Sazerac February 2025

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Unsolicited Advice

This February, we’re shooing away Cupid because we are already fully committed. And before you go and shack up with someone, it might be wise to take inventory of the little habits that follow your potential mate as surely as his or her shadow. Because, no, you can’t change them — really, you can’t. The question you should be asking yourself: Can you live with them? Or without him or her? Here is a short list of deal-or-no-deal habits to consider:

1. Close talking, as in nose-to-nose. At first, it’s like, “Oh wow, they just can’t get close enough to me!” But that can escalate into “I can’t breathe.”

2. Leaving the toilet seat up — or down, depending on how you found it. Not a big deal until you get up at 3 a.m. to use the bathroom and either baptize the seat or fall into the cold basin water. Try getting back to sleep after that.

3. Talking with a mouthful of food. They’re so excited to talk to you! How sweet. Or perhaps Mama never taught them manners. Either way, bolus — aka chewed up food — upon your brow? Eeew. 

4. Passing gas at the dinner table. Actually, no question about it — deal breaker. Run.

Come to think of it, we might recommend sticking with the single life.

Seen & Heard

I happened across Taja Mahaffey while she was standing behind her booth at the Greensboro Farmers Curb Market, surrounded by Zenith, General Electric, Westinghouse and Sylvania solid-state radios from the 1960s and earlier. As these appliances harken from an era even before stereo broadcasting, I had to ask, “Why?” 

“I was in a thrift shop one day and bought a vintage radio. I just thought how neat it would be to bring it back to life,” she explains. “I found a Bluetooth speaker kit that I could insert into it, tried it and it worked.” 

That was around nine months ago and Mahaffey, who resides in Summerfield but lived in Greensboro most of her life, has been scouring estate sales and flea markets ever since. She searches high and low for those vanishing examples of mid-century American ingenuity, often colorful, futuristically designed, with molded-plastic packaging.

“I’ve probably adapted 50 or more,” she says. “It just depends on when I can find what I’m looking for in good shape and at a good price.” Mahaffey, under the name Songbird Designs, also offers her groovy gadgets for sale at Main Street Market & Gallery in Randleman, where these whimsical looking Bluetooth receivers come with a USB chord for recharging. 

I’m especially enamored with her idea of taking those modular clock radios your (great-) grandmother had bedside or on the kitchen counter, then reimagining them as devices tuned in to your tunes today — not to mention the convenience of a built-in timepiece for the few of us remaining who remember how to read an analog clock! 

Just One Thing

What a range of age among the members gathered in the 1950s meeting of the Alpha Art Club, the Triad’s oldest-known African American women’s club. One hundred years later, the club is still going strong, celebrating their centennial with a photo exhibit at the High Point Museum, including an hour-long video of members’ sharing their time in the club. Rishaunda Moses, immediate past president, reflected recently that the club’s founding members initially “would get together to socialize, have tea, make doilies or just chat.” She went on to tell  The High Point Enterprise that the club transitioned in the mid- to late-1920s to promote civic betterment. The club has persevered through the Great Depression, World War II, the Civil Rights Movement and a global pandemic and will continue moving forward with its mission: “lifting others up.” Today, that work comes in the form of supporting the NAACP, offering a mentoring program called the Legacy Foundation and providing scholarships. Info: highpointmuseum.org.

Piano Man

Musician Mark Hartman is in the air so often his Facebook persona is “Mark on a Plane.”

The New York-based pianist and composer conducts, arranges and composes for theater and concerts worldwide.

“I have to say, I love tiny airports. They make me so happy!” Hartman’s award-winning career spans both on and off-Broadway hits, and international theater as well.

When he taxis into our little PTI, however, he’s probably thinking about things he’s missed about home. Having grown up in Arcadia, between Lexington and Winston-Salem, his stomach is often rumbling at the thought of ‘cue.

Specifically, “Speedy’s in Lexington.”

Even in the air, you’ll likely see Hartman with a pencil in hand. Pencils are a talisman.

“I am oddly superstitious about pencils. If I start a musical marking in my score with a specific pencil, I will keep it and use it all the way through opening.”

To the delight of his friends — and strangers alike — he made a rare Triad appearance recently. At the invitation of the Anne Griffith Fine Art Museum at Red Oak Brewery (before stops in Saratoga, N.Y., and then to Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis), Hartman chatted to the crowd as he played from memory, hardly glancing at the keyboard. Few realized he had only recently laid his father, Wayne, to rest, who was a catalyst for his musical awakening. During childhood, Hartman “plunked around on musical toys,” including a toy piano at his grandparents’ house, where he discovered early on he could repeat melodies and songs he had heard by Elvis Presley, Nat King Cole and Helen Reddy. 

As a youngster, he performed in various churches, encouraged by his minister father. By high school, Hartman was already playing for musicals and theater productions. His favorite North Davidson High School teacher, Sherri Raeford, took him to his first college theater performance (Chicago at Catawba College).

“I got into musical theater originally because it appealed to my love of music, lyrics and storytelling.” But, as his career has propelled forward, he says, “The thing I love most is connecting with another artist — in hopefully great material — to make something personal and individual and more satisfying than either of us could do on our own.” 

He lists Leonard Bernstein, Fats Waller, Joni Mitchell, Stephen Sondheim and Leonard Cohen as a few of his influences. Throughout his own career he has appeared with cabaret greats such as Lorna Luft, Chita Rivera and Jennifer Holliday.

“Many things set Mark aside as a high school student,” says Raeford. “One was that he was a walking encyclopedia when it came to his knowledge of musicals and musical theater.” But for the intimate gathering of art and music lovers at a museum in Whitsett, Hartman slipped into what he loves, after weeks of coping with the loss of a parent. 

Launching into a musical reverie over three hours long, teasing out 40 or more songs, he wove them together in a casual, cabaret style.

He smiles gently at the mention of Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” insisting “it is not a sad song.” In Hartman’s hands, it was reinvented, the plaintive words inexplicably transformed.

Those present received a master class in the power of music to extend beyond entertainment, to heal.

Sage Gardener

Although I don’t currently brew beer, I’ve had experience in beer making since my dad donned a yellow rain suit and a Nor’wester rain hat to uncap the bottles of home-brew that were exploding in our basement, which, by the way, sent a wonderful aroma up through our heating vents. I made beer in college when it was more exciting because it was a federal offense, using canned Blue Ribbon malt and, I shudder to think of it — bread yeast to get things going. (Let’s not bring up the subject of yeast infections some females blamed on my beer.) Later, in grad school, an English-beer-loving friend and I graduated to ordering malt extract and hops extract, both imported from the U.K. It was with the extract, which turned the beer into the equivalent of IPA, that my love affair with hops began.

Fast forward a half-century later and I’m finally contemplating planting hops in my garden this spring. The always helpful N.C. State Extension Service had a good piece stating that 80 small farms were growing hops successfully in the state. If they can do it, I decided, so can I. I’ve been wanting to grow hops since I learned the  species name, Humulus lupus, meaning “small wolf,” referring to the plant’s tendency to strangle other plants as a wolf does a sheep. In other interesting tidbits, I learned that hops grow on “bines,” not vines. (A bine twists around something, and always in a clockwise direction, whereas a vine grows in tendrils, in various directions.) I was told I could expect growth of  up to 12 inches a day. It went on to mention how hops will grow up almost anything, reaching heights of up to 25 feet. While sipping on a mug of Old Speckled Hen, I envisioned a tangle of hops that would give the wisteria at the back of my property some competition.

Stephanie Montell writes on the morebeer.com platform that “Growing hops at home is easy if you know the tricks of the trade.” She points out that it’s the female flower (like another plant I know) that are all-important. It seems that only the female plant is able to produce the actual hop “cones.” She went on to warn gardeners not to plant hops near electrical power lines to avoid what I’ll term kudzuification.

Loamy, well-drained soil. Check. Lots of manure. Check. One hundred and twenty frost-free days. Check. Plant in early spring, no later than May. Can’t wait and probably won’t.

Hops grow from rhizomes, which I need to mail order. N.C. State suggests which varieties will thrive most anywhere in the state. First year? Not much growth while the plant establishes its room system. “Instead, look forward to the second year when hops are full grown and produce healthy crops of fragrant flowers,” she says.

But here’s what’s going to be tough. Beginners, she says, “have a tendency of letting every shoot grow and climb. Although this is understandable, leave only selected shoots and trim the weaker ones at ground level . . . to force the strength of the root into the hardier shoots.” Whatever. My wife does something similar with our tomato plants and it drives me nuts. But a side-by-side experiment demonstrated she knew what she was talking about.

Finally I learn that all but 4% of hops are grown in the Pacific Northwest, where, I am told, one acre can produce enough dried hop cones for 135 to 800 barrels of beer. I have a quarter-acre under cultivation, so that means I need to limit my annual brewing to between 34 and 200 barrels. I can hoppily manage that.

Sazerac January 2025

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Letters

In response to our August 2024 Unsolicited Advice regarding handwriting, Elaine Schenot penned this letter:

Window on the Past

We’re not just blowing smoke out of the stacks, the O.Henry office has moved to Revolution Mill, seen here in the late-’40s.

Sage Gardener

Visiting my daughter in Spain, standing in a market surrounded by gloriously red peppers and the ripest of tomatoes, I suddenly saw “a dirty, knobby, alien-looking root,” as one food writer describes it: Apium graveolens var. rapaceum, aka celeriac. A cousin of celery, fennel, carrots and parsnips, this bulbous, bumpy orb is my wife’s absolute favorite root vegetable, although I’ve often pointed out to her that celeriac is not a root but a hypocotyl. She counters, “Say that three times.” 

The hypocotyl, according to my dictionary, is that part of the stem beneath the stalks of the leaves and directly above the root. So, on that balmy Spanish evening we had hypocotyl remoulade, a classic French dish that Anne first discovered in a Paris automat. She chose what she thought was slaw; instead, she discovered something sublime. Since then, she’s been on a long journey — completely unsuccessful — of trying to grow celeriac.  “One English gardener says ‘Celeriac is easy to grow,’” I tell her.“‘Hardier and more disease-resistant than celery.’” Says Anne, “You’ll recall that we’ve never been able to grow celery.”

Over the years, she’s told everyone who’ll listen about ordering the seeds and putting them into grow pots, only to have not a single one come up. The next year, she decided our wood stove-heated house was too cold, so she invested in a grow mat; voila, that spring she coached three spindly seedlings out of the pots! Nursed  like the first borns they were, one of them survived transplanting. Thus, we harvested our treasured, first celeriac, a hypocotyl feast about the size of a black walnut. The following year was no better, so nowadays Anne resignedly buys them wherever she can get them, most reliably at Super G Mart on Market.

Among the oldest of “root” vegetables, celeriac was painstakingly cultivated, not for its stalks like celery, but for that unshapely, but oh-so-tasty bulb between the stem and the squiggly, anemic roots.

References date back to Mycenean Linear B. Homer mentions “selinon” (the Greek word for celeriac) in both the Iliad and Odyssey. Romans and Egyptians prized celeriac for its medicinal benefits, and one writer suggests the root was also used in religious ceremonies, though, for the life of me, I can’t imagine how. By 1623, the French, naturellement, were eating them. Soon, Europeans all over the continent were julienning, grating and slicing them. Americans, not so much.

Nevertheless, one of Martha Stewart’s acolytes proclaims that “celeriac is having a moment,” and points out that market forecasts for 2024 suggested a 42 percent increase in sales year to year. (No hoarding, please.) She quotes various celebrity chefs enthusing over the ugly bulb, celeriac puree in particular. If you like carrots, parsnips, fennel or turnips, especially combined with a comforting and slightly earthy note, you’ll likely like celeriac. Now that we’ve transitioned from our wood stove to central air, I’m hoping my favorite gardener will get out the grow mat, hatch a plethora of wee sprouts and nurse them into transplants that will, with any luck, grow into the ugliest vegetables in our garden — and on the planet.    — David Claude Bailey

Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner

Thank you to all who entered our 2024 O.Henry Essay Contest, with the theme, “Furry, Feathered and Ferocious.” We put out the call — of the wild — and your stories had us laughing, crying and snuggling with our own animals a little more tightly. With so many delightful entries, our task was beastly, but we’re pleased to have chosen three engaging essays that will appear in our pages throughout this year. Without further ado, your 2024 winners:

First Place: Eric Schaefer, “Harriet”
Second Place: Karen Watts, “The Mummification of Leapy the Lizard”
Third Place: Dianne Hayter, “Questers”

Thank you to all who entered our 2024 O.Henry Essay Contest, with the theme, “Furry, Feathered and Ferocious.” We put out the call — of the wild — and your stories had us laughing, crying and snuggling with our own animals a little more tightly. With so many delightful entries, our task was beastly, but we’re pleased to have chosen three engaging essays that will appear in our pages throughout this year. Without further ado, your 2024 winners:

Unsolicited Advice

A new year is a great opportunity to take stock of the many blessings in your life and let go of the things that aren’t serving you — yes, we’re talking about your refrigerator. That cranberry relish your dad brought over to pair with your Thanksgiving turkey during the Obama administration? Toss it. The high-protein yogurt you just bought to ring in 2025 as the best version of yourself ever? Keep it. At least for now, while you’re still full of hope. But those 17 jars of mustard alone? Pare ’em down. Here’s our list of the five essential mustards every house needs. The rest can go.

1. American yellow: She’s basic. Her fav shirt reads, “Go sports!” But she’s reliable and hasn’t met a hot dog she can’t improve.

2. Dijon: She rides around in limos and speaks with an elegant British accent. Her fav show is Bridgerton, but she’s also a fan of the 1995 Pride and Prejudice miniseries that starred Colin Firth. It’s unAmerican not to use Grey Poupon, si’l vous plaît.

3. Whole grain: This one screams, “I’ve got grit,” and hangs out in your local deli with Kosher pickles. She’s too hardworking to care if there’s anything stuck in her teeth.

4. Honey: She’s sweet and tangy. When invited to a potluck dinner, she brings warm, gooey sticky buns.

5. Spicy brown: She’s the Spice Girl (Mustard Spice, duh) that was cut from the group for being too bold and standing out. Sadly, her solo career went nowhere because she’s better when mixed with others.

Sazerac December

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(Don’t) Wait for It

Who knew that when Jimmie “JJ” Jeter’s mother took him to see a local summer production of Annie as a middle schooler, one woman’s performance would change his entire life? “The woman that played Miss Hannigan gave the performance of her life,” he recalls, almost 20 years later. Jeter, a Winston-Salem native, remembers being awestruck and overcome with a sense of knowing, “I want to do that.” The very next day, his mother reached out to the Community Theatre of Greensboro, where Jeter would become involved in various productions, even landing the lead role of Troy Bolton in High School Musical 2.

Throughout much of his off-stage high school career, Jeter performed for the North Carolina Black Repertory Company’s Teen Theatre, where then artistic director Mabel Robinson introduced him to the late Matt Bulluck, professor emeritus of drama at the University of North Carolina School of the Arts. After witnessing his chops, Bulluck suggested he audition for the school. With Robinson’s guidance, Jeter prepared a monologue and was admitted to its high school program, attending there his senior year. “I had no idea what I was doing and that program completely changed my life,” he says. Following in Bulluck’s footsteps, Jeter went on to study at Juilliard, where he graduated with a fine arts degree in acting in 2016.

Now, Jeter is returning to Greensboro, this time on the Tanger Center stage, as Aaron Burr in the Broadway sensation Hamilton. “This feels like a full-circle moment for me,” he says. “It is an honor to go, ‘My blood, sweat and tears are . . . right here in Greensboro. It’s still there, right there.”

While Jeter has played all seven male principal roles — on Broadway and in the Australian tour — he says that currently, he’s partial to the role he’s in. Jeter once heard the character’s originator, Leslie Odom, say that there are more Burrs than Hamiltons in the world. “There’s a lot that we recognize in him that we see in ourselves, the things that we don’t really talk about or bring up.” Portraying Burr every night, he says, holds him accountable. “Hey, we have to be honest about who we are, right?” Plus, Jeter adds, Burr has the best songs in the show, including his favorite: “The most gut-wrenching song to sing every night — ‘Wait for It.’”

And what’s Jeter willing to wait for? His order from his family’s Winston-Salem restaurant, Simply Sonya’s: mac-n-cheese, collard greens and his mother’s chicken with the secret family sauce. “I can taste it now,” he says, dreaming about his upcoming jaunt through the Triad with the show. “I already told my mom, ‘Go ahead and have my order ready, please!’”

After working with Hamilton in some capacity for the last eight years, the next dream is to write and act in his own show, à la Hamilton creator Lin-Manuel Miranda. Perhaps a “zombie musical. It sounds crazy, but it’s going to be so cool!” We’ll be waiting in the wings for that show to hit the Tanger Center, but for now, we’re not throwing away our shot at catching Jeter as Aaron Burr.   — Cassie Bustamante

Just One Thing

We’re nuts about the entire “Life & Times of Charles M. Schulz” exhibit at Alamance Arts in Graham. Known for his entire Peanuts gang — including that blockhead Charlie Brown, plus Snoopy, Schroeder, Linus and so many more moon-faced kiddos  — Schulz published the very first Peanuts comic strip on October 2, 1950, launching what would grow into a phenomenon that includes movies, books, TV specials and a theme park. Still today, Gen Z-ers are snagging merch from Peanuts collaborations with brands such as American Eagle and Pottery Barn. Just last December, Architectural Digest asked, “Will 2024 Be the Year of Snoopy Girls?” While this exhibit features a replica of Schulz’s studio, you’ll also get to see character panels with insight into their personalities. Our pick? Lucy Van Pelt. We know — you’re thinking “Good grief! That bully?” But yes. She knows what she wants — piano man Schroeder and, apparently, real estate — and she’s willing to go after it. Schulz himself said, “Lucy comes from that part of me that’s capable of saying mean and sarcastic things, which is not a good trait to have, so Lucy gives me an outlet.” And don’t we all need a creative outlet for our inner Lucy? When you’re done putting the last ornament on your very own Charlie Brown Christmas tree, hitch a ride with the Red Baron to Alamance Arts to check out this exhibit that’s fun for the whole gang through January 17. Info: alamancearts.org.

Letters

To Cynthia Adams in response to her July 2024 column, “The Dog Who Owned Us”

I just read this article by Cynthia Adams in the July issue. Admit it brought a tear to my eye.

It called to mind this short article on a similar topic I wrote not so long ago. I would appreciate it if you would share it with Cynthia so she might enjoy.  
— Jon Maxwell

An excerpt from “An Ode to Our Family’s ‘BFG,’” published in the Greensboro News & Record, September 2015:

What we failed to appreciate was how much the right dog can teach us all.

From the litter, Gavin picked an energetic white/black female that was apparently the leader, and enforcer, among her siblings. It did not take long to settle upon “Bonnie” as a suitable name for this darling wee lass. When we stopped by my brother’s house for a backyard cookout, Bonnie scrambled from Gavin’s arms and bolted across the yard to my wife Caroline’s lap, where she rested contentedly for most of the afternoon. In one fell swoop, she had effectively neutralized the only potential holdout to her being welcomed into the bosom of our family.

Unsolicited Advice

When the Mayans brewed their first steaming cup of hot chocolate around 500 B.C., it’s likely they never imagined that Tom Hanks would sing a whole song about it in The Polar Express. You know the one: Hey, we got it! Hot! Hot! Say, we got it! Hot chocolate! Of course, they probably also never guessed their concoction of ground-up cocoa seeds, water, cornmeal plus chili peppers would evolved into a milky, creamy dessert-worthy treat. Wondering what to sprinkle on, aside from that sweet dollop of whipped cream or pile of marshmallow pillows melting atop your mug? Say, we got it! Hot chocolate toppers!

Chocolate’s best pairing? Sorry, Cupid, put away the strawberries and wait your turn — it’s more chocolate. Grab a high-quality dark chocolate bar and your veggie peeler to create the cutest, richest curlicues, melting into a bittersweet symphony of flavors The Verve would envy.

Feeling salty? Say seasoning’s greetings with a dash of coarse sea salt. Or indulge in a cinn-ful treat with a sprinkle of cinnamon. How about a nod to its origins by kicking it up a notch with chili powder. Alexa, play “Christmas Wrapping” by the Spice Girls.

Did your confectionary delights turn out less than delightful? Don’t toss those cookies! Crumble ‘em up and rebrand them as ganache garnishes.

Take your holiday rage out — say, we got it — by placing a candy cane in a plastic baggie and smashing it to smithereens. Sprinkle atop your hot cocoa for a chocolate and peppermint delight that’s winter’s answer to mint chocolate chip ice cream.

But our go-to? Peppermint schnapps. All the mint chocolate goodness plus a delightful buzz. Leave this treat out for Santa and you’re bound to get on the last-minute nice list. Or find Santa snoozin’ in your easy chair on Christmas morn.

Sage Gardener

Cranberries are weird. They are grown beneath layers of peat, sand and clay covered by water and are harvested by combing the floaters off the surface. As anyone who’s unearthed a bag left over from Thanksgiving knows, they are slow to go bad, so much so that sailing vessels of yore stored them in barrels on long sea voyages to stave off scurvy. When dropped, they bounce like a ball. In fact, early cranberry farmers bounced them down staircases, discarding the ones that didn’t make it to the bottom. No evidence suggests that the Pilgrims ate them at the first turkey throw down. Nobody knows where the name came from, maybe from low German kraanbere because the flower’s stamen looks like a crane beak. American Indians called them sassamenesh, which English speakers thankfully ignored. Indians used them to make pemmican, a winter staple made by mixing fat, pounded, dried meat and often dried fruit. Cranberries, by the way, grow on vines, not bushes, and belong to the same genus as blueberries, Vaccinium, derived from the Latin word for cow, vacca — maybe because cattle gobble them up. Native to North America and northern Europe, they grow wild from Nova Scotia to North Carolina. Rather tart in flavor, some people “carve” the jellied cranberry straight from the can and feature jiggling slices of it on a serving platter. NPR diva Susan Stamberg goes on and on about her mother’s cranberry relish, which includes onion and horseradish. Me? I’ll stick to my own mama’s unjiggling cranberry relish, made with bouncy fresh berries, orange segments and grated rind.
— David Claude Bailey

And the Award Goes to . . .

Earlier this year, we were honored by the N.C. Press Association with the following editorial awards:

First Place in Feature Writing:
Cynthia Adams for “Wine Not Now”

Third Place in Feature Writing:
Billy Ingram for “Greensboro’s Jeanaissance”

Third Place in Profile Feature:
Cassie Bustamante and Bert VanderVeen for “Minding Her Business”

Second Place in Lighter Columns:
Cassie Bustamante for “Chaos Theory”

Third Place in Lighter Columns:
Jim Dodson for “Simple Life”

And in the advertising sector:

First Place in both Special Sections and Real Estate Ads

Second Place in Retail Ads

Third Place in Advertising Campaigns

We’d also like to congratulate our sister publications — PineStraw, SouthPark and Walter — who each took home awards as well. And a special shoutout to the team at Walter for snagging the award for general excellence. O.Henry is proud to be part of The Pilot’s team of stellar publications and digital offerings. We look forward to bringing you more stories highlighting the “Art & Soul of Greensboro” in 2025.

Sazerac November 2024

SAZERAC NOVEMBER 2024

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Sage Gardener

As I’m writing this, most Americans are a lot more interested in who will be president than what sort of garden they’ll plant.

Not Marta McDowell, who penned All The Presidents’ Gardens in 2016. From George Washington to Barack Obama, she digs up the dirt, so to speak, about who had a perennial obsession with plants. George and Martha Washington, John and Abigail Adams, along with Thomas Jefferson, had gardens and ambitious plans for plants — before the British burned down the White House in 1814 (after the U.S. Army burned down what became Toronto). At the very least, presidents had vegetable gardens since expenses for family food and banquets came out of their own pockets.

James Monroe moved into a mansion under construction, inheriting a yard with the sort of mucky mess that accompanies reconstruction projects. It was John Quincy Adams, McDowell points out, who, faced with a tumultuous presidency and the death of his father, sought solace in, as he described it, “botany, the natural lighting of trees and the purpose of naturalizing exotics.”

To give you an idea of what Adams had to work with, McDowell writes, “To keep the lawns at least roughly trimmed, he arranged for mowers with scythes to cut the long grass for hay, and sometimes borrowed flocks of sheep.” Adams did have a full-time gardener to help him, John Ousley, an Irish immigrant. Following a plan that the plant-and-garden-crazed Jefferson had drafted, the duo got down and dirty. Each morning, after a brisk swim in the nearby Potomac, Adams spent several hours in his garden to “persevere in seeking health by laborious exercise.” McDowell writes, “His was a garden of celebrated variety.” In the two acres he carved out, Adams boasted that you would find “forest and fruit trees, shrubs, herbs, esculent (edible) vegetables, kitchen and medicinal herbs, hot-house plants, flowers — and weeds,” he added, revealing how honest a gardener he was. Adams also collected white oaks, chestnuts, elms and other native trees with an environmental objective: “to preserve the precious plants native to our country from the certain destruction to which they are tending.”

As the latest occupant — and gardener — moves into the White House in January, may I suggest that McDowell’s book might serve as a soothing antidote to the inevitable drama of nightly news and daily headlines.
— David Claude Bailey

That Computes

We say “data boy” to Patrick Fannes, who freely offers his time and knowledge to turning tech trash into treasure. Caching a collection of Windows- and Mac-based tablets, laptops and desktop computers (no more than seven years old), Fannes wipes them clean of all private data, refurbishing as needed before placing them in the hands of disadvantaged children. Though he holds a degree in computer science, he says, “In life I am a lay, ordained Buddhist monk and a doctor of Chinese medicine, serving my community to make this world a better and kinder place.” His friends and associates call him Shifu, the Chinese word for master or teacher, a term of respect. Through Big Brothers Big Sisters, Shifu has worked to provide 200 computers over the last 15 years. If you have an old computer collecting dust, let him give it a second life. And don’t worry — “Your private data will be erased from the computer hard drive and a binary code will be written across the entire surface of the drive nine times so that retrieving any information is impossible.” By donating your tech trash, you’ll not only make your house and the Earth cleaner; you’ll be giving a local child the necessary tools to set them up for success in life. To donate, email Fannes: onecodebreaker@gmail.com.

Booked for a Cause

In Asheville author Robert Beatty’s latest book, Sylvia Doe and the 100-Year Flood, Sylvia Doe doesn’t know where she was born or the people she came from. She doesn’t even know her real last name. When Hurricane Jessamine causes the remote mountain valley where she lives to flood, Sylvia must rescue her beloved horses. But she begins to encounter strange and wondrous things floating down the river. Glittering gemstones and wild animals that don’t belong — everything’s out of place. Then she spots an unconscious boy floating in the water. As she fights to rescue the boy — and their adventure together begins — Sylvia wonders who he is and where he came from. And why does she feel such a strong connection to this mysterious boy?

Known for his Serafina series, Beatty will be donating 100 percent of his earned royalties from Sylvia Doe and the 100-Year Flood — a story he’s been writing for several years — to the people impacted by the catastrophic floods caused by Hurricane Helene in Asheville, North Carolina where he lives. The real-life 100-year flood struck at the same time the book was scheduled to launch. (Ages 8 -12.)

When the photographer says, "Look tough," but there's always that one guy who's trying not to crack a smile.
N.C. A&T's football team, circa late 1930s.

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Drive down any country road as fall approaches, and you are likely to see a lot more Jerusalem artichokes than you could ever eat. The golden, daisy-like flowers gloriously polkadot almost every verge in Piedmont North Carolina. And, yes, they are native, though some label them invasive, but more about that later.

My introduction to Helianthus tuberosus was at my mother’s table, where my dad heaped Braswell’s sensational, bright-yellow artichoke relish on his pinto beans as I still do. The turmeric-spiked relish probably originated in the South Carolina Lowcountry, where Mrs. Sassard’s version, like a lot of things in Charleston, “is world famous.”

Jerusalem artichokes themselves are world famous, exported as a delicacy from the New World to France in the 1600s, where they were initially hailed, like so many novelties from the New World, as “dainties fit for queens” — but likely before the queen and her court actually tried them. By 1621, one writer complained, “which way soever they be dressed and eaten, they stir and cause a filthy loathsome stinking wind . . . and are a meat more fit for swine than men.” Not surprisingly, their popularity in Europe dimmed, and it wasn’t until recently that chefs, searching for tasty and unusual local produce, rediscovered them. They were quickly dubbed a superfood because of their nutritional value and their containing — keto alert! — inulin instead of starch. (Inulin is a carb related to the sugar fructose, but is largely indigestible, making sunchokes, as some marketing guru relabeled them, a good choice for diabetics.)

Soon, upscale eateries were featuring Jerusalem artichoke orzotto graced with parsley-and-peanut pesto or truffled sunchokes with brie and honey.

If you’ve never had them, they are slightly sweet with notes of peanut, potato and water chestnut. Not, in fact, much like an artichoke, despite the name. “Jerusalem” purportedly arose when some half-witted Brit tried to pronounce the Italian word for sunflower, girasole. “They can take the form of velvety purees, soups, hearty gratins, crunch crisps (French fries), stew fillings, creamy mash and even ice cream!” enthused one gourmet. 

They are so prolific that Master Gardeners issue warnings. Like crabgrass — and every bit as aggressive — they spread underground by rhizomes. I’ve seen them take over not one but several adjacent raised beds in a community garden. One gardener reported transplanting two plants and ending up with 70 pounds. With each plant producing as many as 20 tubers, “as potatoes were requisitioned for World War II,” one writer says, “Jerusalem artichokes saved millions from starvation,” providing food for humans and livestock.

Harvested from October to March, they are available from time to time in farmers markets and grocery stores. Worried about the gastric distress? Through the miracles of modern science, some home economics scientist discovered that cooking them with lemon juice transforms them through something called acid hydrolysis, rendering them gone with the wind.

Just One Thing

“A camera lies,” says Greensboro artist James Celano, who graduated from the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts more than 40 years ago. Known for his oil paintings of still life, figures and landscapes, Celano says he prefers to paint from life and can tell when an artist is working from a camera image. There are giveaways, he says, such as an exaggerated foreground that disrupts the scale. But the biggest reason he avoids it? “I find that work very flat emotionally.” A born-and-raised northerner, Celano and his wife, Diane, made the Gate City home over 30 years ago, bringing with them their toddler son and their own textile design business, Diane Celano Studios, which serviced clients such as Burlington Industries. “That’s how we paid the bills and kept me independent and free from having to depend on galleries.” Celano converted their home’s two-car garage into a studio space. It’s there that he sets up objects and paints his still life oils. Dollface, seen here, is part of a birds-eye view series and will be part of an exhibition at Ambleside Gallery. “It’s been about 15 years since I’ve exhibited in Greensboro,” says Celano. While he’s participated in GreenHill’s Winter Show, this is his first solo exhibition here in a long time. He’s gathered 26 new paintings, most of them still life, that will be on display from October 4–31, with an opening reception from 6–9 p.m. on October 4.

Window to the Past

Feeling witch-crafty? Go homemade with your Halloween costume this year. Give it a whirl — just as these Grimsley Whirlies once did back in 1949.

Water Color Talk

If you’ve walked into The Art Gallery (TAG) at Congdon Yards in High Point recently, you may have already spied the Watercolor Society of North Carolina Exhibition, a juried show featuring 69 paintings created by its members. On September 29 — ahem, before we went to press — the best in show was selected by this year’s juror, renowned watercolor artist Lana Privitera. Originally from Spain, Privitera is a signature member of both the National and American Watercolor Societies. Since we couldn’t yet share the show’s winner, we’re showing off what this judge is capable of. Some Cups and Polka Dots is not a photograph. Despite what your eyes may tell you, it’s a watercolor on paper. Frankly, her painting of dishware looks more realistic than the photos our iPhone 13 snaps — obviously a result of considerable talent combined with epic patience. It “went through many stages and many weeks of work before I felt that the composition and the balance of colors, values and texture were cohesive and interesting,” she reflects. Plus, there’s a lot of behind-the-scenes work before the paintbrush tip ever hits the paper. “Coming up with a unique composition and theme that might also appeal to other people is not easy,” says Privitera, “so the planning stage of any of my watercolors often takes more time than applying the many layers of paint themselves.” So, what was Privitera looking for in a winner? Someone who, like her, “takes their time creating unique and well-balanced compositions.” As for her selection, you’ll just have to head over to TAG to see the piece she thought brushed with greatness. The exhibit ends Oct. 31. Info: tagart.org/exhibits/watercolor-society-of-north-carolina-exhibition.

Unsolicited Advice

With the holidays just a couple months away, and the cooler, shorter days creeping in, October is the ideal time to begin a new crafty hobby — one that results in homemade gifts for everyone on your gift-giving list.

Cross Stitch: Start with the basic “X” and grow from there. Soon, you’ll be whipping out adorable pieces with charming sayings like our personal fav: “What doesn’t kill you gives you a set of unhealthy coping mechanisms and a dark sense of humor.” Bonus, you can tell your dentist you do, in fact, floss every day.

Canning: How about them apples? Turn ‘em into jam, jelly or applesauce. FYI, stock up. Because no matter what Baby Boom had you believe, 2,537 apples = 3 jars of applesauce (approximately). Apples not your jam? Try pickled beets or pumpkin butter. Yes, you can.

Candle Making: Hit up your local thrift shops for unique vintage glass vessels. Fill ‘em with soy wax and your own custom scent. Hints of bourbon, leather and cuban cigar? We call that one “Grandpa’s recliner.”

Witchcraft: Heck, it is October, after all.

Sazerac

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Sage Gardener

My introduction to kimchi was via M*A*S*H, when Frank Burns boasts about catching some Korean peasants burying a land mine — which turns out to be a vat of kimchi. Upon excavation, Hawkeye takes his own dig at Burns, saying “You’ve struck coleslaw!”

Actually, it’s rather surprising that the usually wellinformed M*A*S*H writers should mention slaw. Fermented and aged (traditionally underground to control the temperature) for a month or more, kimchi doesn’t vaguely resemble coleslaw. Think of a nostril-bending flavor bomb made with fermented cabbage, spiked with chilies, ginger and garlic.

My next encounter with kimchi was on the end of a fork in Cocoa, Florida, where I was writing about the space shuttle’s efforts to escape Earth’s gravity. An editor who had hitchhiked across Asia served it with warm sake one night — love at first bite. I was soon fermenting my own, filling the house with a thick aroma. Another reporter and I would get up at daybreak and catch a mess of mullet, which my wife, Anne, would fry and serve with grits and kimchi. The reporter and I still say it’s the best breakfast we ever had.

Since pickling vegetables is an ideal method of extending their lifespan, kimchi making in Korea dates back to well before the Christian Era. But forget the chilies. Chili peppers, native to the Americas, didn’t make it to Korea until the 1600s.

Most of the kimchi available in America is made from Napa cabbage and scallions, sometimes with added fish sauce. Authentic Korean kimchi often contains salted shrimp or croaker — or other finny prey, including anchovies and salted cod gills.

I’ve found that kimchi tends to appeal to people who relish the strongest of flavors. A friend who obsessively made beer for a while, transitioned to kimchi, observing that he became “fascinated by the alchemy of salt turning bland vegetables into hot, sour yumminess.” Plus, he hoped it “would nurture my gut and cure what age and various vices had inflicted on me.” Like other fermented foods, kimchi’s teeming bacteria is purportedly good for your intestinal microbiome. But people eat kimchi because they love how it triggers endorphins, generally appealing to the same people who fall in love with tonguenumbing hot sauces, hopcrazy IPA’s, mind-bending mescals and peaty, smoky Isla scotch.

Making kimchi is as easy as making sauerkraut and there are a plethora of recipes on the internet. As the days grow colder, consider starting a batch, especially if you have cabbage in your garden. There’s something magical about having a batch of kimchi bubbling away in a dark room, getting a little more sour with each passing day, a little hotter and a little more redolent. Get started now and it will make a great gift under the tree — festively green and red — and mask that annoying evergreen scent.

— David Claude Bailey

Letters

To Cassie Bustamante in response to her June 2024 column, “Curb Alert”

As I sit here in my yard chair relaxing after a morning of delayed yard work, I am enjoying the June edition of O.Henry magazine.

Your article brings back memories. Christmas 2003, my son received his first car as a present. It was a 1998 Jeep Cherokee.

The thought being, it would help in having another driver, helping with errands, stopping his mother and I being his chauffeur. Wrong!

However, that’s not the story at hand.

I remember that Christmas Day going out for a drive with my son Nick at the helm. He decided that a ride on the highway I-40 would be a good idea to test out his new ride.

I have never been so scared sh&$less in my entire life. All I could do was pray and hope to get home in one piece.

Finally he pulled into the driveway and, forgetting to put the Jeep in park, he hit the rear bumper of my wife’s Mercury.

We did have a happy ending though. The Mercury was a tank, no visible damage to either vehicle.

Reading your article brought back this now humorous incident to mind.

Our kids, no matter what they do, leave us with memories. Hopefully, good ones.

— David Ruden

The Passed Baton

“You Should Be Dancing,” the Greensboro Symphony Orchestra has decided — and with a new Aussie conductor as your dance master. Christopher Dragon will take the baton on September 14 to lead the symphony in a POPS Concert featuring The Australian Bee Gees Show, a tribute to the legendary group, at the Tanger Center. Bellbottoms optional.

During its last season, dubbed “Season of the Seven,” seven candidates auditioned — each having an opportunity to lead the symphony. Dragon won out. Hailing from Perth, Australia, Christopher Dragon began his career in his home country with the West Australia Symphony Orchestra. Since then, he’s led the Colorado Symphony as well as the Wyoming Symphony, and worked with orchestras the world over. Plus, not to name drop — but, just for you music aficionados, we’re going to — he’s collaborated with the likes of Cynthia Erivo, Joshua Bell, the Wu-Tang Clan and Cypress Hill. And he’s stoked to bring his flair to the Gate City while creating “unforgettable symphonic experiences to inspire the next generation of music lovers.”

But wait — there’s more! While there can only be one conductor on the podium at a time, sometimes there’s room for two at the top. Chelsea Tipton, fellow “Season of the Seven” candidate, has been named principal guest conductor. A native of Greensboro, Tipton currently serves as music director of the Symphony of Southeast Texas and principal pops conductor of the New Haven Symphony Orchestra. “Returning to my hometown in this capacity is a dream come true,” he says.

Unsolicited Advice

Did you know that September is National Italian Cheese Month? Grate-est news ever grazie! We support any observance that involves feasting on that melt-in-your-mouth (or on your sandwich) delight, any way you slice it. But preferably with carbs and wine, per favore. Stock up on Lactaid and get ready to dazzle your palate with some of our magnifico varieties!

Gorgonzola: Sounds like an evil character from a 1980s cartoon featuring little blue creatures, but is actually the Italian answer to blue — or, shall we say bleu — cheese. Crumbles easily, just like us.

Mozzarella: Quite possibly the most popular pizza topping due to its meltability. Frankly, we’d eat it as a topper to the cardboard circle frozen pizza comes on in its ooey-gooeiest state. By the way, mozzarella is not related to Cinderella, who is actually French.

Parmigiano-Reggiano: Two first names? Must be from Southern Italy.

Mascarpone: Any cheese that can masca-rade as dessert is a winner in our books. If pizza pie isn’t your thing, how ‘bout a pumpkin-mascarpone pie?

Ricotta: Rick oughta make us his famous lasagne soon. And tell him to use the good stuff — none of that cottage cheese.

Provolone: Between two slices of crusty Italian bread slathered with butter, this one makes a delicious and simple grilled cheese. Ready, set, ciao!

SAZERAC August 2024

SAZERAC AUGUST 2024

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Sage Gardener

After reading The Orchid Thief (which I unreservedly recommend), I’ve started calling Anne, my wife, the Seed Thief. Her cache of stolen — and also saved-from-the-garden — seeds is vast. One day, she said, “Why don’t you write about saving seeds, O Sage Gardener.”

So . . .  here’s why I’m NOT writing a column about saving seeds.

Let’s start with this response from an online permaculture forum: “Why do something poorly, when I could instead support someone who does an amazing job at seed saving/plant breeding?” The permaculture curmudgeon adds, “In my region, there is no shortage of amazing small farmers selling open-pollinated, regionally-adapted, unique varieties.”

Guilford County’s annual Passalong Plant Sale comes to mind. And there’s also the annual Sown and Grown Seed Swap Weekend at Old Salem, which has featured heirloom dinners in the past.

But let’s get down to the nitty-gritty topic of plant sex. Whether plants have sex with themselves or with insects is a topic that’s way above my pay grade. However, the N.C. State Extension Service has an army of plant experts who understand the mysteries of the birds-and-bees that produce the next generation of plants. “When saving seeds, make sure you are collecting from open-pollinated varieties,” advises Emilee Morrison from Onslow County. (More about open-pollinators in a minute.) “Because of their diverse parentage, hybrid plants will not produce consistent, reliable offspring when you save their seeds.”

Dusty Hancock, a Master Gardener volunteer from Chatham County, has even more discouraging words about plants with diverse parentage: “Seeds from hybrid plants may be sterile, but, if not, it is difficult to predict the characters of the resulting offspring.” He goes on to say that plants from hybrid seeds will be a new combination of the best and worst traits of the original parents. In other words, the seeds you save from that extraordinary okra plant with boocoodles of perfect pods might have the characteristics of a parent that, though drought resistant, produced itty-bitty pods.

So . . . if you really want to play it safe, you need to make sure that the seeds you’re saving come from heirloom plants, all of which are so-called open pollinators, meaning they are pollinated naturally by birds, insects, wind or human hands.

So far, so good — but there’s a catch, says Emilee: “If you grow more than one variety of a crop, you will need to take some precautions to prevent cross-pollination between varieties. Cross-pollination will result in unexpected characteristics in your plants in subsequent generations.” I’m not about to venture into the area of scraping the seeds out, drying them on a screen or in a hydrator, storing them so bugs and humidity don’t ruin them . . . because I’m not going to write about saving seeds. And, from the permaculture curmudgeon, here’s a compelling reason: “I just really, really love buying seeds. Maybe it’s materialistic of me, but pouring through catalogues is what gets me through the winter!”

— David Claude Bailey

Window to the Past

“Then it was that books began to happen to me, and I began to believe in nothing but books and the wonderful world in books — where if people suffered, they suffered in beautiful language, not in monosyllables as we did in Kansas.” — Langston Hughes, The Big Sea

Unsolicited Advice

Soon enough, we’ll see the flashing lights and hear the squeaking brakes of big, yellow buses as they roll through our neighborhoods. Kids will be going full-STEAM ahead — as in Science, Technology, Engineering, Art, Math — as they head back to school.

But, now that we are grown adults, according to our driver’s licenses, we have some ideas about necessary school subjects.

Phone Basics: More Than a Texting Device. We know, we know. Your smartphone features a handy-dandy voice mailbox that allows you to avoid calls, and, instead, listen to messages and respond via text, safely steering clear from any potentially empathetic human contact whatsoever. But — this may come as a shock —  you can actually answer your phone. Repeat after us: “Hello?”

Taxes and You: Sam Is Not the Fun Uncle. Pythagoras’ theorem about right triangles is really a-cute, but Uncle Ben Franklin once observed that nothing is certain other than death and taxes. So why not study deductions and learn how to properly fill out W9s? Had we done that, we would’t be left feeling so, well, obtuse.

Handwriting: The Wet Signature & the Curse of the Cursive. In our modern, digital world, penmanship doesn’t seem so important. And frankly, we’re coming up dry on a good reason why you might need it. But hey, we’re an arts publication and we don’t want to see any form of art lost. Don’t agree? Please mail a handwritten letter to the editor.

Just One Thing

Go ahead. Try not to be drawn into this photograph, taken in 1913 to herald the screening of a silent movie starring Smilin’ Cowboy Louis Bennison as Randy Burke — smiling even when held at gunpoint by Virginia Lee, as seen in the poster. Is that her or a local look-alike posing none too enthusiastically for a promotion in Newport, Rhode Island? Who are those children on the right, one impudently staring at the photographer, Marshall Hall, an AP correspondent? 

When artfully reprinting the photo in 1970, Brian Pelletier obviously was unwilling to crop out the bystander heedlessly walking right into the photo just as the shutter closed. Featured in Weatherspoon’s exhibit that goes up on Aug. 13, “Interpreting America: Photographs from the Collection,” the images on display “illustrate what artists have had to say about American culture from the late-19th to the early-21st centuries.” Americans have always loved sappy Westerns, like this one in which our brave hero saves an orphan after her father is killed in a saloon, is mistaken for a desperado, wins enough money in a poker game to pay off the Widow Mackey’s mortgage, and falls head over heels for a rancher’s daughter, who “takes his revolvers and orders him to put his hands up — and then around her.”

The Write Stuff

When Andrew Levitt set out to brighten children’s spirits in their hospital rooms, he wasn’t just clowning around. In our December 2022 issue’s “The Fezziwigs Among Us,” founding editor Jim Dodson introduced us to Levitt, whose “charming medical clowning lasted almost a decade, touching the lives and cheering up thousands of kids, young people, parents and staff.” Levitt, who had a lifetime of performance under his belt — everything from miming to acting and clowning — officially became Dr. Merryandrew on April Fools’ Day years ago. The date? A funny coincidence. And, yes, Levitt does, indeed, hold a bona fide University of Pennsylvania Ph.D. — in folklore, fittingly. In his new memoir, With Tales and Folly Instead of Pills, Levitt takes us behind the doors of Moses Cone Hospital, sharing stories he regaled patients with to bring, well, levity to hardship. After all, he writes, “Maybe if more people hear the old stories, there will be more people around who know that life is full of magic and miracle.”

Sazerac July 2024

Sazerac July 2024

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What’s Cooking?

It’s been 35 years since entrepreneur Morris Reaves launched his revolutionary drive-through restaurant concept, opening the very first Cook Out on Randleman Road, where the aroma of fresh grilled burgers still bellows from the chimney.

Reaves got his start in the restaurant business as a short-order cook for Waffle House before becoming the youngest Wendy’s franchisee at the age of 20. In the 1970s, to obtain that franchise, Reaves appealed directly to Wendy’s founder Dave Thomas. Initially hesitant, Thomas remembered that, as a young man two decades earlier, Col. Harland Sanders had taken him under his wing (pun intended), granting him the Kentucky Fried Chicken lease that jumpstarted his career. (Among many other innovations he came up with, it was Thomas who convinced the Colonel to appear in KFC’s commercials.)

While he cooked up that original Cook Out concept in his home state of Florida, Reaves chose our fair city for the rollout in 1989. With expansion into 10 Southern states since then, 117 locations in North Carolina alone, you could cruise up to a different Cook Out menu board every day for a year and still not visit them all.

How does Cook Out compare with another beloved regional chain, the West Coast’s In-N-Out Burger? No contest. Because burgers and hot dogs aren’t the only lure. Cook Out not only has the best barbecue sandwich for my money, it’s also famous for offering N.C.’s own Cheerwine — on tap in states where the beverage isn’t distributed — along with something like 40 flavors of milkshakes including cappuccino, hot fudge, blueberry cheesecake, watermelon (in July and August only) and, had he lived to enjoy it, a Peanut Butter Banana shake that would surely have enticed Elvis to the nearest location. Morris Reaves and his son Jeremy, who serves as current CEO of Cook Out, are reportedly deeply spiritual Christians, so much so that every beverage cup comes imprinted with a Bible verse.

For such a sprawling enterprise, Cook Out is notoriously tight-lipped when it comes to press and publicity. Neither father nor son has ever granted even a cursory interview, nor does the company employ a spokesperson. The marketing department declines to answer the phone or return calls.

What’s next for the restaurant chain? We hope you’re sitting down for this: indoor seating, apparently. There’s already a Cook Out dining room in Kernersville and, rumor has it, the former Mrs. Winner’s on Summit Avenue will be our city’s first sit-down site.

      — Billy Ingram

Strike a Paws: Pet Photo Contest

Does your cat’s expression say, “Mr. DeMeow, I’m ready for my claws-up?” Perhaps your Fido is especially photogenic. Or your Beta is fishing for its moment to shine. Whatever feathered, finned, furry — or even hairless — pet you call yours, take your best shot! From now through July 22, you can upload a photo of your beloved critter to our website’s contest page. Voting will open on July 16. But that’s only half the fun. Pet-loving O.Henry readers will be invited to vote on the finest photo, so make sure you beg friends and family to cast their ballots! The winner will fetch a $100 gift card from our contest sponsor, All Pets Considered; plus their photo will appear in our September issue. We’ll be printing several contenders as well, so — who knows? — your pet could be on their way to Sunset Boulevard after all. Visit ohenrymag.com/contests for details and to enter.

Window to the Past

Photographs © Carol W. Martin/Greensboro History Museum Collection

Where’s my TV dinner?

Unsolicited Advice

Backyard barbecue season is upon us and Dad’s raring to put some cheeseburgers on that new grill he just got for Father’s Day, along with his “This Guy Lights Our Fire” apron. But your daughter just announced she’s vegan and your son is lactose intolerant, so how about tossin’ some non-carnivorous alternatives to tube steak  and juicy burgers? We’ve got some ideas that are sure to sizzle.

You heard it here in May from our resident Sage Gardener. Cabbage is having a moment. Cut it into slices, brush on EVOO and sprinkle it with seasonings. Might we recommend Montreal Steak Seasoning? It’s like lipstick on a pig, minus the pork. Note: discriminating vegetarians say, “All cabbages are not created equal. The freshest heads feel heavy and are compact for their size.”

A portobello mushroom cap fits perfectly inside a hamburger bun. Coincidence? We think not. And will it fill your porto-belly? We also think not. Unless that cap is stuffed with, say, plant-based sausage.

Looking for something you can put your satisfying, blackened grill mark on? Tofu. Its rubbery quality will simulate that overcooked steak Dad’s famous for. And the “hot” trend is to freeze it before grilling it? Cool, eh?

Lastly, grill your kids (but not in the way Jonathan Swift recommended). You’ve got questions. They’ve got answers they’re probably not as readily willing to share as they are to pass you that plate of charred cabbage.

Sage Gardener

Best-selling American novelist Belva Plain once said, “Danger hides in beauty” — as in poinsettias, lenten roses, bleeding heart, larkspur and lantana — all stunningly beautiful and all poison.

And whoever said, “If danger comes from anywhere, then your eyes must look everywhere,” surely had a house full of children, pets — and plenty of plants. 

C’mon. You’ve heard it before, but here’s a friendly reminder in this, our issue focusing on pets: Even an itty-bitty amount of an ingested lily plant — any part, the stem, flower, leaf — can trash a kitty’s kidney. Your furry friend munching on one or two sago palm seeds can suffer vomiting, seizures and liver failure. Azaleas and rhododendrons, if snacked on, can lead to coma and death from cardiovascular collapse. The  ASPCA’s got a top-17 DON’T-EVEN-THINK-ABOUT-IT list (www.aspcapro.org/resource/17-plants-poisionous-pets). Still, the association’s Animal Control Center ended up assisting more than 400,000 animals in distress in 2022, up from 2021. And it’s not just plants. The top-10 toxins include recreational drugs, OTC meds and, yes, chocolate: https://www.aspca.org/sites/default/files/top_10_toxins_2022.png (who leaves chocolate lying about?).

And please. Keep your children from eating berries from the holly, yew, jack-in-the-pulpit, juniper and pokeweed plants, as tempting as they may look. And no castor beans. (The horrifying poison ricin is made out of castor beans.)

“Away! Thou’rt poison to my blood,” said Will Shakespeare. So before you go hog-wild with houseplants or that garden extension this summer, remember what happened to Romeo and Juliet. Go wisely.
  — David Claude Bailey

Sazerac June 2024

Sazerac June 2024

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Unsolicited Advice

According to Simon & Garfunkel, June will change her tune. And according to the Gregorian calendar, she’ll change her season from spring to summer. Typical Gemini. So take your fae-thful friends and family to the arboretum and celebrate at the Greensboro Summer Solstice Festival from 2–10 p.m., Saturday, June 22. We’ve got some tips to help you make the most of this magic moment. Fairy thee well!

Make like a mermaid and scale up on the water intake or you’ll be one parched pixie. Don’t worry — porta-potties abound. As do adult beverages — you know, for hydration.

Speaking of sweat, three words: waterproof body paint.

Show a little elf control? Not here. Let your inner fairy fly for the day — glitter, wings and all!

The evening culminates in an outstanding fire show, where the lawn at Lindley Park turns into gnome man’s land. Set your derriere on your fairy chair on the early side for a stellar view.

 

 

Photograph © Greensboro History Museum Collection

Window to the Past

Ready oar not, summer is arriving later this month. Lake Brandt has been welcoming water lovers since 1925.

Sage Gardener

We hope you’re sitting down, because according to The New York Times, “2024 is going to be a really exciting year in cabbage.” Celebrity chefs are stir-frying it, banking it into beds of hot coals and, in Asheville’s Good Hot Fish restaurant, adding it to pancakes served with sorghum hot sauce.

My momma used to braise it in bacon grease, a technique I’ve since discovered seals in the mustard compound that cabbage shares with horseradish, onions and mustard greens — the very compound that, according to the Times, “can make your house smell like a 19th century tenement” but has become “the darling of the culinary crowd.”

Mom, you always did know what was hot and what was not — and that everything tastes better with bacon.

Mark Twain observed that “cabbage is nothing but cauliflower with a college degree.” Cauliflower and Brussels sprouts — in the same family as kale, broccoli and bok choy — have both recently had their moment in the superfood spotlight. Now, it’s cabbage that’s taking center stage on white tablecloths in New York and L.A.’s elite boîtes, going for $18–20 as an appetizer paired with the likes of anchovy breadcrumbs and brown-butter hollandaise. Try serving one of those instead of corned beef and cabbage next St Paddy’s Day.

Brassica oleracea, aka wild cabbage, though not mentioned in the Bible and apparently unknown to early Jewish cuisine, is “a plant that has accompanied mankind throughout the ages,” according to The Oxford Companion to Food. Prized by the Egyptians and Romans, it was sacred to the Greeks, purportedly springing full-grown from no less than Zeus’ own sweat — perhaps because of how it smells?

I’ve grown it only once or twice. I’ve never had well-drained, sandy loam, which it prefers. And being an organic gardener, by the time my cabbage begins to head, aphids, flea beetles, cabbage loopers, diamond-back moths and cabbage maggots get a lot more of it than I do. Besides, cabbage is incredibly cheap, organic or not, even when purchased in a farmers market. (I find N.C. mountain cabbage particularly tasty and it makes terrific sauerkraut. North Carolina, by the way, grows something like 12,000 acres of cabbage a year.)

So remember, you heard it here first (unless you read The New York Times story): “Among the food-forward, cabbage fever is rising.”

        — David Claude Bailey

Growing Goodwill

Survey four of the Triad’s youngest residents and one of them will tell you they face food insecurity. Share the Harvest board president Linda Anderson, a retired educator, does her best to improve that grim statistic. Sometimes, she says, it’s as simple as grabbing a hoe or driving a truck.

“There are times during the growing season when our gardens are overflowing with vegetables and we don’t know what to do with the excess. This is when Share the Harvest can help both the gardener and the individuals in need,” says Anderson.

Anderson says donations have grown since 2012 from a few community and church gardens donating food to local nonprofits into an expanding program benefitting organizations, collecting and distributing food to the needy via various programs offering meals and food pantries. For its 10 core volunteers, the need has motivated them to collect, coordinate and distribute donations from groceries, restaurants, gardens, farmers markets and even N.C. State A&T University’s farm.

From May through October, the growing season, they collect, aggregate, then store fresh products at a central collection site for distribution.

“In the beginning, the first year, we had 1,200 pounds of veggies. Last year it was 15,241 pounds received.” See sharetheharvestguilfordcounty.org for more information. 

                                            —  By Cynthia Adams

Letters

Dear Editor,

OK, I look a little grumpy, I admit. How would you feel after eating dirt in the dark for 17 years?

If you find my surreal red eyes deeply disturbing, I say, “Good!” It’s not like anybody asked me how I wanted my DNA arranged. You think your kids are so cute. They don’t even have exoskeletons! No wonder you’re running them to the ER every other day.

A cicada’s life isn’t much when you think about it. In 30 days’ time above ground, the most dramatic thing that can happen is having a cat or dog eat enough of us to spew up a blob of legs and wings on somebody’s living room carpet. Or having kids trap us in Mason jars to amplify the sound. Like that’s really a science experiment. Stick to the fireflies and leave us alone!

This spring, all you heard was “Total Eclipse! Won’t be another until 2044!” Everybody bought special eyeglasses and threw a party.

Well, this summer, not only are we 17-year cicadas emerging, but our 13-year cousins are, too. Guess the last time that happened. 1803, when Thomas Jefferson was president. You know, author of the Declaration of Independence. How about throwing a cicada celebration, we, the people?

And who’s this Harry Blair joker, anyway? When in our conversation did I grant him permission to reproduce my likeness? Please spare me the public figure argument. I’m a bug!

You’ll be receiving a letter from my attorney.

    Sincerely,

    A. Cicada, Esq.

Just One Thing

During a residency at Charlotte’s Village at Commonwealth, muralist and fine artist Liz Haywood decided it was time to try “something totally different, something to inspire me to branch out of my comfort zone.” Her focus up until then had been on the “many different faces” of diversity, she says. And that something different? Space exploration. The twist? A series she’s calling “Alien Worlds”: “By using a palette of warm pinks, purples and sunset hues, I bring an updated feel to a subject often seen through a masculine lens.” No surprise. Haywood is constantly doing her own dive into the unknown through film and literature. “I’ve basically read every science fiction novel available,” she notes with a laugh. Her canvas offers her a way to imagine the world beyond and bring it back to this planet through a feminist lens. Just as space is full of unanswered questions, Long Walk Home, seen here, is also open to interpretation, she says. “She’s walking into the distance. You don’t know — is she walking back to her ship? Or is she leaving and going somewhere else?” Haywood encourages her viewers to use their own imaginations. This painting is part of her second iteration of “Alien Worlds,” on display at GreenHill Center for NC Art’s “LEAP: Artists Imagine Outer Space” exhibition. “Space is the next frontier,” she muses. “I hope we venture out with open hearts and curious minds.” And does she hope to explore space one day? “I need to be around people ,” she says. “If my dog and my boyfriend and other people could go, then yes!” Info: lizhaywood.com

Sazerac May 2024

Sazerac May 2024

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Letters

To Cassie Bustamante in response to her March 2024 feature, “Greensboro: A Cultural Herstory”

My name is Mary Walton, and I am one of Mary Nicholson’s nieces. Thank you so much for recognizing her as one of the eight amazing women you profiled in your article. And what great company she is in.

I thought you would find it interesting that my sister, Lauren, and her daughter, Anna, have both followed in Mary’s footsteps as pilots. She certainly paved the way for them as well as many others.

Mary taught my father — her brother, Frank Nicholson — how to fly, and he became one of the first pilots at Piedmont Airlines and later Chief Pilot. My brother, Tom, is also a pilot and is a captain at Hawaiian Airlines. Lauren’s youngest daughter, Ashley (in college now), is also interested in flying.

Lots of pilots in the family!! Ironically, I am not, even though I am the one named after my aunt. 

Anyway, I just wanted to reach out to say thank you on behalf of our whole family!

 

 

A remembrance by Phillip Jones spurred by Stephen E. Smith’s March 2024 “Omnivorous Reader” honoring the late Fred Chappell:

Our classroom was in McIver Building, on the ground floor. One class early in the semester, Fred called on a female student and asked her what she thought of the stories assigned for that day. She was quiet, hemmed and hawed a bit, then admitted that she had not, in fact, read the two stories assigned as homework. Fred’s face tightened a bit, then he looked at her and said, “Then take the time now and read the stories.” The class was immediately quiet — nothing like this had ever happened in our collective school experiences. 

Fred walked over to the window, opened it, pulled up a chair, and smoked several cigarettes very slowly. Time stood still, only the smoke drifting from his cigarettes showed that we were not frozen in place. No one shifted in their seats or made a sound. After giving her enough time, he looked at her and asked if she had finished the story. She nodded and Fred asked her what she thought. When class ended, every student left that room with a different appreciation of Fred, his class and education in general.

Students generally did their homework after that and contributed to class discussions. One day, perhaps a month later, Fred asked three or four students about the homework with no response, then he looked around. Most students stared down at their desk and at their books, afraid to look directly into his eyes. Disgusted, Fred turned, walked to the door, and threw his books violently into the trashcan, then walked out and away. Silence reigned. Was he standing outside the door waiting for a brave soul to sneak away before the bell ended the class? No one moved, no one left the room, and no one spoke. When the bell finally did ring, we filed out silently and left McIver Building as quickly as possible. Fred had put the fear of God, or the Fear of Fred and his disapproval, into our very souls.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Ut elit tellus, luctus nec ullamcorper mattis, pulvinar dapibus leo.

A Gold Star for Jamestown

Wrenn Miller Park in Jamestown offers plenty of opportunity for rest, relaxation and community with its picnic tables and sloped grass lawn, which provides plenty of seating for its amphitheater. But the park also offers a moment of remembrance. At its northern end, a Veterans Memorial features benches, dedicated bricks, trees, an evolving maze garden and a brick wall with the names of Jamestown residents who served in World War II. Thanks to Cedarwood Garden Club member Sharla Gardner, a Gold Star Families By-Way Memorial marker, which honors those who have fallen and offers hope and healing to families, is to be installed on May 25. This bronze marker, featuring a granite base donated by Hanes Lineberry, is the only one in Guilford County. Currently, there are four in the state of North Carolina, with three more being added this year. And across the entire United States? A total of 181. This Memorial Day weekend, head to Wrenn Miller park to salute the Gold Star Families By-Way Memorial and pay homage to those who have laid down their lives in service.

Calling All O.Henry Essayists

This year, we’re moving our annual O.Henry Essay Contest to earlier in the year so that you have all summer to meditate on it while you mow your lawn, swim your strokes or swat away the skeeters. The theme this time? “Furry, Feathered and Ferocious.” That’s right, we’re all ears for your animal tails — oops, tales — and we’ll be accepting entries May 1–Sept. 30, 2024. Got a wild hare? Submit a story about it! From beloved pets to snake encounters, we want to get our paws on your story.

Of course, there are some rules:

Submit no more than 1,000 words in a digital format — Word or Pages document, a PDF, pasted into an email, or tattooed on your body and sent via photographs. Essays over 1,000 will not be considered. After all, as Shakespeare wrote, “Brevity is the soul of wit.” (Why were your plays so long, Willy???)

One submission per person. Email entries to cassie@ohenrymag.com.

Deadline to enter is September 30, 2024.

Winners will be contacted via email and will be printed in a 2025 issue.

We can’t wait to hear the clickety-clack of keyboards across the Triad as you type your stories — stories that are sure to make us laugh, cry or rush to the animal shelters to bring home even more rescues. What’s one more at this point?

  — Cassie Bustamante, editor

Sage Gardener

In 1971, my wife, Anne, and I got turned on, tuned in and then dropped out of UNC grad school to become full-time hippie farmers in Pfafftown. We raised chickens, ducks and rabbits, grew our own produce and, equipped with Euell Gibbon’s Stalking the Wild Asparagus, foraged the fields and forests for tasty edibles. We made wild strawberry jam, Carolina cherry wine and ate lots of blackberry cobbler. We enthusiastically gathered chickweed, dandelions and violets to spice up our salads. Though I admit, a lot of things we ate just once.

The other day, I came across a copy of the recently published and marvelous Edible Wild Plants of the Carolinas: A Forager’s Companion by botanists Lytton John Musselman and Peter W. Schafran. Suddenly my enthusiasm for eating what comes natural was revived. Lavishly illustrated, it provides very sensible guidelines for what to eat, what not to eat and what’s best left in the field with the mice. Here are some of the choice tidbits I picked up from it.

A vital caveat, however: Please do not eat wild plants before consulting their book or some other reliable guide. There are look-alikes. Some plants have delicious edible fruits but deadly leaves and stems (and vice versa). And there are allergy concerns.

So . . . did you know?

All wild violets are edible, though, as the authors concede, “The taste of most species is underwhelming.” However, “field pansies are pleasantly flavored and make a good — and unique — snack.” And how about Johnny-jump-ups in your next Hoppin’ John?

Wild violet plants and flowers can easily be candied, sugared rather than shrinking.

Lamb’s quarter “is one of the tastiest of wild greens.” Raw or cooked, they hint of umami and were favored by Native Americans. Don’t like ‘em? Spit them out and use as a poultice for minor abrasions.

The taste of Pokeweed “is unremarkable — not surprising since it has to be boiled into submission to be eaten.” The berries make good ink and a mediocre poison.

Orange daylilies, both tubers and buds, are edible. “Fresh buds are tasty with an appealing crunch.” The flavor is mild with, again, a hint of umami, which translates to a pleasant savory taste.

Silver maple seeds, aka whirligigs, are edible raw. And, sautéed in olive oil, they  have a peanut flavor.

Field garlic is four times stronger than store-bought bulbs.

The pink flowers of the eastern redbud “have a sweet flavor . . . and make an interesting topping for ice cream.”

Elderberry flower heads, when soaked an hour or two in water, make a tasty beverage. The bees aren’t the only ones buzzing over these blooms. You can also make an alcoholic drink from the flowers.

Not only are American beech nuts tasty, you can munch on the foliage.

Chickweed, quite edible, has a bitter and soap-like taste. What’s not to like, say our chickens.

Green amaranth is “one of the tastiest of greens.” Best when cooked.

You can eat the tender young shoots of greenbriar, aka blaspheme vine, though the authors caution that the shoots from one plant may taste pleasantly like asparagus while the shoots of the plant right next to it may be too bitter to eat.

Stinging nettles taste like chard.

The young, tender rosettes of dock leaves are “pleasantly sour and lemony.” Don’t eat a lot of them, though, they say. And don’t bother with the roots.

Glassworts at the beach are tasty and are called “haricots de mer” in France. You can buy them bottled in Spain and they’re delicious.

Mulberry leaves are edible but taste “mediocre.”

Devil’s walking stick is a “tasty vegetable.”

Finally — and again — don’t go rushing out there, gobbling down fruits, leaves and stems without properly identifying the plant. O.Henry doesn’t want to lose a single reader.
          — David Claude Bailey

Unsolicited Advice

The season of brunches, baby sprinkles and bridal showers is upon us! You know the rule: Never show up empty handed. Instead of the tried-and-true, aka tired-and-trite, bring your party-thrower one of these alternatives to the classic hostess gifts.

A bottle of wine says “I’m a classy guest,” but a six-pack of unfiltered, craft beer? That says, “I’m chill and easy and will likely stay to help clean up after the party. In fact, you might have trouble getting rid of me.”

Elegant serverware? That only lets your host know you enjoy being served and it damned well better be fancy. Instead, give ’em a massage. Well, not literally — awkward! A gift card to a spa shows that you want your host to have a turn at being served.

Upscale and hard-to-find seasonings might leave your host feeling salty. Sprinkle ’em with a dash of home delivery meals: DoorDash gift cards, so they don’t have to think about cooking again just yet.

Flowers die. But lego bouquets are forever. Plus, putting together their plastic posy will be a great distraction from cleaning up after the party.

Candles are cozy, but what they really need once the last guest (that idiot who brought the six-pack!) leaves is an air purifier. A scented candle masks the lingering B.O., but an air purifier cleans the air. What is that smell? *Sniffs* . . . aaah, nothing.

Just One Thing

(Minor White Photographer by Imogen Cunningham)

Much of renowned American photographer Imogen Cunningham’s 93 years on Earth were spent behind the viewfinder of a camera. Her father, Isaac Burns Cunningham, though not enthusiastic about her going into the arts, supported her education in both academic and creative fields from a young age. When she showed a developing fascination with photography, he built her a dark room in a woodshed on the family’s Seattle property. However, at the time, photography was not a subject one could major in, so she graduated from the University of Washington with a degree in chemistry. Her thesis? “Modern Processes of Photography.” She is credited as the first woman to photograph a nude man, but it was her 1931 image of dancer Martha Graham that caught the eye of Vanity Fair editor Frank Crowninshield and launched her career in portraiture. In this black-and-white 1963 shot of fellow photographer Minor White, we see a stark contrast between the dark background and the light bouncing off of his white hair and shirt. Shadows accentuate the lines on his face. “She likes to photograph anything that can be exposed to light, I remembered her saying,” White said of sitting for this photo. “Only then did I realize that it was her own light — whether she admitted it or even knew it.” Shortly after this photo was taken, White devoted an entire issue of aperture magazine to Cunningham. Strangely enough, both White and Cunningham died within hours of each other. An exhibit entitled Seen & Unseen: Photographs by Imogen Cunningham is currently on display at Reynolda House Museum of American Art and can be seen through June 2.

Got plans? Book Bound

If you’re not into books, jump to the next page or maybe another pub, but we can’t wait for the authors we dream about meeting, panels that stun our views of the world and all the people we meet at this year’s Greensboro Bound Literary Festival, May 16–19 in downtown Greensboro. Like previous festivals, this year’s lineup brings to our not-so-humble literary scene over 60 writers from across the country. The opening keynote event with best-selling author James McBride (Heaven & Earth Grocery Store, The Color of Water, Deacon King Kong) will get things going on Thursday, May 16, at UNCG, thanks to the generous contribution of the University Libraries (registration required: greensborobound.com/event/james-mcbride/).

Other highlights include our favorite NPR Weekend Edition Sunday host Ayesha Rascoe — in person! — with her book HBCU Made; a special event around an essay collection on video games called Critical Hits, featuring writers Carmen Maria Machado (In the Dream House), Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah (Chain Gang All-Stars), J. Robert Lennon (Hard Girls) and Ander Monson (Predator: A Memoir, a Movie, an Obsession). Again, thanks UNCG.

Naturally, conversations will swirl around immigration, climate change, mean girls, diaspora and disappearing, apples, and romantic entanglement as poets, essayists and fiction writers argue about the issues of the day. Family friendly? Greensboro Bound also brings back a robust collection of children’s and young adult authors on Saturday, May 18, to coincide with the various adult events at the Greensboro Cultural Center and Greensboro History Museum.

All of this is a prelude to Sunday, May 19, with a special celebration of author Randall Kenan as the closing event of Greensboro Public Library’s “One City One Book” season. Kenan, who died in 2020, was a North Carolina literary legend and the editor of Carolina Table — the library’s choice for the city-wide read in 2023—24. If you’re a serious foodie, you won’t want to miss the panel discussion (AND FOOD!!!) at The Historic Magnolia House with his friends and colleagues Marianne Gingher, Daniel Wallace, Gabriel Calvocoressi and North Carolina Poet Laureate Jaki Shelton Green. As always, all programming is free. The question is are you?