Once again this year, I had the good fortune to be able to travel to Bandon, Oregon to meet good friends for a long weekend of “playing” golf at Bandon Dunes Resort, perched out on the Pacific Ocean in southwestern Oregon. They have a neat website: http://www.bandondunesgolf.com/. It’s a “Wow” kind of place with the feel and smell of Ireland, no passport required.  It’s a place where rough sand dune land connects the ocean to land usable for civilization.  On all 4 courses, less than _1/10 the amount of soil was moved in construction than was moved at Whistling Straights. It’s simply the land saying, “come use me for golf”, just like the land where the game was invented.

Don’t get me wrong, the Professional Golf Association’s Championship was held a 2nd time at Whistling Straights. It’s a beautiful golf venue perched on the cliffs overlooking Lake Michigan.  It’s called Linksland, but in truth it’s linked closer to a big bull dozer than it is to big water.  It’s a true engineering marvel that was carved from glacier stripped soil and equipped with enough drain pipe to empty the Mississippi.   Bandon Dunes is not the same.

Actually, there is a 5^th venue at Bandon Dunes, one where little dirt got moved. On their website they don’t mention it, locally it’s called the Sheep Ranch. I think its life began in the last days of the 20th Century when the owner of Bandon Dunes wanted to experience golf in its original form. For that he chose a plot of land on the far northern edge of his large sea coast purchase. A special place for him to play.   Today, it’s open for others to enjoy, by arrangement.

My first view was around 2002 when the leader of our Safari, a certain Mr. Seelig, insisted he take me to see it. Bwana, we call him, drove out of the primary Resort along twisting north coast public roads, finally pulling up to a steel farm gate. I got out, opened the gate, and down a gorse lined, gravel road we bumped. We came upon an open area of rolling open land, looking west to the ocean, upon which 6, links faithful, greens had been shaped.  That day the sun dove into the Pacific marking the experience something not easy to forget.

Today the same gravel road leads to a sandy parking area surrounded by high gorse, open to the west.  My eye says the tract is perhaps 200 acres of gently rolling linksland stretching along the cliff that falls into the Pacific. One can count from this vantage 12 flags fluttering out across the landscape marking simple greens spread one end to the other, all of which use nature’s humps and bumps, and contours left by the wind and sea.  Thick, evil gorse bounds the inland perimeter and the coastline drop-off. To spark some romance, a number of twisted pines remain along the cliff’s edge, smacking of Cyprus Point.

There are no teeing grounds, that’s right, no teeing grounds. Only closely mown areas, thicker seaside grasses, and 12 imaginative greens exist. There are no visible routes that define any particular hole to play.  There is no suggested par, in fact, there are no suggestions. One is encouraged that it’s a game, so go play!

This year our gang consisted of 24 golfers eager to get started.  We had the entire place to ourselves. Six foursomes, each one taking off in a different direction toward their chosen distant flagged pin. The questions for most were “where to?”; “what’s par?”; “how far is it?”  Grasshopper, the answer and lesson is: “Who cares?”

Off the groups bumped, each person shouldering his own sticks, clanking step by step. One could hear that clank as we played, all crossing each other’s paths numerous times, a wave, a shout, a wisecrack every time.  We played holes with lengths less than 100 yards, we played one hole over 1,000 yards. I am not sure how many holes we played, only that after each one, there was a winner and a loser and some snarling or laughter each time. Along the way we talked over old departed friends, places for dinner, the best Irish whisky, accompanied by a scratch here and a tug there.

I don’t remember why we stopped playing.  The place was ours until dark.  I do remember looking forward to dinner with the guys in town, a treat that begins with a ‘toot’ at the motel overlooking oldtown Bandon on the harbor. From there everyone moved by foot to dinner in some remembered stop down below.

The truth I took away is that the Sheep Ranch proves that GOLF is a game. Get it? It’s a game, not work; and there is no life or death or consuming horror that will take us over when we fail.  Really, it is not about totaling up a score card at all.

Here is what I am sure golf really IS about:

1. Friends taking a wonderful walk
2. Friends talking with friends about stuff
3. Hitting a little ball far enough to have to go look for it
4. Hitting it again
5. Repeating the process until that little balls gets in a hole in the ground
6. Friends adding up the number of times the ball got hit along the waY
7. Honorably telling the friends about that sum total
8. Have the pride to gracefully accept a win or a loss
9. Friends retiring to the bar for a “wee snoodle” and more talk about stuff.

That’s Golf!

The experience of playing at the Sheep Ranch changed my thinking about golf, a game I have played for over 50 years.  Maybe I shall learn more one day.

B. B. King, a Mississippi man, a Mississippi Delta man. In those days, to get off another man’s plantation tractor, one had to make some footsteps on down the line. He did, and those first foot, or should I say finger, steps led him to Memphis. From there, those same steps led him “all around the world” touching people with music that speaks to us all. Most call him “The King of the Blues”. some might debate that, but not today, Sister.

He and his best “good girl”, Lucille, the guitar in his arms, made such sweet music and led many more than me to snuggle up to our own guitars.
Here’s a 1965 favorite : All Around The World

My own good girl is named “De Baby”. We’ve been close 50 years, imagine that. That was 1965. Look what else was going on that year. You don’t think B B King knew how to spread the news?
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A young couple has moved back to Laurel with a plan to open a meat market, offering whole free market butchery. This means you get the cut of meat you want, not what the factory wants  you to have. They’ll not only offer fresh cuts of meat, but also will cure and smoke meat for their customers. That means they will be making Sausages too. 

Sausages exist all over this planet. That fact adds an entire chapter to part of every travel adventure I have. Apparently this couple moved here from Seattle, a city I visited in 2010, and where I enjoyed lunch at a small store front called Salumi’s. http://www.salumicuredmeats.com/ I hope they know the place and can recreate some of its wonder. Books say they people began stuffing meat into animal casings as a way to preserve meat. All I can say is “Thank goodness!”

A note of caution:  This happy Blog was supposed to be FUN information for people who know about sausages and cured meats.  In it’s initial form there were some photographs that I found on the internet which I thought, by the information on their link, were free to use for non-commercial uses.  This Blog is surely not a commercial use as anyone can see.  It is, however, part of my company’s web site, so the gendarmes who monitor the web informed me of same.  I shall be more careful next time.  Regradless,

The first time I ever looked at a link of sausage was the Friday meat sale at my Dad’s family business, J M Wilson and Sons. My Dad was one of the sons, and Champ was another. Champ had a lifelong friend, Jimmy Tant, whose family owned Tant Packing Company. It was a full line meat processing company, and early every Friday morning Jimmy brought sausages, hams, head cheese, and bacon to the Store, then hung it all on a “tree trunk” display. They sold out every Friday. The sausages were a country style recipe of fresh pork stuffed in 1” pork casings. That’s about all I knew about sausages. Well that is true, except that I had been eating hotdogs, Bologna and Vienna sausages all my life, who knew?

There came a time when I traveled beyond my little circle 250 miles from home and found, among other things, that the world was one big sausage eating place, glorious sausage of all kinds and sizes. First there was Kielbasa, the Polish sausage with strong garlic seasoning. Then Italian, both sweet and hot, fresh pork sausages became instant hits. After that I began to notice all the different kinds. The Germans have their frankfurters to wursts. The Iberian Peninsula is famous for Tapas prepared from cured meats.

Some years later I had begun to cook. That is when I began to understand some of the inside story of why we love our links. It’s all about seasoning, fat, how the lean is ground up. For example, it was a good deal of sage and red pepper with just the right amount of pork fat and pork lean, ground rather rough, that made Tant’s sausage country. It’s the taste Southerners look for in the morning. All over the world, humans have their own favorites, and there are many masters.

In our world we hear about Salumi and Charcuterie. One from Italy, the other French, these are the names of master craftsmen who practice the art of making sausages and other cured, smoked and preserved meats. In Mississippi there are only a few found in our grocers’ shelves. As I said before, part of every travel adventure I have involves seeking them out.

One morning I ran into Mr. Tant, and I asked him about his unique blend. He didn’t reveal it, of course, but instead asked if I knew what Kielbasa was. He went on about one of his major customers wanted him to supply Kielbasa to offer to the New Orleans market for use in Red Beans and Rice. For years Andui, a Cajun pork sausage, was the favorite; but there were those who wanted a different choice. Polish Kielbasa is pork sausage similar to what Mr. Tant was making except for the seasoning. It’s full of garlic and a great companion to red beans. He asked me to come down to his plant and help make some. I could bring down my spice blend, and we’d make some. I spent a week collecting and blending my spice mix. We used it in 100# of sausage. It was pure fresh meat, cold and clean, no chemicals. It’s not possible to describe how much fun that was.

So, back in 2012 I wrote one of these Blogs about Christmas Salumi.

If you are interested, go read the blog. http://www.chriswilsonrealtor.com/blog/?p=1465

We still make various sausages in my kitchen, including my wife Holly’s grandmother’s recipe. Her entire Delta family loved her version of Country Sausage. It’s fair to warn you that some don’t like knowing what it is, they simply want to eat some, now.

Playing now is a promotional TV Commercial paid for by Alabama Tourism telling the listener all about the treasure of Alabama Gulf seafood. It’s a good piece; and if one is from Minnesoooooota, it might be the end-all- be-all of reasons to winter or vacation in Alabama. That’s not a bad plan, but it’s not the only story.

There’s this thing called “The River”. It’s the Mississippi River, and the huge thing pours muddy water stuffed with food into the Gulf of Mexico. Not food for you and me, but food for food for you and me. It’s discharge pours into the Gulf and swirls east into the Louisiana wetlands, over into the Mississippi Sound and the Alabama Florida deep water. This is supplemented by the much smaller Pearl, Pascagoula, Tombigbee and Alabama Rivers all the way to Mobile. All that muddy water is good for good eats, and that’s the subject of this blog.

Let’s start with my favorite, Blue Crab. It’s essentially an insect. Not like the Sci-Fi things known as Snow Crap, or King Crab, or Stone Crab, or Dungeness Crab. It’s a silly, colorful little cousin with meat so sweet and tender. I think it’s the best Crab meat on the planet. It’s hard to get to the white meat, unless you enjoy the crunch of shell, so it’s expensive labor-wise. Someone must really work to pick out the JUMBO LUMPS. Jumbo Lumps are what we’re seeking. In days gone by, the price $8.00/pound for my first purchase some 39 years ago. Here is the same thing, by the way without any shell whatsoever, for $21.00/pound.

Less is more, really. Here is the recipe…. 1 pound jumbo lump blue crab meat, 1 TBS each of minced green bell pepper & green onion  , 1 TBS Hellmann’s Real Mayonnaise, 1 squeeze fresh lemon, one strong pinch salt, fresh cracked black pepper. Fold all that slowly & carefully without breaking the lumps into to a salad looking like this. Paprika & garnish finish the picture. Nothing but “Nabisco Premium Saltine” Crackers accompany the dish at the Bullet Proof Café.

OK, so we’re on the Gulf. Shrimp are the absolute best. Why not have a shrimp cocktail? These particular shrimp are known as Royal Reds. They come from deep clear water. Some prefer them. These were placed headless into boiling water for 3 minutes, removed to cool for 1 minute, then washed with cold tap water. They were perfectly done, not over so and tough. Figure out your own sauce. Again, less is more.

Sea Scallops? Here are mine, a sauté without any fancy stuff. Not overcooked, no sauce, except a taste of butter and lemon. Add asparagus and yellow rice, enjoy.

So, there’s a weekend in Gulf Shores, AL. Oh, why not begin with a trip to Pensacola to Joe Patti’s Seafood Company? More perfectly fresh seafood than one can imagine exist there ready for us to choose. It’s a crazy place. You can tell from this picture, that I am in rapture being near the front door.

On the Mississippi, Louisiana, and Alabama Gulf Coast the muddy water from the Mississippi, Pascagoula, and Mobile rivers brings wildly nourishing food to all the little creatures swimming about it the water off the coast. In fact, it has gotten so nourishing to some of the creatures that all the oxygen is depleted from vast ranges of the open water.  That’s another story for another day.

From these food rich waters, all kinds of fishermen bring in their catches, we all saw Forest Gump do it.  The catches are wonderful and blessed with the gray shrimp.  I love them most. It’s easy to make hungry people happy by serving these shrimp with peppers and onions and a garlic cream sauce. Over pasta, what’s not to like?

Start with peeled shrimp. Fresh, a gray color whose eyes are still glassy from the market.  Chop as much garlic as you like, melt some butter, while the pan heats.  Introduce the garlic to the pan and butter, splash in the shrimp and cook them for no longer than 3 minutes, turned and folding during so.  One pound of peeled shrimp needs no less than 2 toes garlic and 3 Tablespoons butter for this step.  Add some salt and black pepper as they cook.  You know they are ready when the meat has just turned white and seafood red, without the opaque look as they stated.  When they are just done, remove them from the pan and set aside, overcooking is an error.   Like most everything, the more they cook, the tougher and dryer they become.

In the same pan, add 2 Tablespoons olive oil.  When it’s shimmering, add red, yellow, and green bell peppers cut anyway you choose.  Remove the stems and white pith.  Add some White onion cut into the same size pieces as the peppers. Add a pinch of black pepper, sprinkle of red pepper flakes, an anchovy mashed up, ½ teaspoon of dried thyme, slight pinch of nutmeg, and fold the peppers and onion briskly until wilted.  Cut off the heat and slowly add heavy cream.  Once added and mixed, taste for salt.  Cut back on the heat to low, bring to a shimmer, not a boil, to thicken.  Add Romano cheese.

Add the shrimp to the cream and peppers. Taste for salt and pepper.   Add chopped parsley.

Serve over pasta of your choice. So, here’s what you get!

Add some of this…….

It’s not clear to me, regardless of what road one follows in life, how a statement like the one below can be overlooked.  In the author’s case, his road was to freedom, literally. In 98 words, he describes life, his, mine, and likely yours too.

“I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can only rest for a moment, for with freedom come responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not ended.” ~ Nelson Mandela

I am thankful that I wish to keep walking those roads. In William Faulkner’s THE REIVERS Faulkner tells of the ranking intelligence of common animals, to wit: Rat > Mule > Cat > Dog > Horse.

When, in the book, a Chinese parable discussed the cat, we find that once the cat ruled our world, but gave up because their leadership realized that “that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb.”  They were smart enough to conclude that the hills never end.  So they abdicated their rule of the earth.  That’s why they live with us and look at us the way they do.

The road that I have been on changed its character few times. On each one, I really did notice that even after one hard climb, there was a rest; but there before me were more hills.  Resting gets boring.  As for me, please let me see the road before me and those hills that need climbing, for they really are opportunities. I only pray they are reasonable, and my strength will hold.

Ok, so it’s not veal.  I cannot get veal cutlets at my grocery stores here in Laurel without a special order, and that doesn’t fit the Austerity Program I have in place.  As a consequence, I use round steak or pork loin, or sliced chicken breasts, tenderized and gently pounded. The best part of this dish is the Marinara.  That’s where the fun begins, and it’s the stuff that draws the family to the table.  The cutlets must be crispy and there must be some bread.  Let’s go.

I usually begin early in the morning since getting it ready and allowing it to sit all day or another night helps the tomatoes blend and cure.  My version uses lightly salted and peppered onion, celery, and garlic, all of which are very finely minced by hand.  I cook the trilogy in stages, garlic last, in a bit of olive oil and bacon grease, but never to brown.  Once translucent, I add some tomato paste and one beef bullion cube and let them cook for a few minutes to darken in color.   Add some thyme and oregano.  Now comes wine, and I choose white. Reduce that by half, add 1 cup chicken stock, and then add some canned tomatoes. I usually seed those, using pulp and liquid too.  Bring all that to a boil, then reduce and simmer for 1 hour.  Cut it off and let it sit until using it at dinner.  Now, no Marinara is complete without some fresh bread.  This was easy today, as I had some pizza dough in the refrigerator.  Roll some out very thin, lay it on a hot griddle and cook it.  Oh, you can let it sit and rise if you like before cooking. When it browns on one side, turn it over.

Sautéing the cutlets comes next and it’s easy.  In a skillet bring a Tablespoon of olive oil to medium high heat and place the cutlets in with plenty of room. Don’t touch them and let them brown on one side.  Turn them over and brown that side.  Remove the cutlets, sit them to the side.       Smear some Marinara around the bottom of an oven proof casserole, and arrange the cutlets over the sauce.  Place some good Mozzarella cheese over the cutlets and pour more sauce over.  Place the casserole in a preheated oven to heat the entire dish up. Buon appetito!

Some things just go with each other. Grits and gravy do.

You got your shrimp and grits. You got your eggs and grits. You got garlic and grits and cheese and grits. There’s fried grits and grit soufflé. Everyone of those involved grits and some way to flavor the ground hominy corn.

“Nobody doesn’t like” Shrimp and Grits from the Carolina Low Country. Nor should anyone stick up their nose at a Creole treasure Grits and Grillards, except to smell the delicious steam as it comes from the oven. I love it so, especially on a chilly night or morning. The dish is fine for a Christmas morning brunch.

A Grillard is a cutlet of “lean” meat, much like a playing card sliced maybe ¼” thick. It can come from a Beef round or shoulder, but often comes from venison and a pork loin, even. The meat gets sliced into uniform thickness, trimmed of fat, and shaped so that it cooks evenly and can be served with some show. It’s then pounded for tenderness. Often I brine the meat in cold salt water for 15 minutes.

To prepare this dish, follow the steps above with ½ pound of lean meat per person to be served. Pat each cutlet dry, place on a paper towel and season both sides with black pepper and some salt. Be careful about over salting, as the braising to follow will reduce the sauce and bring salt to the top.

It’s Creole so the Trilogy (onion+garlic+bell pepper) applies. It’s French too, so add celery and carrots. With that said, start with a glass of good red wine and a sharp knife.

Heat an oven proof pan that has a top (roasting pan with foil for a cover will do just fine) with 1 T bacon fat. When hot, pan sauté the cutlets on each side without crowding them, assuring some brown bits on the meat and the pan. Do this in shifts so as not to crowd and add more fat if needed, without getting greasy. Once done, sit meat aside with a cover.

Finely chop 1 onion, 1 bell pepper, 4 toes garlic, 2 stalks celery, and 1 large carrot.

There should be no more than 2 T of fat in the pan and in that, over medium high heat, cook the vegetables, leaving the garlic until all the others are fully wilted and cooked through.

Add to the vegetables 2 T flour and enough butter to make sure the flour can be turned into a paste. Cook this vegetable paste 1 minute more and add 1 T tomato paste. Mix it in the paste and cook until that tomato paste begins to darken.

Now come the herbs. For me it thyme, sage, red pepper flakes, and a rosemary wand. I use fresh herbs from the garden and tie them all in a bouquet to be removed later. Now chop and seed three or four high quality canned tomatoes. Add these to the paste and cook for 2 to 3 minutes. At this point, you can sit all this aside and finish the rest later.

Otherwise, in the hot pan, with the paste add 1 cup good red wine. Bring it all to a boil until most all the liquid has evaporated. Add 1 to 2 cups beef stock and bring to a boil. Reduce to strong simmer and let this all cook for 5 minutes. We are at the point of having acquired our ‘braising fluid’. You may use whatever herbs you prefer. I like adding some fresh mushrooms to the fluid.

To the braising fluid place the cooked meat around making sure the fluid covers it. Place the cover on the pan, and place the pan in a 350° F pre heated oven for 1.5 hours. Out should come fully cooked meat bubbling in a dark brown gravy. The meat should be fork tender but holding intact as it is served onto the plate.

As the meat is braising, cook some plain grits with a taste of salt in a pot. I prefer them cooked stiff, not runny. You can add cheese and garlic to them, if you like.

Heat some French bread. Place butter on the table to come to room temperature. Fresh cracked black pepper is essential. Knives are only used to spread the gravy and butter onto the girls and fresh French bread.

Chop some parsley. Mold the stiff grits in a cup and plate it for serving. Place some meat from the pan over the grits. Spoon the gravy over the meat. Garnish with some parsley, a taste of good grated cheese, and slice of lemon. Some green vegetable like asparagus goes so well. Here I have used roasted Brussel Sprouts.

Forest might say, “Momma said, ‘good is as good is’.”

There are people I remember, there are places too. One comes to mind, Places, that is. Dauphin Island, Alabama. It’s a long spit of land just out west of Mobile Bay, long been peopled by generations of beach lovers. Some Governor of that State got pushed into passing legislation that allowed the investment of big bucks to build a bridge for Mo-beal big dogs to get the people out to a beach so quiet and peaceful. Cottages were built, marinas, a golf course.  The auto accessible island was to become one of the first vacation beaches for the less than Trés Riche.  Every year sun and sand worshipers poured out there to enjoy Mobile Bay fishing and Gulf Coast sand. Not so frequently came the Hurricanes. They came late in the summer often raising whatever was standing above the sand, and one last time taking almost half the land with it.

Enough of that! Saturday’s sunrise brought an urge for an adventure. My daughter and her husband, Brett, were in town. So as to capture them, I proposed a drive down to a place they’d never seen.  Like countless others over the past 60 years, the family climbed into the trusty sedan and off we went. 

Holly’s days of sun tanning are over.  She once loved to sit in the sand and soak it all up.  Too hot, too moist now days.  Elizabeth’s skin is much like mine, ready to blister in seconds.  Brett, the one of us ready to face most any oncoming adventure, encouraged us to be patient facing the traffic we encountered.  His attitude is perfect for an adventure. 

We never heard the familiar call from the back seat so much a part of auto tours, “Are we there yet?”, but it didn’t take long before the question “Where will we have lunch?” was heard.  Sure that fresh, fried seafood could be found, I proclaimed that no lunch would be had until we were south of Mobile on the Dauphin Island Parkway. 

Out came the IPhones.  What’s her name, the Nazi inside those things, Sari?, was queried.   Turned out there were several mentioned, one of which had no Web Site, a clear indication that it was run by a local and older than 35.  Bailey’s Seafood House was exactly where that Nazi indicated it would be.  Sure enough, it was old and tired with only two pickups in the shell paved lot. The words “Carry Out” were hand-painted out on the sign brought indications of something or someone peculiar. 

Lunch was just great fun.  The place, clean and tiled with ceramic dairy blocks, was huge, and there were black & white pictures of days long past from the hay day of Dauphin Island traffic. Built in 1947 and founded by the current owner’s dad, it was clear that many a crab, among other desirable exoskeleton-bearing aquatic invertebrates, had been stuffed in that place.  Bill Bailey, the current owner came over for a visit and being the perfect restaurateur, gave us suggestions and historic facts. Who couldn’t like this guy?

Two pieces of history, far from verified by that IPhone Nazi or anybody else, came to light.  Bill’s dad ‘invented’ the West Indies Salad.  We ordered two. Plainly served, very simple, purely delicious, we decided the crab came from the Bay, and that Bill, Jr’s claim was true.  Then came fried crab claws, and the same verdict from the judges, since the things were full and crisp. His Dad invented those too!

The oysters, shrimp, and mullet were perfect, maybe the best fried oysters I’ve been served anywhere. 

Down the Causeway we drove, finding the Dauphin Island bridge just where it had always been and leading to the same place.  That’s not exactly true, since it’s been hammered back and forth by the same Hurricanes that have slammed the Island.

The island, populated with it’s typical raised beach cottages was clean, a bit tired maybe, and a bit less white than those farther to the east beyond Mobile Bay muddy water. 

At the end of the road west insult ensued.  That now abbreviated west end has a public beach blocked with a sign that demanded $5 from tourists to park on the sand.  We turned around with a ‘Harrumph’ and drove out and away. 

Here’s one quick picture proving the day had existed, and that our toes had indeed touched the sand and salt water was snapped.  Here it is.

Fun Adventure.