Back then: Doctor My Eyes. Now: Doctor Everything.

The exact chain of thinking is already lost, but Dustin told me he was going to a concert this evening and suddenly I’m reminiscing about a random show I once attended.

Somebody on Facebook mentioned The Eagles and now I’m trying to recall my own history… wondering whether I had seen them opening for the Rolling Stones (nope, that was Stevie Wonder) – searching the internet for clues to my own past, then BAM!

There’s a memory, courtesy of David Dean and the Tulsa Poster Project.

Bonnie Raitt, opening for Jackson Browne at the Tulsa Assembly Center. How well I remember it!

bonnieRaittPoster

That’s a lie. I remember the show pretty well, and some things vividly. Other aspects that might have been important at the time – nah, not so clear. Hey. It was 1974.

I remember I was poor as a churchmouse, working as a 10-speed bicycle mechanic while attending broadcasting school. Money was so tight that I couldn’t eat on Saturday until after the weekly paychecks were handed out (after lunch). The girl behind the counter at Burger Chef (where I ate almost every day) figured out my dilemma and starting slipping a little hamburger across the counter to go with my Saturday Cola-only lunch.

It occurred to me that I could return the favors and ask her to go see the just-announced Jackson Browne/Bonnie Raitt concert (okay, so my little Chef was cute too…). Saved up. Bought tickets.

Not so clear these days whether she suddenly changed jobs or whether I was too chicken to ask her out. At any rate, I made it to the concert… probably by myself. (Did I mention that some parts of this memory weren’t as clear?)

bonnieRaittPicture

Maybe it was the fact it was a Wednesday, but even the cheap seats were great. There weren’t enough people to fill the floor area of the arena. There were some folks seated in the first section on either side of the stage, but they weren’t much closer than anyone else.

In fact, when the spotlight first hit Bonnie, she grabbed the microphone and called out – “Is this everybody?” and pointed out at us. “We ought to just clear the chairs out and rollerskate!”

We made up for our lack of numbers with enthusiasm. None of us was disappointed in the performance, and I was only slightly embarrassed when one of us in the audience shouted out “Rock and Roll!” in the middle of one of Jackson Browne’s tender ballads.

How I first heard of Bonnie Raitt also escapes me these days, but I believe I was as anxious to hear her perform as I was the better-known Jackson Browne.

I know it was my ol’ buddy Mike that drove us down to the Rolling Stones concert in Texas, where we were surprised to learn that Stevie Wonder was opening the show. And it was Mike who occasionally lent me his glasses during the show so I could see the stage from the nosebleed seats we were in.

So, Mike, if it was you sitting with me in the Browne/Raitt audience, it wasn’t so much forgettable – just Burger Chef Girl: Plan B.

Just like Grandma used to make it…

Believe me. The art of cooking has changed, and not just the microwaves, blenders, and Ginsu knives. Today’s recipes are tested in laboratory-type test kitchens, ingredients change, and there is a focus on food safety that wasn’t so up-front in the old days.

Then, there are some prep stages that we skip, these days.

1902cookbook

From the Harper’s Cook Book Encyclopaedia (1902) and the section on Poultry:

Fowls to be tender should be killed two days before they are cooked. When plucked, singed, and drawn, rub clean outside, and wipe inside with a wet cloth.

I’m betting my grandmother would know the steps to pluck, singe, and draw a chicken. Don’t know if those skills were passed on. To be honest, I would have no clue as to whether a plucked chicken had been singed or drawn.

Porridge? Not just in nursery rhymes – but might as well be. The recipe has enough mystery that I wouldn’t want to tackle it, things like “a half a pint of whole groats.” Even the spell-checker got nervous at that word, displaying its wavy red line. Don’t know groats, but they are boiled for two or three hours with water added “if too thick.”

Our infatuation with bacon isn’t a new thing, but a hundred years ago there was a third cooking method besides frying or baking. After covering the slices with cold water, the bacon was brought to a boil, “removing all scum as it arises,” and simmering until thoroughly done. (An hour and a half for two pounds.)

I imagine some of these recipes were traditional family favorites handed down from the 1800’s or earlier, with basic spices found in most kitchens. The dishes themselves are almost exotic in themselves. Entries for Beef Tongue (4 versions, including “smoked, a la Marigold). Sheep’s Liver, Fried. Scotch Haggis. (I’ve seen this one at the Scottish Festival, but admit to not having tasted it. Seeing the recipe just now reaffirms my decision to pass on that vendor’s offerings.)

And here is “Beef Stew, Irish.” Not accomplished in quite the same fashion as our own recipe, but I’m sure the result was quite tasty when our cars were basically carriages without the horses with the addition of a loud, pockity-pock engine. (That’s a 1902 Oldsmobile in the picture, the same year the cookbook was published. That year, most folks would walk or travel on horseback, a fact of life that remained until well into the next decade.)

1902olds

Here’s some advice from back when that car was just introduced: “When the blue smoke arises from the fat, a small piece of stale bread should be dropped into the kettle. If the bread is browned in one minute, the fat is ready for frying breaded chops, croquettes, fritters…” Not sure those instructions are as sound today as back then. I was taught that when smoke “arises from the fat,” the next stage is flames, as in – grease fire!”

Stuck into the pages of this old cookbook is a newspaper clipping with three recipes. Turning over the old, yellowed paper revealed a column of classified ads, and after completing a little investigation, I’d wager this paper came from Spokane, Washington at about the same time the book was published. (By 1909, Ed McCaffrey was teaching plumbing, but was still listed in his advertisement as being on Riverside avenue, with the same telephone exchange.)

The last ad on the page? The BOOK NOOK HAS A BIG LIVE live line of popular fiction, etc. We buy, sell, exchange.

Some things don’t change.

Come in for books or lunch, or books about preparing lunch!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

Faith ‘n Begorrah! Another in the Books!

A Happy St. Paddy’s Day to one and all! (and a bit of a sighing on our part that we have gotten through it…) Corned Beef, Shepherd’s Pie, the occasional beer – green or otherwise.

We’ve had the experience of a few years to build on, but there is that old saw about the “best laid plans.” Today there were more crocks of food in the kitchen than last year when we ran out early. Better prepared this go ’round – but then, this year more people arrived at our door at lunchtime and once again we sold out.

Better to sell out than throw out, is my way o’ thinking.

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A special thanks for the kind restaurant review by Mr Scott Cherry of the Tulsa World – published on Wednesday – which was responsible for a number of our St. Paddy’s Day patrons. (Thanks also to our regulars, including a few who only visit for the annual wearin’ o’ the green.)

I’ve described St. Patrick’s Day as an event similar to surfing a big Oahu wave, leaning in to the point of wiping out, but managing to ride it to completion. We were at that point today for a few moments, when it seemed like we might be thrown head-first from the board – but then wound up gliding in safely onto the sandy beach.

Afterward, we decided that it could not have been possible if Kathy Hoefling Williams had not been managing the cash register, refilling drinks, and clearing the vacated tables. She had already left us by the time we acknowledged the fact, so this will have to serve as a heartfelt Thank-You Kathy! until next time we see each other.

I have no false pride in thinking I could have run the floor by myself today… if Alicia Davis had not put on the shamrock shirt and the apron and came to our aid, our lunchtime party could have been a wipeout of highlight reel proportions. Hugs of appreciation to both ladies for the ready smiles amidst the hard work.

Since the plan was to prepare enough food to serve an estimated number of diners at lunchtime, and since we met the estimate (even if our guess turned out to be a bit of an under-estimate) – the day must be considered a success. That achievement is due to the hard work, long hours, and sleepless nights of Dustin Hoefling, whose St. Paddy’s Day fare was on a par with any green-beer-presenting establishment in the entire US.

Sometimes we forget that those plates of food start out as planning and purchasing, followed by a heap o’ cutting and cooking. Dustin was in the kitchen well into the evening several times this week, and dragged himself out of bed before 5 am Friday to make sure everything was in order.

All I had to do is trot from table to table and claim complete credit (just kidding there, Dustin…).

As I type this, the other Irish-themed spots are gearing up for the second wave, that hectic white-water ride that is St. Paddy’s Day partying on a Friday night. Someone asked if I planned to have an Irish evening, and I thought of Kilkenny’s, McNellie’s, and Arnie’s and their annual Tulsa traditions. Thought about my old roommate Kenny Wagoner from Paddy’s Irish days, who has revived the brand and reopened under that name at 101st and South Mingo, and who will be having a particularly long night of it.

Then, I thought about my own long day, my tired feet, and the bed. St. Paddy’s Day will be back again soon enough.

Tonight, the bed gets my vote.

Thanks to all who came by for our modest party, (particularly those of you who had to wait for an available table), and may the Luck o’ the Irish be with all of you until next year!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow, OK!