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Posts Tagged ‘african americans’

Speaking Southern 101: Acquiring Conversational Skills, Lesson No. 3

Posted in Speaking Southern 101, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 18, 2012 | 25 Comments »

Good day to you, folks. I’m downright excited over today’s lesson. As we’re in an upside down economy, I know you wanna save whatever dollars you can for essential needs and I aim to help you do just that. By reading the brief dialog below, you may be able to discern what you’ll be saving them dollars on too. Ready? Here we go:

Janey: Iont spect we’ll be seeing Pa at the hise none today.

Rick: Why in tarnation you reckon that?

Janey: (Folds her arms and shifts weight to one leg) Smelt him like a burning far at the bar last night. He’s all lickered up, is why.

——————————————————————————————————

Quick Breakdown:

Iont = I don’t (long ‘o’ sound)

hise = house (like house, the ‘e’ is silent in hise)

tarnation = the hell, the fuck, the devil

spect = expect

reckon = suspect, assume

smelt = smelled

far = fire

lickered up = drunk as hell, drunk as shit

Can you good folk guess what recipe you’ll be given today? Yep. Good ole Moonshine.

Now, I’m gonna tell y’all that I tasted some of this Moonshine as a girl. I did. My grandmother, as I can recall, kept it in a plastic milk jug and it was made at the hise. Somebody had to be letting me sip on theirs and I’m telling you, that’s some potent stuff! Some African American folk, back in the day, sold it illegally to support their families but I don’t recall no such exchanges taking place back then at our place. Probably would’ve been a good idea, being that there were nine children my Grandmama had. Well, there was one other child she had that didn’t make it past a few days old, so that made nine of them to be raised to grown folk.

For the longest time, I thought it was Pot Licker in that jug but that’s the juice in collard greens. I had it all mixed up, didn’t I? Anyhow, since we’re the Peach State, I’m gonna give y’all this recipe with peaches. Should you churn up some of this Moonshine, let me know how you make out with it. And oh, here is your flashcard for Lesson 3. Cheers, folks.

Google Image

WATERMELON-PEACH MOONSHINE BRANDY for five gallons

1 1/4 large watermelon
10 peaches
1 1/4 cup chopped golden raisins
15 limes (juice only)
25 cups sugar
water to make 5 gallon
wine or distillers yeast

Extract the juice from watermelon and peaches, saving pulp. Boil pulp in five quarts of water for 1/2 hour then strain and add water to extracted juice. Allow to cool to lukewarm then add water to make five gallons total and all other ingredients except yeast to primary fermentation vessel. Cover well with cloth and add yeast after 24 hours. Stir daily for 1 week and strain off raisins. Fit fermentation trap, and set aside for 4 weeks.

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Folks, He Was Carrying a Cookbook

Posted in Introducing Totsy, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 22, 2012 | 49 Comments »

Apologies. I had to interrupt Beatrice’s post to say something very important. To me.

Mr. Boy, my son, is a chef. He went to school for it. In less than two months, he’ll leave for the military. He scored exceedingly high on his military test. While I was in Taiwan, he made this decision. Though, before I left for Taiwan and he came back to live at home, he worked in Athens, GA at UGA. It’s a small but big college town. He had himself an apartment and roommates to make life easier. He and his roommates, who were all white, got along real fine and I liked them.  In my eyes, they were all young men trying to make it in the world.

Mr. Boy’s a hardworking fella and has a knack for things mechanical and technology. He’s a news buff and likes to debate shit. He probably knows more about what’s happening in the world than I do. He’s a handsome fella, too. I have to say, me and his daddy made us some good-looking and smart younguns. This son of mine is just an all-around kinda guy ’cause well, he’s mine and his daddy’s child. We’re just kinda all-around folk ourselves. Though, I, folks, have a keen eye for shit and will call shit what it is and ain’t shy about telling you how bad it stank. But I, like other folk like myself, get so tired. You know, we get weary of the shit.

So, when my son totaled his second car, he had to learn some life lessons. He walked one half hour to the bus stop to work five days a week to get to that job. Did it for some months too. Got so, he started enjoying his walks. They gave him time to think and get healthy. He was breathing better. On some of those walks, we’d be talking on the phone. Before he moved to Athens, I told him that was no place for a young black man; the town was too small. And it was.

How many times he was stopped for walking to work by the police, I can’t even tell you, folks. Carrying a pen, ID and a cookbook in his backpack and bits of papers, like receipts and shit. He’d just hand it over to them. Receipts and crumbs in the bottom of the bag and all. Imagine my level of pissivity and worry when he’s stopped for the umpteenth time as I’m talking to him one morning. If you can imagine at all, folks. Umph, umph, umph…This is what happens to the Trayvon Martins in the world, folks. Real life shit, okay?

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