THE BLIND SIDE, LEIGH ANNE ROBERTS TUOHY AND OLE MISS

I was proud even before the movie The Blind Side to embrace my alma mater, the University of Mississippi, as one of my most significant, meaningful life experiences and, yes, still probably my spiritual home. Had I attended Brown, Syracuse or Hobart my feelings would not have been the same as they are now about Ole Miss.

I didn’t have that quintessential experience as a university neophyte as there were ups and downs and not everybody embraced this Southern Born though New England raised kid with open arms. I rocked the boat and pressed a few too many buttons my freshman year though the worst of it was infuriating my Father. I soon got over that as it was apparent that I was right and he was wrong. My reality related to an incredible naïveté and a somewhat idealized perception of life that continues to this day. I was a well intended accident looking for a place to happen. Thank God a few good men saw the real person and invited me into their lives via of the Mississippi Alpha chapter of the Sigma Phi Epsilon Fraternity.

This post references a special Lady, a Daughter of the South, who has become the epitome of why Ole Miss is Ole Miss. Some people just can’t fathom that someone (especially a Southerner) can reach out across class and race and sincerely and honestly embrace someone different - as their own. Leigh Anne Tuohy did and that’s why she and husband Sean are the story of The Blind Side, notwithstanding the incredible courage and determination of Michael Oher who reinforced the true spirit of Ole Miss and brought new meaning for the number 74. He will continue to be an inspiration for generations. We need not forget his story and I wish that we had seen more of Michael in the movie.

One of my favorite childhood stories was Ferdinand the Bull. The Tuohys and Michael shared that affection for Ferdinand, the pacifist bull who didn’t want to fight rather just smell the flowers in his pasture. Michael Oher was (and is) Ferdinand but a well intended Leigh Ann Tuohy provided some righteous motivation and he was soon active in the trenches of his own volition. While Ferdinand was eventually returned from the bull ring to the pasture not so Michael who found his center and went on to NFL fame.

At some point in our time line we wonder if our lives have purpose and will be meaningful. We all want to know if we are we going to make a difference. It’s normal to want to leave a positive legacy and somehow validate our time on this planet – to have value and maybe even be remembered. There are myriad books, films and blogs all testifying how we can accomplish that goal. Some are inspirational while many are nothing more than trite commercial pulp. Many more seem to be embarrassingly selfish focused on doing good deeds so as to guarantee one’s salvation – that old Heaven deal…

I guess that good works are going to happen whether you are on a salvation gig or one who with openness and malice towards none is motivated to help their fellow Man like the Gentleman at Crossmark who donates 35 to 40 weekends a year to Habitat for Humanity for no other reason than he honestly wants to make a difference without any promise of reward. Leigh Anne and Sean Tuohy have already made a difference in their community and by extension - the world. We suspect they will continue doing so. Leigh Anne has never looked for any reward and per her comments, “doesn’t give a rat’s a--” what anybody else thinks of her. Sean to this day continues to support several needy students at Briarcrest Christian via the sale of his business saving quesadillas - always walking the walk.

Not so the few cynics and critics - those habitually negative folks - some of which have suggested that this whole exercise was “social engineering pap” or just a misplaced altruism. Some African Americans have even suggested that this is just a ploy to down the “Black Woman” who can’t take care of her own or even the ludicrous sexual innuendo about a White Woman lusting after a BIG Black Man. Like any story one can read and interpret as they see fit according to their agenda. Folks who infer that this story is anything other than the unselfish concern for another Human Being just doesn’t get it and will forever condemn themselves as part of the problem.

Recently I’ve had discussions with a good Friend at work about how inspired people of good faith who transcend race, gender and religion can and do make the difference. In the case of Michael Oher it was Leigh Ann Tuohy who saw someone in need and filled that void. As is the case with folks of good faith, she admitted that she and her Family probably got more out of the relationship than Michael, “He had a much greater impact on our lives than we did on his life.”

The circumstances that brought Michael Oher and the Tuohy family together are well documented by book and film and need not be repeated here. What we need to always remember is that Oher’s heroics in reaching his potential are inspirational, phenomenal and proof, yet again, that it’s all about Opportunity. Thank God that Michael didn’t become another negative statistic or just forgotten, fall through the cracks. Michael through his actions has opened the portal that should allow us the opportunity to take a serious look at a system whose flaws are now in plain sight.

Questions about whether Oher had really academically qualified for admission to Ole Miss was a fleeting thought for many who wondered if this was just another “wink and nod” gesture to acknowledge the Tuohys and to gain Oher’s prowess on the football field? Nothing could have been further from the truth. Michael took advantage of the academic opportunities offered by Briarcrest Christian in Memphis, his tutors and the now famous “Mormon Grade Grab.” This is one smart guy who was able to reach his potential though there was no doubt that questions remained even as he entered The University. Michael dismissed any doubts by earning Dean’s List and Honor Roll recognition several times during his tenure at Ole Miss.

The secret to all this and one of the reasons why Ole Miss is such a great university and good fit for the Tuohys, Michael Oher, this writer and the thousands of students and alumni is the special attention paid to each and every student. One student at Ole Miss said it for me when he related that he chose Ole Miss over Harvard and the University of California because of its nurturing environment. ''Looking at pure academics,'' he said, ''I don't think I could justifiably compare Ole Miss to the other two. But when I compared the personal atmosphere as well as the intellectual rigor, there was no comparison. I was determined to go to a university where I wasn't a number. There's a genuine interest in the administration and the professors to see a student excel.''

I honestly wonder if Michael would have had the same degree of personal attention and success at some of the other NCAA schools (they are legion) that exploitively expressed interest (“I want that kid.”) for no other reason than his prowess on the football field. We certainly acknowledge Sue Mitchell, Michael’s tutor who guided Michael academically.

While I give Ole Miss a lot of the credit for this success story there is no denying that many opportunities remain to forge stronger and more robust learning experiences – a mission always at the forefront of any great learning institution. The yahoos that criticize The University academically frankly don’t know what the Hell they’re talking about including the idiot that suggested that Ole Miss should be teaching English... My liberal Arts core curriculum included a year of basic English and a year of English Literature. So did Michael’s degree in Criminal Justice.

The University of Mississippi has been a lightning rod for positive and much needed change, not only regionally but nationally. They saw themselves in the mirror, confronted their past and did what they had to do. Former University of Mississippi Chancellor, Dr. Robert C. Khayat bravely facilitated much of that transformation. A new empowered and enlightened generation of students are now validating and improving on those changes and looking to the future. As much as I respect them, Colonel Rebel and the Confederate Battle Flag have no place at Ole Miss.

The University of Mississippi is a fine academic institution that has a whole lot more going for it. There is a mystique, a subliminal spirit, that pervades all that is the University of Mississippi and you have to be one of us to understand. It is not a selfish identity driven by elitism, rather a congenial exercise that can profoundly move and inspire those who choose to sincerely immerse themselves in our culture. You can create and expand on that opportunity and make it yours for the rest of your life.

Ole Miss graduate, the late Frank E. Everett, Jr., B.A.’32, LLB ’34, put it best when he wrote:

“There is a valid distinction between The University and Ole Miss even though the separate threads are closely interwoven. The University is buildings, trees and people. Ole Miss is mood, emotion and personality. One is physical, and the other is spiritual. One is tangible, and the other intangible. The University is respected, but Ole Miss Is loved. The University gives a diploma and regretfully terminates tenure, but one never graduates from Ole Miss.”

The University will continue to work through their issues (Ackbar?) and successfully so. Great institutions are subject to introspection, change and an ultimate evolution if they are to remain relevant. The Ole Miss spirit is alive and well and continues to set us apart from other academic institutions. Hopefully, the examples set by The Tuohys and Michael Oher will inspire us all to be better Human Beings. We need to instinctively reach out to those in need whatever their race, creed, color or sex.

One Step Further: If we listen to what Skip Gates has been telling us with his impressive body of work including Faces of America, we soon realize that aside from cultural differences, underneath it all, the big picture is that we really are all the same. And, we have choices.

And what about that University of Mississippi student who so eloquently offered why he chose Ole Miss over other seemingly more prestigious schools? Though it should ultimately not matter, he happens to be African American. The spirit is spreading…

Hotty Toddy Y’all, Aye

Ned Buxton
Ole Miss ‘66

JULIA CHILD AND JULIE POWELL: OIL & VINEGAR

I saw Julie & Julia last week and it brought back a flood of memories that washed over me like the tsunami in 2012. Aye, that kind of emotion is usually the harbinger for another Might of Right post. Like most of my posts this started out as an innocent tribute – this one for Julia Child hoping to punctuate that by highlighting the aspirations of one wide-eyed Julie Powell and her seeming high regard for Child. It turned out quite differently and wanders a bit - my apologies.

I had always been a fan of Julia Child (Julia McWilliams) as she reminded me of my somewhat eccentric, very tall and doting Great Aunt Nelchen. Child inspired my Mother, Elisabeth Alden Littlefield Buxton who was a great cook in her own right. As a single parent and Mother of three sons she was forced to improvise but more often than not, cooked up fancy casseroles and other like sophisticated dishes fit for royalty, her glorious open-faced SPAM sandwiches, notwithstanding.

Mother loved food, good food, and had an impressive collection of cookbooks including Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking and most of Betty Crocker’s mainstay offerings. Significantly, Mother presented me with a copy of the original 1961 English translation of Larousse Gastronomique (LG), the iconic French encyclopedia of gastronomy as a rite of passage gift in 1962. I still use it to this day and Food, then as now, remains an important part of my life - not just as sustenance but as inspiration. Maybe not so ironically LG’s English translation was printed and released in the same year as the offering of Child’s iconic Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Seems a lot of folks were going after the American market…

Child was also an inspiration of another kind for us Buxton kids though as the eldest son and Colonel Ned Buxton namesake - much of it fell to me. Dad shared in a mostly matter of fact fashion his comments about some of the famous folks that worked with Grandfather Buxton in the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) in WWII including Julia Child. Many were the iconic New England/New York Friends and associates of the Rhode Island Buxtons including business partner William Casey. But, this post is all about Julia Child and one of her affected admirers (sort of).

I do want to note that Julia has been characterized as a spy for the OSS and nothing could be farther from the truth. It could be true that a lot of the OSS projects in the SE Asian theater would not have been as successful were it not for Child’s contributions. She always described herself as a “file clerk” and downplayed her OSS service as “government work” though she did bring a dedication and organizational abilities sorely needed by the agency. Their reality and the bottom line truth of their efforts is that like the British they were fighting for our very existence.

Of special interest is that early on in her career she worked in the Research Unit of the Office of War Information (OWI) in the State Department in Washington, DC where she engaged mundane clerical tasks including typing thousands of names on index cards as part of a rudimentary manual indexing system - a business necessity many years before the advent of the computer. The OWI had been spun off from the ambiguously named and FDR-established Coordinator of Information (COI) which not so ironically also spawned the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). William Donovan, the first COI, who went on to be the Director of the OSS was Friend to my Grandfather, Ned Buxton.

The OWI proved to be Julia’s segway to the OSS where she worked directly for OSS Director Donovan and Assistant Director, Ned Buxton. I have seen the OSS Headquarters office floor plan at 2430 E. Street in NW DC (the E Street Complex) of that period and noted Child’s desk located squarely between Donovan and Buxton’s offices. Wouldn’t you like to have been a fly on the wall? The work for Donovan and Buxton was mostly typing and clerical (same type of OWI tasks) though she performed it well and rose through the ranks. It also should be noted that Buxton was involved in the selection and hiring of many key positions within the OSS.

Julia worked in the OSS’ Emergency Sea Rescue Equipment Section where she among other tasks helped develop a shark repellant and then onto overseas assignments in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) and China. As the Head of Registry of the OSS’ China office she had top secret access to communications detailing all manner of covert military matters. She organized files in the OSS registry and created systems that helped facilitate the OSS’ intelligence activities in Southeast Asia or what they then called the CBI (China-Burma-India) Theater.

Julia contributed positively to the war effort and as one Air Force Intelligence colleague put it Julia, “was privy to every top secret which required a person of unquestioned loyalty, of rock-solid integrity, of unblemished lifestyle, of keen intelligence." At one point Julia was considered for a more traditional intelligence gathering role but the bomb and the end of the war abruptly terminated thoughts of any such adventure. It is hard to imagine in a covert world dominated by the average looking “Janes and Joes” how a large framed, 6’ 2” American lioness who spoke in an endearing, warbling falsetto voice could blend into the wallpaper. I don’t think so…

Tom Brokaw noted in his book, The Greatest Generation, “As it did for so many women, the war liberated Julia Child…” Indeed, it was in this environment that Child started to find herself - a process that was further facilitated by her collaborating, supportive husband Paul and her absolute, unashamed, indomitable love of France and French cuisine. Indeed, the OSS is considered by many historians as one of the great opportunities for women to showcase their skills and make the case for equality. While after the war many women returned to their traditional trenches, not so, Julia Child who entered the fray, eyes wide open.

I was disappointed that none of her OSS activities were covered in Julie & Julia save a dinner scene where the OSS was mentioned in passing though this biopic movie was admittedly more about the evolution of two personalities in two different times and worlds connected by the culinary arts.

As for Julia, when she and Paul moved to Paris in 1948 she became almost immediately disenchanted with housewifery. She then tried the now lost art of millinery (hat making) in the haute couture capital of the world – Paris, and rejecting that ran passionately into a French culinary school after husband Paul turned her on to French cooking via of her epiphany - that now memorable first French meal in Rouen. That school was the internationally famous Le Cordon Bleu where despite the resentment of being non French, a woman in a chauvinistic society and the obstacles erected by the schools "short, thin, rather disagreeable“ Director, Madame Brassart, Child became the school’s first female graduate in 1951. They are now exceedingly happy to claim her as one of their own… In 1980, Julia became the first woman member of La Commanderie des Cordons Bleus de France.

During this period Julia met the equally iconic Simone “Simca” Beck, who invited Julia to join the French women's gastronomical society, "Le Cercle des Gourmettes," and ultimately introduced Julia to Louisette Bertholle. Simca and Julia ultimately became extraordinarily close Friends. In 1951 the triumvirate opened a twice-weekly cooking school, "L'Ecole des Trois Gourmands" (The School of the Three Food Lovers) in Julia’s Paris kitchen for American women. Their ultimate collaboration, however, was the iconic Mastering the Art of French Cooking which accomplished its goal of demystifying French cooking for Americans.

Julia was special because of her generosity of spirit, honesty, absolute charm, lack of pretension, visceral passion and because you knew that she was always talking – just to you. It was always a personal experience when you visited Julia. She was the teacher who wasn’t afraid to make mistakes. To my absolute delight I remember Julia on the PBS’s The French Chef (1962-1973) repairing broken pie crusts or the one time where she flipped a potato pancake right out of the skillet and onto the stovetop. Julia invoked the two second rule, put it back in the pan and while piecing it back together counseled her live TV viewers, “But you can always pick it up, and if you’re alone in the kitchen, who is going to see?” Her ultimate assurance was that we can always, “eat our mistakes.”

By the way, all those so called dropped chickens, ducks, fish, meats and cakes of all varieties? They never happened except in the collective imaginations of a generation of Americans along with the perceptions of the “tipsy” Julia who always quaffed red wine while doing her show. That “glass of red wine” was actually Gravy Master mixed with water. And, yes, she liked bourbon and gin…

Child went on to invent and then reinvent the TV food show on PBS and helped spawn an entire industry. She was able to write many more iconic cookbooks that continue to inspire us all. I think it appropriate that the PBS TV station (WGBH Boston) that gave her the opportunity and recognition she deserved has also been the font for so much quality programming including the now most popular Antiques Roadshow. Quality begets quality and Julia was on a very high plane. The rest including all her accomplishments and awards is a part of history.

So, what about Julie Powell? First of all, she’s a Texan, born and raised, from eclectic Austin and a graduate of Amherst College where she earned a degree in Theater and Creative Writing - pretty good credentials. What’s not to like? What we can say is that to compare the two as cooks, writers and human beings is oil and vinegar. Julie Powell might be able to carry Julia’s bags on a very good day, but that’s probably the extent of her capacity. To equate the two is to rip the fabric of the space-time continuum.

I guess Julie’s creative writing and theater degree should have been a giveaway as that’s what her effort was for me – theater. Now, please know that I like Julie and appreciated her edginess though her emulation of Julia Child seemed more campy than sincere, more an exercise in achievement not unlike my own mechanical peak bagging in New England as an adolescent trekker. It was like Julie was looking for a hook or gimmick, something to hang her hat on and develop. Now I don’t think that was what she initially intended, though it surely turned out that way. There was no Joy of Cooking here. It appeared to be a joyless though intriguing labor, chores and a doctor’s prescription for what she perceived as an empty, purposeless life. In one of her earlier posts Julie admits, “I really must conjure up a way to make money and influence people which isn’t directly dependent upon my being miserable. I’ll give it a think.” Hmmmm…

Admittedly, I didn’t read her blog until after I saw the movie and found it, like many of the other food blogs that I have encountered, lacking real depth. I have also found some great food blogs though Julie doesn’t appear to be a part of that community.

Powell is very wordy (worse than me?) and her sometimes vulgar stream of consciousness blog reveals her true personality. I think that she has incredible potential as a writer but her potty mouth of the first order demonstrates a mind numbing lack of maturity. Good writers don’t have to resort to vulgarities to make their point. Mind you, sometimes it’s appropriate, but she comfortably and serenely occupies what for her is an everyday realm.

There is no doubt that my current take on Julie & Julia and Ms. Powell has been tainted by her most recent life experiences and the lack of character she displayed and self-flagellated in her newest book, Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsession. She uses Cleaving as a not so clever vehicle to chronicle her kinky two year affair with an old college flame she identifies only as “D” (her Obsession) and all within the subplot of butchery and a potential reconciliation? It reminded me of a recent north Texas business sign that highlighted its services as Tax, Uniforms, Beauty Shop, Insurance and Guns – something for everybody. Sometimes her metaphors look like they come from a real estate brochure for an upscale Frisco, Texas neighborhood…

I initially looked at husband Eric in the same light that Julia saw Paul Child - as a mentor and partner, albeit one with certainly less sophistication and life experiences. We now occupy a different time and place and the reality that Eric had been the one that came up with the idea to write the blog appears to have been too much for a superficial Julie to bear. She really doesn’t know about the soul of food (or committed relationships) save what she may have gleaned from recreating the recipes in Julia’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Let her go to Johnson & Wales, CIA or even Le Cordon Bleu and feel the magic and earn a diploma.

Julie was portrayed in Julie & Julia as a somewhat saccharine, innocent personality though with a less than optimistic perspective on her future. Last year when Julie visited at the Dallas Museum of Art (Texas) she pragmatically offered that her portrayal in the movie while flattering was not a fair depiction of her true personality. Indeed. Powell offered that, “The reality is a little down and dirty." Powell had already disarmed her critics by her own less flattering self evaluation as a, “skanky, adulterous self-involved twit.” Her current blog is entitled, What Could Happen? Musings From A ‘Soiled And Narcissistic Whore’. It is what it is. In brief, she has a short fuse and the movie touches on this with her meltdowns over an aspic that fails to jell and later her inability to truss a chicken. This for me is the real Julie Powell (and that’s OK).

So what about Eric, the “long-suffering designated butter-eater” and mentoring husband to Julie? Well, he’s probably gone and why shouldn’t he? When people are young they make stupid mistakes (I did) and to her credit Julie freely and honestly admits them all for the world to see and judge. She does it without apology or contriteness and sometimes, alarmingly so, even as a badge of courage. Maybe that’s what bothering me. What is she taking out of all these experiences - salvation, redemption, forgiveness or just counting coup? She hasn’t asked for any slack or consideration.

I certainly have no idea if Julia and Eric are still together but I would certainly understand the pain and embarrassment he must feel from the very public revelations of Julie’s afternoon trysts, her fondness for Sadomasochism, drunken one-night stands, unabashed flirting and much, much more.

Julia Child passed to her great reward before Powell’s Cleaving was published, so that wasn’t part of any perceptions that Child may have had. If Powell really knew Child she would have understood why Child dissed her and her blog. We need to understand the hesitation of celebrities to embrace obsessive fans especially in this era of stalking. But, the truth is far more simple and obvious.

Julia Child protégée and soon to be culinary icon Sara Moulton, Food Editor at ABC’s Good Morning America, host of PBS’s Sara’s Weeknight Meals, former Executive Chef for Gourmet Magazine until its demise, a behind the scenes chef for PBS’ Julia Child & More Company and for six years Chef of the Food Network’s Cooking Live offered some insight.

First, Julia didn’t like Powell’s blog and though she never read it, thought it “opportunistic and gimmicky” according to Moulton with that seconded by another Child confidante and partner in the culinary arts, Chef Jacques Pepin. Her rejection wasn’t personal as Child was opposed to any commercialization or use of her name and even refused to endorse any products to include her unsuccessful attempt to stop Santa Barbara, California rose fanciers from naming a buttery yellow rose, Julia Child.

While the worldly Child knew and sometimes used some of the same “naughty” words, she did so appropriately and did not appreciate or celebrate Powell’s casual use of vulgarities.

Moulton and others including this writer are glad Powell embarked on her project for her blog, book and movie have done much to promote Julia Child, her legacy and the contributions she made to the culinary arts and, frankly, our overall quality of life.

It does appear that while Powell may assert that she was rescued by Child, she was not saved by her, rather thrown a temporary literary flotation device so that she could better fend on her own by example. We wish her the best and do hope she can mend her fences, do better the next time and more than just contemplate her navel from a selfish hedonistic, feminist viewpoint. And contrary to her disclaimer, yes, humans were harmed during the writing and release of Cleaving. Julia with her rock-solid integrity would never have let that happen.

Julia, lang may your soufflé rise…

Aye,

Ned Buxton

VANCOUVER, INUKSHUKS & LE GRAND RENDEZ-VOUS OLYMPIQUE

This writer started out this post as an innocent attempt to draw attention to the logo of the very successful 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics and walked right into a pile of something and some of the sinister undercurrents that seem to have challenged these and I suspect other Olympics. It makes the successful passage of these games even more meaningful and heroic.

Everybody wants a piece of the pie and the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver are yet another validation of that statement. Having said that - internal politics and territorial / language bickering have no place in any Olympic venue, period. Not so, in Vancouver. The real story here is that the Vancouver Olympic Organizing Committee (VANOC) was able to ultimately pull off these games despite the tragic death of Georgian Luger Nodar Kumaritashvili and some internal squabbles that seem to characterize democratic multi cultural nations. Many such incidents showed to all the world that the entitled and agenda-driven are alive and well in Canada. The old saying that you can please some of the people some of the time but not all of the people all the time seems very appropriate. In Vancouver they pleased some of the Canadian People, part of the time, maybe and the rest of the world, most likely.

The controversies started with the tragic death of Kumaritashvili and continued with the Vancouver Olympic symbol, use of stolen (?) First Nation Lands, whether enough Quebecois French was used in the games (?), was it Francophone enough, Green enough, impartial judging and so on.

There was a lot going on and in that British Columbia boiling pot a couple of seemingly technical, unintended cultural speed breakers have brought criticism down on those same sincere and well intended organizers. It seems appropriate to address a few of those issues.

First of all, what the heck is an Inukshuk? Well, it’s what the Vancouver folks initially adopted as the symbol for the 2010 Winter Olympics. It is purely and simply an Inuit stone cairn, a point of reference or navigational device intended to mark a trail, a food cache or even hunting or fishing location. They are also used as memorials or to signify an especial religious or spiritual site. They don’t have many trees in the Arctic (with global warming there are more now) so the most rational permanent material to utilize was (tada) unworked stone (snow melts and now exceedingly so). We need note that the Inuit are part of the native peoples which inhabit the Arctic regions of Canada, Alaska, Greenland and Russia (far from BC and the Pacific Northwest). Yep, some folks call them Eskimos.

According to some Inuit the symbol chosen is not an Inukshuk, rather an, Inunguaq (Inunnguaq – plural Inunnguat), a stone cairn that represents a human figure and with a head and arms and legs literally means, ”Imitation of man.” They state that Inuksuits (plural of Inukshuk) are never built with anatomy and are often confused with Inunguat. While nobody has made the observation, it would appear that the Inunguaq is a type of stylized Inukshuk and not so ancient. My Best Friend who happens to be Canadian has had an Inunguaq on her kitchen counter since 2004.

Turns out that the Vancouver logo (named Ilanaaq “Friend”) is based on what they initially thought to be an Inukshuk that was created for the Northwest Territories Pavilion at Expo 86 by Inuit artist Alvin Kanak of Rankin Inlet, Northwest Territories (now part of Nunavut) and ultimately donated to the City of Vancouver where it now reposes as a landmark of some note on Vancouver’s English Bay Beach. So, that’s the source of the controversy and we wonder why all this wasn’t addressed and resolved to everybody’s satisfaction back in 1986 or in 2005 when the logo was unveiled. The world was their stage then as now. While we agree with our Inuit Brothers and Sisters their point has been well made and over and over and over… Might of Right wonders why so much of the credit for the creation of the 2010 Olympic Symbol went to a Vancouver designer with little mention or credit given to Kanak who provided the inspiration.

Enter now the First Nations - those native peoples that reside in the Pacific Northwest to include British Columbia. Now, this can get confusing. In order to assert their cultural identity and likewise, negotiate treaties and address their grievances against the local and Canadian governments the great Pacific Northwest cultures (the non Inuit First Nations of British Columbia) have seemingly, successfully broken themselves down into local political, geographic and economic fomented “bands” though most represent and remain part of greater high cultures like the Kwakwaka'wakw (Kwakiutl), Coast Salish/Squamish, Lil'wat (Lillooet/ St'at'imc), Nuxalk (Bella Coola), Haida, Musqueam, Nootka (Nuu-chah-nulth), among others.

These First Nations of British Columbia which are a far piece from the Arctic never, ever built Inuksuit and some (not all) in this group remain upset with the choice as this Olympic logo since it is not even remotely a part of their cultures.

Those concerns which were mostly expressed at Ilanaaq’s unveiling in 2005 appear to have been reconciled and did not appear to damper the incredible spirit of the First Nations and their magnificent marathon performance at the Olympic Opening Ceremony. Perhaps it was because a Native artist helped design the logo, that the games were hosted in part by four First Nations including the Lil’wat, Musqueam, Squamish and Tsleil-Waututh, that the unique Olympic medals feature Pacific Northwest Coast First Nations artwork depicting the Orca and Raven or finally that the spirit of Friendship and the Olympic Spirit has been all pervasive?

It would appear that the Vancouver Olympic organizers have heaped glory on themselves as they have appropriately upped and celebrated all the Canadian First Nations and their Arctic indigenous Peoples - not just the local flora and fauna of British Columbia. It was a sincere attempt to recognize the cultural heritage of their whole country and this writer says Hoorah and Well done! Bottom line: We of Might of Right feel that the Inunguaq was a great choice though we would have given Inuit Alvin Kanak the credit.

Not so the sentiments of many French speakers in Canada who feel snubbed that there wasn’t more representation and participation of French Speaking Canadians during the Games. We did note that one of my favorites, Celine Dion, was invited to perform but chose to address more personal issues. To this non-Francophile it certainly appears that the effort was there.

British Columbia obviously does not have the demographics of eastern Canada witness that among the 25,000 volunteers only 15% spoke French. We also noted that Renée Smith-Valade the Vice-President of Communications of VANOC and spokesperson for the Vancouver Olympics defended what was, "a very deliberate focus and effort to ensure a strong celebration of Quebec culture and language."

Smith-Valade continued by reflecting that three of the eight Olympic flag bearers were from Quebec, that the stunning acrobatics during the opening ceremonies were performed by École National de Cirque from Montreal, two of the show's chief producers were Québécois, and the final much honored spotlight before the arrival of the Olympic torch went to Quebec singer Garou. We also note that the Olympic Anthem was performed in English and French (when the requirement is either English or Greek) and that all of the English dialogue and quotes were translated into French on large screens around the stadium, a fact conveniently overlooked by Francophone detractors and the media.

Might of Right certainly wonders in a what’s good for the goose is good for the gander perspective why the official signs of Quebec (French is their official language) are not also in English? Seems we have a double standard as the French to Anglo percentage is roughly the reverse of British Columbia. Some say that the French will, “be happy with nothing less than 100% capitulation by the Anglo populations.”

Many Francophone Quebecers appear to engage great insecurity when it comes to multiculturalism. Understandably feeling that their culture and language may be in danger, they reject in Quebec what they demand throughout the rest of Canada. In short, multiculturalism is not wholly embraced in Quebec. Je me Souviens the official motto of the Province of Quebec and on their license plates since 1978, literally means I remember though for many Quebecois it means Ne obliviscaris ("Do Not Forget") what the English did to the French. Indeed, many feel that these Olympic rantings were intended to promote resentment among the Quebecois and fuel the fires of a reemerging Nationalist movement in Quebec.

All this cultural posturing reminded this writer of an example of French bias many years ago whilst visiting Montreal and the Black Watch, the Royal Highland Regiment of Canada. Several American members of the Montreal based 78th Fraser Highlanders stopped and asked for directions to Bleury Street and the Black Watch Armory at the headquarters of a local French Regiment in Montreal. Several officers balked indicating that they could not speak English though their capacity was belied by their smiles. We saw these same gentlemen at a 78th Fraser Highlander Dining Out that same evening where they demonstrated perfect facility in English and to our amusement literally paled when they saw us (we saw them first). We understand they were later reprimanded for their indiscretion. Their Commanding Officer probably brought them a round of drinks and if we had the opportunity we surely would have done the same.

It would appear that despite the British victory in the Seven Year’s War and Confederation the French may ultimately claim the victory in present day Quebec. We sincerely hope that they are able to find some balance in this mess though it will all surely come down to economics.

And then you had a small but very vocal militant Native splinter group in Vancouver that touted the Olympics as the model for exclusion and oppression and the flashpoint for the, “working class and anti-colonial struggle on the West Coast” and called for cancellation of the Olympic Games. They still maintain that all the traditional native lands in BC remain unceeded and therefore still in the domain of the indigenous First Nations.

We will make the fair observation that vanquished or not, treaties or not, the First Nation/Native American concept of land ownership just never existed. They were stewards of the land for all human beings and all life as they knew it. They were a commune of probably the last responsible attitudes and practices regarding the maintenance of all our natural resources and environment. It’s been all downhill since… We wish these folks well and hope that someday they can reconcile themselves with their reality.

Then you have the inevitable charges of bias on the part of the judges. If your athlete didn’t win, well, it had to be because of the judging. This proves again that everyone has an agenda witness the Russians, who continue to protest Evan Lysacek’s victory in Men’s Figure Skating over the Russian champion Evgeni Plushenko. It’s amusing to see such palaver about judging when the Russians (and in their previous life - Soviets) are proven masters at manipulating the judging process witness Munich basketball-1972 and Salt Lake City Pairs Skating-2002, among others. These examples are part of history and just the tip of the iceberg. Part of the old Cold War persists and that’s mostly in the world of sport.

The Soviet, er Russian, protestations, “do not descend from The Mount” and smack of unbalanced petty sniping and a blatant attempt to deflect criticism and mollify those home boys disappointed with the Russian performance in these 2010 Olympic Winter Games. While their athletes participated righteously and did just fine, the spewing vitriol from the Russian hierarchy reflects their frustration with a program in disarray and status as an also ran on the world stage, sports and otherwise (coulda, shoulda, woulda). Reflecting their own Machiavellian past they cannot be gracious in defeat contrary to the Olympic Spirit.

Now, I didn’t have a dog in this fight and was just looking to see the sport elevated and “the best athlete win.” I think Lysacek - already the 2009 World champion - was better in this competition and the post contest carping by Plushenko and whining, bickering and political maneuverings by the Russians validated that conclusion and really turned me off.

While Plushenko is a brilliant jumper, it appeared to me that Lysacek (in this competition) was much more fluid, had better transitions and landed his jumps cleaner elevating the athleticism and artistry that personifies this event. While he didn’t land a quad he engaged a superior overall performance – and that’s the name of the game. A quad may be a quad, but if I kick a record breaking seventy yard field goal to my opponent’s touchdown in American football, I am still going to lose. I frankly don’t care if the winner is Canadian, Russian, American, Japanese, Korean or Chinese, it’s all about sport. And then you have the continuing, ultimate juvenile behavior of Russian President Medvedev, who canceled his trip to the closing ceremony because of the perceived failures of Russian athletes.

That behavior is an ominous foreboding for the next 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia. While some praised their presentation in the Vancouver closing ceremonies, it appeared out of place in time, extremely cumbersome and propagandizing to me.

Was it just me or was the Russian Anthem as sung by the Moscow State Chamber Choir presented and accentuated in more of an official Soviet format? I still remember (as many Russians do) that this song with different lyrics praised one Josef Stalin, one of the most reviled and murderous dictators in the history of Man. To many this song is stigmatized like the Swastika and to retain even one note is unacceptable.

In stark contrast to the rest of the Olympic ceremonies there was pomposity and formality in this the haunting almost nostalgic long version of the Russian Anthem that seemed more like a well choreographed concert and as one writer put it, “about a month long.” Indeed, the version they sang was over 3½ minutes vs. the shorter ceremonial version of 1½ minutes.

Principal dancers of the Kirov, Bolshoi and Mariinsky Ballets followed with their interpretive performance of Russian history and culture while Olympic gold medal ice dancers Navka and Kostomarov skated by the shore of the Black Sea. While all this was going on Valery Gergiev, the General and Artistic Director of the Mariinsky Theatre and, principal conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra, while on Canadian soil conducted by satellite a full live orchestra playing in Red Square in Moscow. So, what happened to Sochi - that nice little gem of a resort town that sprawls along the shores of the Black Sea, all against the background of the snow-capped peaks of the Caucasus Mountains of southern Russia? The whole Sochi presentation looked more like bombastic Bolshevik propaganda than a thumbnail of Russian culture.

The Russian “tribute” also included appearance by Russian/Soviet athletes unfortunately inciuding the aforementioned infantile Plushenko though to my delight iconic Red Army/Soviet goaltender Vladislav Tretiak probably the greatest goaltender in the history of the sport. He is the current president of the Ice Hockey Federation of Russia and was general manager of the Russian 2010 Winter Olympic team. We wish him good luck in what may be a difficult future if Russian President Medvedev has his way.

Aside from the Sochi acceptance one of the more challenging moments of the Closing Ceremony was listening to Vancouver Games CEO John Furlong butcher the French language. Maybe he could have gotten more tutoring or learned to speech synch? Hey, he did try valiantly and any attempt to further politicize this issue is really, really lame. And by the way no comment on the self-effacing Canadian humor that seemed centered on the Canadian crucial skills of “peeing in the snow” and “making love in a canoe.” This writer can claim at least mastering one of those skills at a very early age and it wasn’t on water.

Post Partum: What I will take with me from the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics are the myriad individual heroic moments that included the emotional and magnificent performance by Quebecer figure skater Joannie Rochette following her Mother’s sudden passing, the brillant play-by-play hockey announcing of Mike “Doc” Emrick, the ultimate Canadian gold medal victory in hockey, USA hockey goaler Ryan Miller on his MVP performance, South Korea’s beautiful Kim Yu-Na and her awe-inspiring record breaking Olympic coronation in women’s figure skating, Bode Miller’s (USA) stupendous recovery on the slopes, Shani Davis’ (USA) gold medal in 1,000 meter speed skating and Shaun White’s (USA) ever spiraling magnificent performances in the Half-Pipe, among many, many others.

I embraced consistent with the ancient Olympic ideals the celebration of participation, sportsmanship, equality and tolerance and the opportunity for the world to come together in peace to celebrate those ideals. It may just catch on someday.

Consistent with April Fools 2009 and a wonderful Canadian sense of humor (we hope and pray) we learned that some folks want to tear down Kanak’s Inunguaq on English Bay in Vancouver because some dog ate a dead crab and got sick. The Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans was alleged to have engaged an environmental study which showed that the English Bay “Inukshuk” due to natural weathering was leaching chemicals/acids into English Bay turning it into a toxic cesspool. The scientist who performed the study recommended that the “Inukshuk” be dismantled and disposed in a lime pit while the soil around the present site is remediated. The reality is that in our society a dead crab and a sick dog and a scientist in search of a lobotomy could try and save nature from herself. Might of Right suggests an umbrella or a Hudson’s Bay slicker. Can the Washington Monument, Mount Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Monument be far behind?

As for the Inukshuk, I would have called it an Inunguaq and that’s what some, but not all, the Olympic organizers are now calling their creation. Need to get their act together or maybe they just have too many Inukshuk t shirts and ball caps still in their inventory (I have the T-shirt). And how about those folks now marketing Inukshuk in a Sack? Create your own Inukshuk from the Canadian Shield, the oldest rocks on the planet? Think I’ll buy one to keep my Pet Rock company. And what ever happened to that noblest of Canadian icons, Sasquatch? Didn’t hear a peep about or from him?

Praise for the exemplary job done by VANOC seems universal but most aptly communicated by Chris Erskine of the LA Times and paraphrased by this writer. Well done, Canada, “Every Canadian pond glowed gold Sunday night -- from Nova Scotia to the Yukon.” Yes, and that includes Quebec.

Aye,

Ned Buxton

TUSCAN TABBY STEW?

When Might of Right first heard that the Italian Chef and TV personality Beppe Bigazzi, the white haired, 77-year-old host of a popular morning program that offers food tips and recipes in a country renowned for its cuisine, had recently proclaimed - whilst on the air - the virtues of Tuscan Cat Stew which he had “enjoyed many times”, we were both bemused though mostly disgusted. Bigazzi continued by offering detailed, seemingly hands-on advice on how to tenderize cat and then admitted, "I've eaten it myself and it's a lot better than many other animals. Better than chicken, rabbit or pigeon." We initially surmised that this had to be a lighthearted, even comedic, prattle gone terribly awry. But, the more we heard and saw it was obvious that this guy went totally off into some culinary La La Land where even if true, shouldn’t be the topic for polite company let alone a contemporary European TV food show. Interestingly, Bigazzi is the author of Cooking with Common Sense, an ingredient sorely lacking in his current persona and approach to this issue.

Whatever his motivation, Radiotelevisione Italiana (RAI), the Italian public service broadcasting network indefinitely suspended and now has dropped the good chef from their show. Beppe in an apparent attempt to spin his very public, on air revelations and recover himself (phase one) stated that he had only been joking about the recipe, and that he had been misunderstood. Now (phase two) he states that he was offering it from an historical perspective. We, however, think his original TV presentation while abhorrent was sincerely offered. We note that his producers and co-host during a commercial break tried to get Bigazzi to apologize and recant. He refused.

The skin of his teeth, mercurial and self affected Bigazzi though just doesn’t know when to quit given that after offering that he was joking added: “Mind you, I wasn’t joking all that much. In the 1930s and 1940s, when I was a boy, people certainly did eat cat in the countryside around Arezzo.”

Can’t you just see Master Chefs like Dean Fearing, Mario Batali, Paula Deen, Bobby Flay, Emeril Lagazzi, Paul Prudhomme, Alton Brown, Wolfgang Puck, Gerry Garvin, Rachael Ray, Gordon Ramsay (maybe) or three late, great masters of the culinary art including an iconic and much parodied Julia Child, the great Cajun Cook Justin (Nutria Piquante) Wilson or an eccentric James Beard even in their heydays addressing this issue? Don’t think so… If we think highly of Chef Bigazzi then we should pursue the explanation that this was more an exercise where he waxed nostalgic like he was digging into a nice Cornish Muggity Pie invoking some past survival mode culinary practice in tougher economic times – again, one no longer in practice. We guess that this could also be a terribly misplaced intellectual curiosity where he was ultimately sold down the culinary river by some very titillated and amused hedonistic faux kitchen historians. We choose the former.

Bigazzi offered that this recipe for cat stew was a famous and very popular dish in the 1930s and 1940s in his home region of Valdarno in the valley of the River Arno in Tuscany. We note that historians have confirmed that other cities in northern Italy such as Vicenza reasonably devised cat recipes in times of economic hardship including those same war years. What’s good for Valderno is apparently OK for Arezzo and Vicenza noting that the inhabitants of Vicenza were ultimately derisively known to other Italians as magnagati, “cat eaters.”

Foraging and scavenging for food in WWII Europe especially in Italy, France, Germany, Spain and other countries was serious hunting and gathering revisited and often the difference between life and death, witness the documented behaviors reflected in The Pianist. That meant finding sustenance by any means. You made do with what you could beg, borrow, steal or found or caught. We suspect that anything four legged or not was in the bulls eye and that included cat.

We noted one food forum with the following comment, “WWII cat was on the menu in Chianti, this seems to be a common pattern of behaviour during periods of food crisis. Once normal food supplies resume, the old taboos mostly come back quite quickly. Not in all cases though.” We understand that even to this day some butcher shops sell rabbits with their feet on to assure buyers that they are not cats.

Consistent with not so kinder times for our Feline Friends Ruperto de Nola, chef to the king of Naples in his 1529 treatise on cookery, Libro de Cocina, recommended and offered his infamous recipe for roasted cat, 'Gato asado como se quiere comer'. I have seen references to other cookbooks that feature gatto/cat. It is estimated that millions of cats from the thirteenth to the eighteenth century (thanks to the Catholic Church) were exterminated because of the sinister belief they were involved in witchcraft. In fact, this less than enlightened practice saw many of their owners meet the same fate.

So, what does the Bible of Cookery, Larousse Gastronomique, say all about this? My 1961 Larousse, the original English translation of this most renowned encyclopedia of food was a rite de passage gift from my Mother (surely anticipating this day) and offers critical perspectives on the table of the world. Yes, cat is there - “Cat. Chat – Domestic cat whose edible meat has a flavour halfway between that of rabbit and that of hare. Cat’s meat has often been eaten in periods of famine or of siege. Legend has it that in the cook-shops the cat is often used in the making of rabbit fricassées. Examination of the bones would easily enable one, in case of doubt, to distinguish between the one animal and the other.” There is no recipe for cat and the gauntlet is surely cast identifying it mostly as a last resort source of protein for humans.

Fast forward sixty years from World War II and you have a different world. Post war Europe and Tuscany are not in the midst of war or famine and the culture that fomented and nourishes a much appreciated and admired contemporary cuisine has moved on. Not so the good the jaundiced Chef Bigazzi who apparently still embraces a vicarious survival mentality in an era of plenty.

If we buy into Beppe’s explanation then this writer still wonders when the last time this geriatric culinary whiz prepared and ate cat. His initial revelation smacks of a contemporary experience. Let’s check his passport and find the last time he was in China, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Indonesia or Vietnam where cat remains an integral part of their diet. Or, maybe we should note when he last went home to Arezzo…

We see credible reports on the Internet that cat was consumed in Great Britain (roof rabbit) and is still consumed in Peru and Switzerland. If you want a really chilling glimpse at the current demand for this product you can slide on over to Kitty Beef the, “online Premium Cat Meat Supermarket, where you can order your meat, and have it delivered in vacuum sealed freshness directly to your door.” Yep, this company operates what they call “free range cat farms” the source of their “premium grade cat”. Or, if you really want to get grossed out – and despite the protestations and serious advice of Asian medical doctors - how about some Korean, “Liquid Cat” for your arthritis?

Just when I thought I could take no more, my anthropologist genes kicked in. After some serious research I soon came to the conclusion that the consumption of cat is not an ancient practice, rather a recent invention born of necessity. Primordial Man probably consumed anything he could lay his hands on though the archeological record reflects that Man and Cat have been hanging out (even buried) together for 9,500 or more years. However, if this animal was consumed in ancient “civilized” times it may have been mostly a deviation from the norm then as it is today.

The Egyptians literally worshipped the cat while ancient Greeks and Romans associated the cat with the goddesses Artemis and Diana respectively. We have seen references to the domestication of cats by the Etruscans even to the painting of cats on the walls of their tombs.

Closer to my cultural home the Norse Freya, goddess of love, beauty, and fertility who is referenced in other Scandinavian cultures is depicted riding in a golden chariot drawn by Bygul and Trjegul, her two revered silvery Norwegian Forest Cats. The presence of cats was a good omen and even the thought of eating a sacred icon would have been unfathomable and, yes, abhorrent. In some cultures if you killed a cat, your life was immediately forfeit.

Cats have been and remain sacred and venerated in many other cultures though we are aware of the aberrations cited in this post. We, like our Feline Friends, continue to evolve and the cat for many including this writer is our connection with nature and our own primordial past. Man’s relationship with the Cat has persevered through ancient times and the Middle Ages to the present where from educated eyes we know them to be magnificent companion creatures who in a true symbiosis have protected, entertained and comforted us since they chose to be civilized.

Having said that (I’m no ethnocentric), I do not begrudge other cultures their affectations and that includes their diets and choice of foods. We do, however, need to keep in context Bigazzi’s remarks in an Italian contemporary frame of mind. One of the ancient cited cultures which once revered the cat is now consuming it as a culinary delight? It would appear that the good and now openly eccentric Chef Bigazzi’s troubles have just begun and he is no doubt destined for more hard times. Cats are protected in much of the civilized world and Italian law forbids killing and cooking cats in Italy - punishable by up to 18 months in jail, hence his protestations. We have been assured that the local version of the Italian Chamber of Commerce has their spin doctors at work.

Waste not, want not. Think I’ll go and have some Haggis and Monkey Toes with a side of Hunan Rabbit Ears while reading Swift’s A Modest Proposal… The vegans are loving this….

Love and Kisses from Ms. Sophie Baggins, a very large Maine Coon, 3rd cousin, thrice removed to Catti Mohr a 24 pound naturalized Highland Norwegian Forest Cat from Ben Nevis who loves lasagna, ravioli and tacos.

Aye,

Ned Buxton

TULIP, TEXAS & MOON RIVER

Yes, there really is a Tulip, Texas – in northeast Texas, east of Denison, twelve miles north of Bonham and south of the Tulip Bend of the Red River (hence its name) - just about on the Texas-Oklahoma line and 81 miles north and east of my home in Dallas. Not a whole lot of folks live in Tulip now and the once productive farmland of that area has since been turned into cattle ranches.

Tulip was the fictitious home of Doc Golightly, horse doctor and erstwhile abandoned husband of the runaway Lula Mae Barnes aka the over the top, very disturbed Holly Golightly of Breakfast at Tiffany’s (BAT) fame. I have no idea where BAT author Truman Capote conjured up Tulip though with eyes closed pointing to a spot on a Southern US map works for me…

The 1961 Breakfast at Tiffany’s film defined a whole generation and part of the life of this writer. I know of a young man who first fell in love with an equally young local Lady from Pittsfield, Massachusetts to the strains of Moon River only to have his heart broken when she went out with one of his Friends who was only trying to “show him her true spots”. He never saw her again… Turns out she was the epitome of the untamed Holly, the flirtatious and enigmatic Texas fugitive who owed no allegiance to anybody while seeking sanctuary and security somewhere else.

The scene where Holly plays the guitar and nostalgically sings what is unquestionably the greatest version of Moon River attracting the attention of burned out writer Paul “Fred” Varjak (George Peppard) has for me been one of the more memorable scenes in all of cinema. Varjak looks down from his above window to the lithe and beautiful Holly (with those incredible eyes) who sitting on the sill of her open window by the fire escape was wistfully finishing the song. Holly sees her ultimate Huckleberry Friend Paul and peers up at him with that incomparable smile and once in a lifetime look of innocent acknowledgement and pure hello. He responds and the rest is history… Though while separately negotiating the hurdles of complicated lives the two develop a symbiosis and end up rescuing each other (“There once was a very lovely, very frightened little girl…”). I know Andy Williams surely appreciated that scene and song as it continues to define his career…

We learn early in the movie that the “innocent and experienced” Holly Golightly with all of her absurdities and crazy yearnings is a confusingly complicated, multi-faceted character. Indeed, we ultimately discover that this former barefoot child bride is a courtesan (OK a call girl).

Capote’s relentless pursuit of a harsher reality in his novella gives us no hope of a happy future. Holly is always in a state of perpetual negative motion - traveling and searching for her place in the world - a destination she never achieves. For me the movie’s happy ending, while a dramatic departure from Capote’s book, is a feel good victory for the good guy and a metaphor for life and our generation. The journey is all played out in Holly’s head for she remains, in reality, Lula Mae.

The movie and Capote’s novella upon which it is based has become the subject of such micro examination so as to define absurdity. Seems like more than a few folks in academia and book reviewers have used Breakfast at Tiffany’s as a springboard to their five minutes of fame and an advanced degree or two. In short, the movie is what it is and genre-inspired sociologists need only realize that Holly, Doc and Paul are the collective us as we try and find our ultimate selves… Like one writer stated, BAT, “reflects the cultural and critical trends of the two decades wherein they took place.” Capote just looked around and pessimistically wrote BAT in a lighter and more humorous style, a distinct departure from his patented Southern Gothic approach. I am certainly glad that the brilliant writer George Alexrod and iconic director Blake Edwards lightened up Capote’s still darker side. Lula Mae is like Cat, the loner who was looking for a home and ironically found one with like sign Holly. Now they have each other…

For this writer that shared look on the fire escape was the real beginning for Lula Mae Barnes. Welcome home Holly… and rest in peace, Audrey, George, Buddy and Truman.

Moon River is the Tulip Bend of the Red River and Lula Mae is that little girl from Tulip, Texas (though originally from "about a 100 mile east of Tulip") who for all of us is still looking for sanctuary, that Rainbow’s End, that still out of sight but never out of mind representation of those kinder and gentler times of our youth.

Aye,

Ned Buxton

GLORIOUS BOWL OF RED C. 2010

As I was preparing my annual made-from-scratch chili with Mother’s prized #8 Wagner cast iron deep skillet (c. 1900 and smooth as a baby’s butt) for Friends this Super Bowl Sunday last (been doing it for over forty years), I was also pondering the fate of good Friends Dave Sherrard and Chuck Fatheree of Atlanta - stalwart co-hosts for twenty-plus years of the Best Damned Super Bowl Chili Party Outside of Texas held in Georgia, amazingly without killing someone or making anybody sick. It helps being food safety trained… Our biggest party was 138 Super bowl Revelers and, no, we rarely ever got to watch any of the games… Biggest batch of chili we ever made was somewhat in excess of 36 gallons - enough for a pint or more for each attendee (we loaded them up on liquid refreshments, salad and Texas Cornbread). Though I am not a worthy Chilihead some new data is available to the interested populous and I thought now the time to update the myriad books, articles and posts that have pontificated on the origins of chili. We are still climbing and negotiating that slippery slope we call Chili Mountain…

First of all how do you spell the name of the peppers that form the basis for our Bowl of Red? Some seemingly over the top folks will state emphatically that Chile (with an “e”) is the pepper and that Chili (with an “i”) is the stew. Well, it does make sense to make that distinction though I’ve seen the peppers spelled chilli, chillie, chili, and chile and even several different ways within the same botanical article. The name chili for the pepper derives from the ancient Aztec dialect of Nahuatl, which called the pepper chiltepin - so pick your nightshade.

Chile for me has always been that long narrow South American country with the flag (La Estrella Solitaria-The Lone Star) that’s suspiciously similar to the Texas flag though was conceived and adopted in 1817, twenty-one years before the Texas flag. Interestingly it is similar to the Confederate Stars and Bars. So, it’s not all about the “e” or the “i” of anything, rather just what’s comfortable for you. There are some great sites about the noble chili pepper and one of them is Eat More Chiles. We heartily recommend. Note that they spell them with an “e”…

So now down to the Texas definition of chili (Texas’ official state dish since 1977). Chili is a stew-like meat soup more formally known as chili con carne (chili with meat) that references the signature ingredient, the chili peppers that form its base. That’s the definition of the dish. So, it’s like the Hammer, Stone of Strength, Caber and other Heavy Events of the Scottish Highland Games. We do it like our Scottish Ancestors did to celebrate, renew and revitalize our culture. As with Chili, we’re not trying to reinvent anything…

If you want beans in your chili it’s known as – viola – chili con frijoles. Now that wasn’t hard. The bottom line is that for most Native Texans chili with beans isn’t the original chili, rather another whole concoction like Cincinnati “chili”. These aberrations only evolved when beef/meat became scarce and beans were essentially used as a filler/expander and when Yankees decided to try their luck with our “Native Dish”. Texas and the Terlingua purists will argue that to their – and your grave.

Indeed, the Chili Appreciation Society, International (CASI), since 1951 is the governing body of most official chili cook-offs, and home to the philosophy that real chili--Texas Chili--doesn’t have beans. In fact, fillers like beans, pasta, rice, hominy, etc. aren’t allowed (note the etc.) in their competitions. These are the folks that hold their annual debauch aka the Terlingua International Chili Championship (TICC) at Rancho CASI de los Chisos in Terlingua, Texas in the Big Bend country of the Rio Grande. Indeed, CASI bylaws require that the headquarters of CASI always be in the State of Texas.

The rival International Chili Society (ICS) also promotes that noble bowl of red. Their history appears to be inextricably intertwined with that of the CASI apparently stemming from a 1970 CASI lapse that saw the formation of ICS and their administration of the 1970 World Championships with perennial favorite the legendary chili guru Wick Fowler capturing the gold.

After some disagreements and infighting chili and automotive guru Texan Carroll Shelby and his ICS split with CASI in 1975 (some say he was invited to leave) taking his chili pot and “World Championships” to the Tropico Goldmine outside of Rosamond, California and eventually on to Nevada and competition venues in Reno and Las Vegas, among others. Yikes, from that point you could gamble and eat chili at the same time! This writer does wonder why 2009 was featured as their “43rd World Championship” which would place their first competition in 1966 and not their advertized first championship as listed in their official history as 1970 though that’s a stretch. Whoops! Someone, please help me with this math… Like this writer said, the two organizations despite their differences appear to be ultimately muy simpatico and not the light years that separate CASI and the Tolbert nostalgic Behind the Store gang that sponsor the Original Terlingua International Frank X. Tolbert-Wick Fowler Championship Chili Cookoff. You can get just so many egos into one chili pot. So much for politics.

We should all just chill out and thank the Good Lord for the likes of George Haddaway, Jim Fuller, Vann York and Richard Knight, Ron Charlton, Joe Cooper and all the unsung aficionados, judges and cooks who for almost three generations made this story. And how about Mrs. F. G. Ventura of Dallas who on October 5, 1952 won the Chili Cook Off at the prestigious Texas State Fair in Dallas, Texas? In a world dominated by Men where women weren’t initially even allowed to compete at Terlingua, Ventura earned the title as the first ever "World Champion Chili Cook” and then in unprecedented fashion (move over Wick Fowler) successfully defended her title for fifteen years. Her recipe was declared the "Official State Fair of Texas Chili Recipe." She is one of the real heroes in this story. Back to our Bowl of Red…

Now, chile can be and is used as a sauce over tamales, enchiladas and other entrees so beans could be redundant or just in the way. We all know that evolution sometimes can take quirky side branches witness the Greek-inspired Cincinnati Five Way Chili (since 1922) that incorporates spaghetti, chili(?), shredded cheese, diced onions, and beans and generally served with oyster crackers (no cornbread or saltines). The basic ingredients also differ and incorporate cinnamon, cloves, mace, all spice, vinegar and chocolate which brings back memories of my experiments with mole (look it up). OK, this is not really chili as we know it, rather just a ground beef stew or more appropriately, sauce. Probably should have called it Macedonian Mud though we note that one Ivan "Ike" Johnson, from Texas, established the now famous Ike's Chili Parlor in downtown Oklahoma City and offered a similar version over Spaghetti from 1910 (do the math). So, let’s look at some origin theories.

The Spanish names chili and chili con carne might be a giveaway to the more modern origins of this meat stew. While some folks offer that chili is probably NOT from Mexico that may simply be a matter of timing and semantics. Bottom line: when you get right down to it modern chili originated in Texas and probably around San Antonio though the question begs who was in charge and whose flag was flying at the time.

Let’s set up the timeline. The military phase of the war for Texas independence formally began on October 2, 1835 and ended with the birth of the Republic of Texas on March 2, 1836 with the final nail being driven with the victory by Sam Houston at the Battle of San Jacinto on April 21, 1836. Much of that area we now know as Texas was a Mexican State, Tejas and then Coahuila y Tejas, from 1821 to 1836. From 1690 until 1821 this area was part of Spanish Texas, one of the interior provinces of New Spain. So my premise is if chili was a documented dish of Spanish Texas (1690-1821), Mexican Texas (1821-1836) or Texas from Republic to a state of the United States of America (1836 to present) then we assign the origin of chili accordingly. Yes, we are leaving a hell of a lot of history out of this but this is about chili not the nuances of international politics that formed the overall history of the region. The modern origins determined, we can then ponder if this basic of dishes might have been fomented in some ancient land and culture.

Well, we can state emphatically that origin could be nowhere else except the Americas as that is where the noble chile pepper, the most important signature ingredient in this stew, originated. So for all you serious or tongue in cheek historians, no, chili wasn’t invented in Egypt or anywhere else in Africa – well, sort of.

We concede that there are myriad theories and legends surrounding the origins of chile - many that date to Texas and the United States. One theory particularly resonates with me references the early 1700s, when colonists (fifteen families - a total of fifty-seven men, women and children) arrived from the Canary Islands (controlled by Spain since 1479) in order, “to populate the Province of Texas” and we suspect block France's westward expansion from Louisiana much like the Scots in Georgia blocked France’s eastward push.

The Canarians settled Villa de San Fernando/La Villita (The Little Village) just outside the Mission San Antonio de Bejar (The Alamo). Located on the east bank of the San Antonio River, La Villita was the site of an earlier Coahuiltecan Native American village and has now been restored as an arts & crafts complex and historic center. The people of San Antonio dedicated a plaque at La Villita in memory of this historic settlement thusly, "This city in the State of Texas was founded in 1731 by the islanders from the Canary Islands". Also in the municipality of San Antonio a sign lists the names and surnames of those original fifteen Canary island families – from which several of the old families of San Antonio trace their descent. Well done, San Antonio, but what’s that got to do with chili?

History records that the women of La Villita would make a tangia-like stew with meat, cumin, garlic, chile peppers, and wild onions at home in copper kettles. Robb Walsh, the award winning Texas food critic and author of several books including The Tex-Mex Cookbook, relates to what was apparently, then, an unusual blend of spices commenting, “Their peculiar, chile and cumin-heavy spice blend resembled the Berber seasoning style of Morocco.” Tangia is a slow-cooked Moroccan meat stew that takes its name from the amphora-shaped earthenware vessel it’s cooked in. The Canary Islands are just off the coast of Morocco – and it would appear that the rest is history and globalization has long been upon us and yes, the Kingdom of Morocco is in - Africa. Sidebar: it was Morocco in 1777 that became the first country to publicly recognize the newly independent United States of America.

It is documented that the Canary Island women of La Villita would take their big copper kettles into the plaza, brew up their “chili” on open fires and then sell to passersby who would sit on the ground and eat their purchase. This documented history gives Spain, the Canary Islanders (and by extension Morocco) and La Villita legitimate claim as the birthplace and rightful home of chili.

Those La Villita Ladies and that tradition of serving inexpensive food in this festive market atmosphere was further solidified and evolved by the ever vibrant “Chili Queens” of San Antonio who gave that whole chilithang color and panache. By the 1880’s San Antonio was a wide-open town that was sort of civilized by day and depending on the demeanor of the folks that constituted the cattle and railroad industries and the ever present army, “wild and open” by night. Frank H. Bushick, former San Antonio Tax Commissioner described the open air market in great detail and reminisces in his 1934 book Glamorous Days about the Chili Queens and their origins at Military Plaza before they were moved to Market Square in 1887.

History and Legends of Chili author Linda Stradley writes in her article History of Chili, Chili Con Carne at www.WhatsCookingAmerica.Net,

“Latino women nicknamed "Chili Queens" sold stew they called "chili" made with dried red chilies and beef from open-air stalls at the Military Plaza Mercado. In those days, the world "chili" referred strictly to the pepper. They served a variation of simple, chile-spiked dishes (tamales, tortillas, chili con carne, and enchiladas). A night was not considered complete without a visit to one of these "chili queens." In 1943 they were put out of business due to their inability to conform to sanitary standards enforced in the town's restaurants.”

Now that we have identified the more recent origins of chili we need relate to the recent scholarship of Linda Perry, anthropologist and archeobotanist at the Smithsonian Institution's National Museum of Natural History and archaeologist Kent Flannery of the University of Michigan who in a recent study revealed at least ten different types of chili peppers that, “were prepared and eaten by Zapotec Indians between A.D. 600 and 1521.” Well, on with our timeline. It gets worse/better.

Perry has continued her studies and along with her colleagues reported in the article Ancient Americans Liked It Hot: Mexican Cuisine Traced to 1,500 Years Ago which appeared in the online magazine Science Daily that chili peppers were cultivated and routinely used in Mesoamerica. That would appear somewhat anticlimactic considering the revelation of Perry and Ruth Dickau/Sonia Zarillo of the University of Calgary among others in their February 2007 Science Daily article which confirmed that chilis have been grown and traded in Meso, Central and South America for – are you ready? – over six thousand years. We can probably assume that they used the spice to ratchet up their veggies (corn, beans, and squash) and, yes, probably their meat… We should note for the record that in 1976 one Rudy Valdez, a full-blooded Ute Indian, won the ICS World Chili Championship, using what he claimed to be a two thousand-year-old recipe from the Pueblo cliff dwellers in Mesa Verde. Guess they could have picked it up along the way. Given that other major components including cumin (comino) and oregano emanate from the Middle East and Greece respectively this whole scenario is taking on a distinctly international flavor. Time and space, time and space.

All that’s okay and we can most likely look to the future for more interesting data. Native Texan and writer extraordinaire Joe Nick Patoski finally concluded in his November, 1992 Texas Monthly article, Chili Relations, that New York humorist H. Allen Smith (1907-1976) author of the irreverent though sometimes accurate “Nobody Knows More About Chili Than I Do” article in Holiday magazine, had it right when he commented, “The chief ingredients of all chili are fiery envy, scalding jealousy, scorching contempt, and sizzling scorn.” Patoski continued, “In other words, if it wasn’t worth fussing over, it wouldn’t be chili. And that, podnuh, just wouldn’t be any fun at all.”

No doubt, chili is one of the most popular, yea contentious, foods ever concocted and one that has fomented controversial debate and probably broke up a relationship or two, witness Frank Tolbert and Carroll Shelby. If you want to get a good, accurate look at the early days of chilimania in Texas just go to http://golfterlingua.com/chili.html for Ranger Bob Ritchey’s, Nobody Knows More About The Original Chili Cook-Offs Than I Do. Nobody probably does…

The bottom line is that we apparently have the Ladies to thank for our noble Bowl of Red and especially the La Villita Ladies from San Antonio via the Canary Islands, the iconic Chili Queens even to the female participants of the CASI sanctioned event Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned Chili Cook Off in Luckenbach, Texas which has since morphed into the Ladies Texas State Chili Championship in Blanco. Seems that the ladies miffed at the Men and inspired by the iconic perennial Texas State Fair Chili Champion Mrs. F. G. Ventura, formed their own CASI sanctioned event when the sexist and separatist Republic of Texas Chilympiad in San Marcos barred women from their competition. I note their demise in 2003. Make sure that you like this writer on behalf of all Men and directed to all Women, thank your Lady this St. Valentines’ Day for their nurturing personas. They have made our lives and chili so much more palatable…

Now for the record – a confession. I always use a premium cubed stew meat, andouille sausage and based on availability, either bison or venison (cubed or chili ground). I did have pintos and red kidney beans available on the border (side) and was the only one that ate them. I don’t use celery nor tarantula venom. As great cooks will attest, (with everything else being equal) a great award winning chili is not only specific to ingredients but also to timing and assembly of the recipe.

Finally, I will also readily and publicly admit to a great love and admiration of the classic Frito Pie and still yearn for the good old days at the Pitt Stop in Lufkin, Texas. Or, how about a double chili cheese steak, glorified at The Varsity in Atlanta. Doesn’t get any better…

So, just continue to stir the pot y’all and, hey, don’t talk with your mouth full…..

Aye,

Ned Buxton

CHRISTMASTIDE/YULETIDE, TWELFTH NIGHT & PURPLE, GREEN & GOLD

As I was wistfully munching the last of my King Cake last night it reminded me how much I love Christmas and the festivities of the season. With the King Cake gone, the season is also almost over for me. Gosh, if I had my druthers I’d celebrate Christmas 365 days a year, and then some.

When I lived in Atlanta and environs I had a cadre of close Friends, most of them associated with the American Scottish Community. Indeed, two of those close Friends were, and remain, Doug and Leah Fraser (kingpins of the Atlanta Scottish Mafia). By extension those Friends included the whole of the Fraser Clan and ultimately the Gentlemen and Miladies of the 78th Fraser Highlanders, Fort New Inverness Garrison. Leah was born and raised in Toronto, Canada. While Doug was the only one of his siblings who was born in the United States (Florida), he soon was back on track in Bracebridge in northern Ontario, Canada, where his Father was a lumberjack and gold prospector of Jack London proportions. Doug grew up (sort of) and his career took him back to the United States where he and Leah ultimately set up a Home and still occupy their Decatur digs. Leah and Doug maintain a strong sense of Family and Clan and cherish their roots. I am honored to be their Friend.

One of the highlights of the Atlanta Christmas season was the now legendary Twelfth Night Party hosted for twenty years by Doug and Leah with the always able assistance of son Cameron (one of my grandsons is also named Cameron). The party would be held on January 5 or the following Saturday evening. Ah contentment with a host of good old and new Friends, liquid refreshments and victuals in sufficiency. There was always incredible music including the ultra talented barrister Henry Franz on his Uilleann pipes and the obligatory, toothsome King Cake always brought by one of the revelers. For most in attendance it was the end of the Christmas season and yet one more excuse to celebrate Friends and Family. Doug and Leah hosted that party for those twenty years to the start of the new millennium, a good beginning with an old tradition.

Without getting into the historical or liturgical end of things too much the Might of Right wanted to define what has always been for this writer a very special celebration which in earlier times also highlighted notions of order and chaos. Twelfth night is literally the twelfth night from Christmas and has been so celebrated since the Middle Ages even if you don’t acknowledge the Roman celebration of Saturnalia which conveniently morphed into Christmastide. We Americans like everything else we touch have put our special spin on this celebration and we’ll reference some of that later.

Some folks are understandably confused about the actual date for Twelfth Night - is it on the 5th or 6th of January? To the Ancients who started this whole thing, the end of day was understandably when the sun went down. The oncoming night was considered the beginning of the next day. Therefore, nights were actually inclusive with the holiday and part of that next day. So for us Moderns the Twelve Days of Christmas start on Christmas Day and continue to Twelfth Night (from Christmas) ie the evening of January 5 to midnight. I guess for some descendents and followers of those Ancients it will still be January 6 though their tradition and that now flawed math would still lead them to thirteen not twelve. Whew, please don’t call me….

Twelfth Night back in 18th century America was, frankly, more important than the Papist Christmas and remains one of the most significant days in the Christian calendar as it marks the ramp up to the Feast of the Epiphany, the celebration, among other things, of the revelation of God become Man and the commemoration of the wise men’s visit to Bethlehem.

So what about those so called wise men now commonly accepted as the three kings? Well, they were only identified and described in the Gospel of Matthew though we ran with it from there. As many Biblical scholars and theologians have pointed out ad nauseum, Matthew didn’t say how many there were but was assumed much later that it was (had to be) three because of the number of the gifts they brought (three). On top of that Matthew never said they were kings (they weren’t) as the term used was Magi a reference to Zoroastrism priests (probably Persian or Babylonian) who practiced astrology - then a highly regarded science. Let’s also remember that they were Pagans – Christianity didn’t yet exist, a fact that escapes many. The term kings wasn’t used until much later Christian writings and that (among many other traditions existant) was challenged by the Protestant Reformation of the 16th century. I guess we know who won that one…

This story has become embellished and tweaked over and over throughout the last two millennia in art and prose and has morphed into what is now a major component of Christian myth and a real metaphor for the acceptance across many cultures of Jesus and Christianity. We see them on Christmas greeting cards, in Christmas carols and if your neighborhood is like mine - in many front yard Christmas light displays.

The Magi represented all people of Faith who were willing to travel from some faraway place (not the orient) to acknowledge the fulfillment of a great prophecy (Isaiah) where the Messiah is, “worshipped by kings”. So does it matter who they were or frankly even if they ever existed? The answer to that question and a winter or summer birth of Jesus is, an unequivocal, emphatic probably not. It’s the great news that we celebrate every December 25th, everything else is icing on the King Cake.

So what’s the big deal? Well, I’m not trying to question one of the holiest of Christian traditions and holidays, rather ponder some contemporary thought on this issue. In our era of ever outward spiraling political correctness (PC) we see and hear that some Christian denominations are now contemplating changing the gender of the “Three Wise Men.” Who knows we may now even see the One Wise Man, One Wise Woman and one Transgender Wise Person? We continue to reinvent and morph the story to meet some artificial purpose and in doing so remove ourselves even further from the true meaning of Christmas. The reason for imposing limits to this story and revisionist PC thinking appear obvious to this writer. Think I’ll write a letter…Don’t ask, don’t tell?

As we alluded earlier, other great traditions have evolved from the Twelfth Night celebrations including that fervent, carefree folly that we call Mardi Gras in New Orleans and the Southern United States, that sensory overindulgence known as Carnivale in Rio de Janeiro and, of course, Mumming. These are excursions in “escapist fantasy” which prepares us for the rest of the year, Lent and the somber Easter season.

So what about Mardi Gras 2010? Well, this celebration begins with Twelfth Night on January 5/6 (choose your poison) and ends on Fat Tuesday on February 16, the day before Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent – a virtual turnabout from revelry to solemnity.

It’s a little different this year as February 7th, slap dab in the middle of Mardi Gras is also Super Bowl Sunday in New Orleans, excuse for the biggest party that The Crescent Cty has seen or will ever see. The Mardi Gras Parade Krewes have already changed their parade schedules literally putting Mardi Gras celebrations on hold for a few hours so folks can watch the New Orleans Saints take on the Indianapolis Colts in Super Bowl XLIV. It appears to me they are just moving the party to the Superdome. If and when the Saints win you will see one party extraordinaire. I’ll bet the police of The Big Easy go topless that night. Empty the jails!

The soul of the “Who Dat” will recover from their Katrina induced slumber to once again take its place among the great cities of the world. You’ll see the purple, green and gold colors of Mardi Gras everywhere. Tidbit: The purple and gold of Mardi Gras were influential yea critical in the selection of the Louisiana State University (LSU) school colors.

A little closer to home I paid homage to Mother Betty Buxton as I took down the tree this year. To my Mother Christmas was not only the most sacred holiday of the year, it was the supreme festive time to celebrate and share with Family and Friends. There is a tradition that dictates if your Christmas Tree isn’t removed by Twelfth Night it should stay up all year. Mother’s Christmas tree with its white lights and clear mostly crystal and glass ornaments (some from Mt St. Helens’ obsidian) were striking and always the centerpiece of her holiday home. Mother absolutely loved and embraced that opportunity and during some of her last years in Providence, RI and later in Atlanta she kept her tree up until July which became the focal point and occasion of a great Christmas in July party over at Betty’s when we finally took down the tree only to resurrect it the next December. Loved those parties which became famous in Atlanta.

So, look for the bean or baby in your King Cake and root for The Saints. Embrace tradition and Laissez les bon temps roulez!

Aye,

Ned Buxton