So I tend to stick close to the ol’ Ponderosa-on-the-San-Bernard these days. Aside from the kids, and Harriet’s friends, I can count the number of visitors I’ve had here on Three Finger Brown’s hand, and two of those were tradesmen. I don’t eat out inside, anywhere, ever, and venture in rooms only when necessary: for work, on occasion, and when I gave that talk up in Richmond a week or so back. (I made a commitment, and I trusted my host, Jay Roussel, to run a tight ship, and that was the case. It was a large room and sparsely attended and those who came out covered their faces.)
That is, aside from shopping for necessities. Where I live, grocery delivery is nonexistent, and if you want to go curbside, you have to be prepared to dedicate an hour or two to planning your meals and shopping and then driving an hour or two each week to and from the nearest HEBs — 25 miles west to Bay City, or 22 miles east to Lake Jackson.
To be honest, while I did take deliveries back in Houston, I’ve not really tried to go the curbside route yet, but I do believe it would frustrate me, as I am the type of shopper who needs to see things to be reminded of my need for them. (And even then I invariably forget things, even with a list. I would say “what I drag it is getting old,” but I’ve always been like this. I think. I can’t remember.) And if I forgot something in my delivery list back in H-Town, it was a snap to run back to the store grab it and go, in a huge store full of mask-wearing patrons.
Which is the opposite of where I am now. My nearest HEB is 7 miles up the road in W. Columbia. It’s pretty much what used to be known as one of their “Pantry” stores; it’s about half the size of a normal HEB, less than that of an HEB Plus. (It has no deli, no seafood counter, no pre-made salads or store-made pop-in-the-microwave meals, etc.) And it’s pretty much the only option: The W. Columbia Wal-Mart’s grocery selection is about the same as that of a dollar store — pretty much all frozen and refined foods. And then there is the two-store Stewart’s chain, with stores in Sweeny and Brazoria. Less selection and quality than HEB at 125 percent the price. Quaint as they are — they are time-warps to 1979 — no thanks.
Anyway, it’s a trade-off. I love life down here and I knew I’d be giving up easy access to some of the finer things in life.
But here is what I just don’t get. The pandemic is now worse than ever. Everybody knows this. It’s all over the news. I read the local paper — it’s on the front page every single day. Brazoria County keeps setting new record highs. We all hear about these ever more contagious variants everywhere we go. Anecdotally, more and more people in my extended circle are laid low, and I am sure I am not the only one experiencing this.
And even with all that, on my trip to HEB this evening, I would guess only about one-third of the patrons were wearing masks. It just flat out blew my mind. The deeper we get into this, the more dire it becomes, the fewer people want to take even the most basic steps to ensure their own safety and mine.
Is it because Biden is in office? Is it a raised middle finger to the pinko commie now in the White House? Is going maskless a new patriotic signifier to the Trump set? (Actually, I guess it’s been that way all along…) Or is it simple pandemic fatigue? Or maybe it is fatalism? Just a case of “Lord take me now if I’ve gotta go; I am sick of wearing a mask to the store…”?
And if they are unwilling to do even that, what else are they getting up to?
Eh, just some idle thoughts on a night I am having trouble finding things to write about.
On a happier more life-affirming note, My HEB mission was definitely not for naught; I brewed up a pot of Paul Prudhomme’s red beans and rice that will see me through to Thursday, most likely, with more to spare. I hope to make this a Monday tradition, as it has been in New Orleans for more than a century:
In the 19th century, Monday typically was laundry day. Without a washing machine, the lady of the house tended to every article of clothing by hand. That didn’t leave much time for cooking, so dinner had to be something that required little attention. Enter the red kidney bean, brought to South Louisiana by those fleeing Haiti’s slave rebellion.
After soaking the night before, the beans were set on the stove with the “trinity,” the quintessential Cajun cooking base of onions, bell peppers and celery. It also was traditional to throw in the Sunday dinner’s ham bone for flavor. That’s now often replaced with sausage to complete a comfort food familiar to all South Louisiana dinner tables.
Serve your red beans over white rice and offer hot sauce so guests can make it as spicy as they’d like.
Well whattaya know? It was laundry day here too. I had no idea how authentic I was being…Anyway…
DON’T USE THAT RECIPE! NO OLIVE OIL!!! I MEAN, FO’ REAL.
Note: I totally cheated on all the celery / bell peps / onion chopping. Because A) I hate it; and more importantly, B) I am terrible at it, I have not a single qualm.
Fortunately, while my little HEB has its limitations (including a death wish clientele), an absence of two-cup tubs of fresh-chopped Trinity (pre-herbed, Creole-style no less) is usually not one of them. You just buy three of those and tump them all in ten cups of the water from your pre-soaked beans (it should be a lovely purplish brown color; take care the night before to soak them in about a gallon of water), all of the the seasonings, and your big ol’ ham hocks and boil it all down.
Your kitchen will smell like heaven almost immediately. After that you take out the hocks and add the beans, and boil some more, and then you add the sausage and get after it again for another half hour or so. (If you can’t find andouille sausage, a nice Texas Czech garlic sausage will do.) Then you plop the hocks back in and cook for ten more minutes and, as the Brits say, Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt. (Oh yeah, make sure you have some rice prepared. Green onions optional.)
If towards the end of the cooking your beans aren’t creamy enough, take some out and pulverize in a blender and put them back in. That is, if you have one. I do not, so I smashed some with a potato masher and that got it pretty close to the creaminess I wanted. Not quite there yet, but someday….
Come to think of it, I should have broken in my pumice mortar-and-pestle molcajete tonight, and would have, if only I’d remembered I’d ordered one a couple of months ago on an impulse online buy.
Oh well, there will always be another Monday.
Here’s a pic:
I grew up in small towns. and sometimes think it might be nice to move back to one. This reminds me why I probably don't want to do that. I enjoy my Costco 15 minutes away and everybody masked up.
We'll check bean recipe our, have become gig RB'n'R fans up here in Nashdog! As for masks, goggles the mind that people StILL don't get it or have swallowed so much misinformatkion from Trup that they have totally lost their senses. We're a red state here and our Governor STILL has not enacted a mask mandate. But, our major cities: Nashdog, Memphis, Chattanooga and Knosville have local mandates and even before that retailers took matters in t heir own hands and rqquired masks for admittance. I would raise hell with H.E.B store managers, write letter to local paper etc. Costco has had this in place for many months. I have begn wearing two masks, would use a shield also but if gogs up glasses worse than masks.