as a child they would have to drive from his small town of Franklin, Louisiana to Lafayette to go to the orthodontist. They would always pass La Fonda while in town and beg their mom to stop to eat lunch. He said, “I figure I just started coming when it was one of only a few restaurants and still see it as the same treat it used to be.”
The first time I had that symbolic drink it was given to me by Mr. Lee-Bob. We were standing in the waiting room as he showed me two pictures of my dad; one showed him as a long haired hippy in college and the other as a I knew him a business man standing in front of an oil rig. I didn’t know this at the time otherwise I would have understood why Mr. Lee-Bob had a picture of my dad with long hair but my dad and his friends would drive from school in Baton Rouge to drink at La Fonda. He said it was “the only place where you could get kicked out one night and welcome back the next.”
I feel as though La Fonda has grown up with me, when we first started going or rather when I first remember going Gabe was a young bartender. Now he is the manager. Even though we still go with our families on Saturday my generation of La Fonda kids have begun our own traditions. We would go to lunch at least once a week after school. Gabe always gave us a smug look when we came in, not that we didn’t deserve it we have caused our fair share of trouble. We would usually just walk into the kitchen to eat food and hang out with the cooks; he didn’t like it too much.
My last night in town we had a last supper at La Fonda for those of us leaving for college that week, every La Fonda kid of my generation was there. We ordered multiples of those two staple dishes and that one special drink, along with a few margaritas to add to the celebration. This meal turned into five or so hours of reminiscing about La Fonda and Lafayette. The changes the restaurant had undergone physically, the walls are now covered with caricatures of the regulars. The wait staff has had a few come in and out but the most important waiters are still there, we made sure to have our favorite, Max, on that last night. We talked about how one day we want to be the ones on the walls bringing our kids to eat. Mr. Lee-Bob even picked up our entire tab at the end of the night. That last night was everything La Fonda and Arnold Palmers should be a little bit strange but none the less enjoyable.
Though I may not live in Lafayette right now or maybe ever again I know that every time I visit will mean a trip to La Fonda. I can always count on knowing someone when I walk in. Arnold Palmers are simply a symbol for my second home, if I drank a bottled one with the perfect ratio of lemonade to tea it wouldn’t be near as good. The personal feel of the restaurant and the drink is what I truly love. It represents a coming together of all the people I have cared about for so long, even after my parents divorced they would get along on Saturdays at La Fonda. It will always be a place I feel comfortable and somewhere I see as the greatest on earth.

What is a dumpling?

What is a dumpling? The dictionary claims it to be either a rounded mass of steamed and seasoned dough, often served with soup or meat, or a dessert consisting of a wrapping of dough enclosing sliced apples or other fruit, boiled or baked. I consider a dumpling to be the part of a soup including: chicken, dumplings, seasonings, and the gravy with just the right thickness. There are several key factors to my chicken and dumplings. It has to be skinless chicken legs, bisquick to make the dumplings, country crock butter, and nature’s seasoning.

People all over the world eat dumplings. Anywhere from Korea and Japan to Germany and Russia. In every country they are made different ways. In some they are dough wrapped in shark skin. In others they are made of potatoes instead of flour. Even in America they are made several different ways. Some people, like my family, use drop dumplings and other people roll out the dough and cut it into strips. Some restaurants’ serve dumplings as a side but I can not understand that because when I eat dumplings there is always chicken and gravy. I have seen a bunch of recipes where people use celery, carrots, parsley, and onion. I do not see the use in all of the extra ingredients when just the few are perfect.

One day, a couple of years ago, my mom and I got the bright idea to make chicken and dumplings, I mean how hard could it be right? Wrong, we are definitely the worst cooks ever. For starters we boiled the wrong chicken, and then we added too much butter. By the time we got to the dumplings it was already a mess, but we had no clue at this time. So we added all the dumplings we had made and put the lid on. When we came back a few minutes later, they looked good. My favorite part of chicken and dumplings is definitely the dumpling, so we decided to add more butter and dumplings. They looked great but as we sat down to eat we realized that somehow we had burnt them. How do you burn chicken and dumplings? I really have no clue, but we did it. You couldn’t tell by looking at them but you could definitely smell them. We just thought the smell was something that spilt on the eye of the stove, we were obviously wrong. Till today we still have not attempted to make them.

My daddy is the only person that cooks them the way I like. He even cooked them for me the first weekend that I came home from school. I have tried many different recipes and even restaurants but no one compares to my dad, he is an awesome cook. He starts out by boiling skinless chicken legs in a stock pot with water and chicken broth. Then he adds the seasonings and leaves them to boil. As they are boiling he makes the dumplings with milk and Bisquick. After the chicken is done boiling he takes it out of the pot and puts it onto a plate, to cool off. He adds butter to the boiling water and then he drops the dumplings into the stock pot one after the other. Lastly he takes the chicken off of the bone adds it to the dumplings and lets it simmer. About twenty minutes later as I take the first bit of this long awaited moment all I can think about is how tasty they are and how I never want to stop eating. About ten minutes later I am stuffed and in hog heaven.

This is a food that no matter where I am at in the house when my daddy cooks it can smell it before he is close to being done. No matter how much time passes by or where I am I will never forget my daddy’s chicken and dumplings. Anytime I see chicken and dumplings or just dumplings it reminds me of him. When I eat them at someone else’s house or at a restaurant I always compare them to my daddy and they never compare, not even close. One day my dad and I hope to open a restaurant together and the featured item will be…Chicken and Dumplings. Well maybe only one day a week. The memory that comes to mind when I see chicken and dumplings is how much my daddy loves me. If I ever ask or even if he just wants to surprise me he always makes them because he knows they are my favorite.

The Perfect Bowl

Food Narrative
Essay 1


After catching a whiff of the irresistible scent of a steaming Chicken Bowl in front of your face and topping off this masterpiece with the tangy yet sweet seafood sauce, the art of restraint becomes nearly impossible. Mounds of fresh, crisp vegetables ranging from onions to broccoli to mushrooms are the first ingredients to meet the eye with juicy pieces of grilled, teriyaki style chicken ever so slightly protruding from the heap of vegetables that blankets the remainder of the bowl. Once the sauces have slowly seeped across the bowl’s contents, the entrée is ready for consumption. A true Chicken Bowl connoisseur, like myself, will stir up this array of chicken, rice, and vegetables before inhaling the tasty goodness. The mixture of sauces, soy, teriyaki, and seafood, is the key component to this meal because of the creamy texture that merges with the freshly grilled taste of chicken, vegetables, and fried rice. This Chicken Bowl, found at the local sensation Street Café in Montgomery, is as diverse, like myself, as you will find. This taste sensation is loaded with essentials to everyday life, mixed vegetables, the sustenance that you need to make it through the day, mouth-watering chicken, and a true staple in the lives of people around the world, rice. I feel that this combination of scrumptious ingredients jumbled into one is an allegory to myself in that there are many personalities and characteristics to myself conjoined and living inside of me. As in the chicken bowl, there are both sweet and salty sides to myself as a person, areas in which I am happy with but also those areas, which reside in everyone, which I wish to improve upon. While this Chicken Bowl that I am so fond of is found at a restaurant, the origin of my love for this fusion of tastes comes from my mother and the same meal that she once cooked as many as twice a week for my family. My love for this food began long before I discovered Street Café and the fondness that I feel for this oriental cuisine is shared by every member of my immediate family. The euphoria that I feel for this perfect blend of chicken and vegetables cannot be found for any other meal and I believe that this mixture is a true symbol of the multiple characteristics that can be found in myself.

My grandmother, one of the most amazing cooks that I know, started a certain tradition many years back; an eating tradition that runs throughout our family to this day. While you will probably assume, as I did when first learning of this get together, that my grandmother would be preparing her most extraordinary three course meal for the entire family, that is not the case. Bet Bet, as family members know her, suggested that whenever any of our many family members from all across the country get together in Montgomery that they would be treated to dinner at one of the most popular oriental restaurants in Montgomery, Peking Palace. While my mother was the cook that got me hooked on this delicious cuisine, the love for oriental food stretches wider than solely in myself. My entire family, without knowing, has taken part in delivering me to this incredible meal. The Chicken Bowl, which I am so fond of, is only a single dish of so many that has been shared with my family. This love of oriental food serves as a reminder of family to me, not only because of the many times in which my mother, father, brother, and I have enjoyed meals at Street Café, but also the countless meals that my cousins and uncles and aunts have joined in eating these delicious dishes. Whether the occasion calls for take-out or a sit down meal at a random Japanese or Chinese grill house, these dinners remind me of my family and the many get-togethers that have been had. Because my family is strewn over the country, from Atlanta to Vermont and back to Alabama, each time I partake in devouring a meal of this sort it reminds me of those special, yet few times a year I am able to enjoy these meals in the company of my family. This cuisine serves as a way of bringing my family together and I feel that there is no better way of enjoying the bonding that takes place when my family gets together than over a deliciously filling Chicken Bowl.

While the Chicken Bowl serves as a reminder of family and bonding, it more so serves as an allegory into my life and my personality. I am one of the most laid back and shy people that I know, but this Bowl and I share many similarities. While I am the quiet, reserved kid that most know, there are many personalities and characteristics to myself that only my friends and family know are present within me. Like the Chicken Bowl, covered to the brim with steaming vegetables, the best parts of myself are buried underneath the surface, and unless you choose to stir this bowl up you may never experience every personality that I contain. To reach the most crucial and delicious ingredient of the Chicken Bowl, the chicken, you must dive into the Bowl and search to find the chicken. I feel that I am the same way in that while it is fairly easy to reach those sides of me that I choose not to show to anyone and everyone, a layer of shyness covers me. This outer shell, like the scrumptious vegetables, is a sort of protective layer, but it is a layer that I feel is respectful and sincere. This outer personality of me, that one that anyone that does not know me sees, is only the tip of what I have to offer as a person. Like the Chicken Bowl, the most enjoyable part to the meal, in most people’s eyes, is the mix of chicken, rice, and sauces. I believe that my many changing personalities reflect the Bowl in that once you have penetrated the surface, you come to find the true goodness of myself and the outgoing and wild, yet still respectful person that I am. This cuisine offers true insight into the person that I am mainly because of the many delicious components in the Chicken Bowl translating into the many hidden characteristics that I contain. Without this delicious meal in my life and the love for oriental food that has grown in me because of it, I am not sure that I could survive alone cooking my own boring dinners. The relationship that I now share with this Chicken Bowl has given me not only insight into the person that I am, but has also provided me with countless memories of my family. The Chicken Bowl will forever have a loving place in my heart and will someday teach me to how to break free of the layer of vegetables and step outside of the comfort zone that has covered me for so long.

A Homegrown Meal

I wake up one Saturday morning and walk down my steps into my living room and begin watching television. Seconds later, I receive a phone call from my grandparents wanting me to come help them plant vegetables in the garden. Of course my initial thoughts are “NOOO, but I suppose I should help them because after all I will be one of the people devouring these fresh country grown vegetables come harvest time.” Ten minutes later I find myself putting on some old clothes and walking outside to get on my four-wheeler so that I can drive up the road to my grandparents house. As I am making the short trip up the road on my four-wheeler I am thinking to myself why can we not just buy our groceries at the local supermarket like everyone else. At that moment, I hear the alarming noise of an ambulance rushing down the road towards my grandparent’s home. Despite the scorching temperatures of that day, my blood had run cold and my heart had stopped as I was pulling up off the road into the yard.

At about four thirty one Sunday afternoon, my family and I are loading up in the car to go eat at my grandparents house. We pull up to a driveway full of cars belonging to most of my immediate family. Upon entering the house I catch a whiff of various different vegetables that my grandmother had undoubtedly slaved over for the past couple of hours. The meal she had prepared consisted of everything from green beans and mashed potatoes to fried chicken and corn on the cob. It is pretty much the textbook idea of a southern meal. This is the meal that I have looked forward to for every Sunday since I can remember. When I walk around the kitchen piling on as much of these foods as I can possibly fit on my plate, I think about all the time and hard work spent growing these foods. My grandparents have maintained their garden ever since my mother was a child and worked in the garden herself. Now thirty-five to forty years later they are still making their own delicious home grown meals and now I am the one that gets out in the garden to help them produce their vegetables.

After fixing my plate and sitting down in the living room with all of my aunts and uncles, I began contemplating which food would best meet the desires of my appetite from the start. The thing that caught my eye right from the start would have to have been the fried chicken. I did not know what it was but there was just something about the chicken that always pulled me towards it first. It could possibly be the carnivorous side of me that craves meat like a starving wolf on the prowl coming out by starting right away at the meat. My fried chicken strips were usually doused in either sweet-n-sour sauce or honey mustard for a little added flavor. Secondly, I made the habit of chasing all my foods down with some good old sweet tea. Next, the sweet aroma of frozen strawberries topped with a few small dabs of sugar usually catches my attention. Strawberries are usually considered more of the desert, but to me it does not matter the order it enters my mouth. Half way through the meal there is a friendly argument brewing up between one of my uncles and my great Uncle Scott over which race team has the better car in the NASCAR Nextel cup series. My great Uncle Scott argues on behalf of Chevy since he has always driven a Chevy truck and my other uncle argues on behalf of the Dodge cars. Soon after the argument is over, my Uncle Scott begins to tell me what all that we will be doing in the garden the upcoming Saturday. As he is speaking to me, I move on to the next item on my plate which happens to be the slightly creamy mashed potatoes, buttered to perfection and served with cascading waterfalls of gravy, my uncle is talking about plowing rows for in a few days. After cleaning my plate and end my main course, I head into the kitchen to pick between an assortment of desserts including apple pies, chocolate cake, frozen strawberries, or homemade ice cream. Shortly after finishing off a little bit of each of the desserts, I put my dishes in the washing machine and begin to tell everyone bye. I then thank my grandparents for my dinner and head out the door back towards my house thinking about how bloated I felt from my massive overconsumption of food.

As I am pulling into my grandparent’s yard that Saturday morning overcome with a deep feeling that something horrible has happened, I notice my Uncle Scott’s old Chevrolet truck parked in the driveway. I then look out towards the garden and notice someone lying on the ground near the tractor surrounded by medics. As I am approaching the scene I spot my grandparents holding each other with tears streaming down their horror-stricken faces. I then saw the most grotesque, horrifying sight that still haunts me today. It was my Uncle Scott lying there face down on the ground, his body mangled beyond recognition. My dear uncle had apparently bumped into one of the fence posts entering the garden and been thrown off and caught under the tractor. As he fell from the tractor he was confined to a virtual death-trap as his life flashed before his eyes. He was immediately rushed to the hospital where he struggled day to day to hold on to what all of us treasure most, life. Ever since that day I have tried to keep the image of my uncle out of my head. Now, whenever I think of my home cooked southern meal I remember how fortunate my family is to have my uncle still in our lives today.