One Hundred Things My Mother Taught Me A Million Times - Chapter 92

#92 -  “Save bacon fat.  It adds a lot more flavor to food than anything you get at the store.”

Pictured left is our beautiful daughter Normandy JoLene Moore, with her and husband James' handsome and very sweet son, William James (Will).

There are plenty of studies out there confirming that bacon is good for you. Like from Pig Growers United, The American Bacon Coalition and the National Association of Nitrate Producers, but the only source I really trust is mom. Her theory, based upon 99 years of continuous testing, is that bacon fat, when applied in moderation, will not kill you. Or at least not until you’re 99 anyway!

We always had a large de-labeled and cleaned Del Monte peach can sitting on the stove into which mom drained bacon grease. This accomplished several things. One, it took some of the fat off, and two, it provided a tasty and inexpensive source of oil (grease) with which mom could flavor, fry, sauté, brown and fricassee other food items. Never mind that these two cancel each other out. I remember her dropping teaspoon-sized dollops of bacon grease into her pots of beans, and her potatoes and onions, fried up in a very small amount of bacon grease, were to die for!

I’m not sure why I measured wealth by the number of kitchen utensils in a home when I was a kid, but I remember staring starry-eyed in the hardware store at the audaciously named “Grease” container (pictured). You know, the one that had the strainer that kept the little meat pieces out of the golden liquid that strained into the bottom. I yearned for one of those for years, and after we finally acquired one, watched for signs of jealousy in my friends. I remember thinking that people who had bottles of that beautiful, yellow, grocery store purchased oil must be just ridiculously rich.

I don’t remember having butter. It was always Blue Bonnet Margarine, which we called “butter.” It was wrapped in luxurious foil and kept in the refrigerator, solid as a brick, doled out like gold in tiny slivers! Mom didn’t cook with it. It was too precious for that. She could stretch a stick of “butter” like nobody’s business.  

I think I would feel embarrassingly un-PC to have one of these little grease canisters in my kitchen today, but on the other hand, I rarely let bacon grease go to waste – even if it means just pouring a little over the dogs food – feeling extremely guilty at that.

Mom always impressed upon me that it isn’t what we do that gets us into trouble, it’s how much. So she was right, save your bacon fat (just a little) to add favor to your food.

Not far from Dryden: A Collection of Columns by Charlena Chandler

In the heat of national elections, we seem divided into the right/the wrong, the good/the bad, the Republicans/the Democrats. But in reality, our political dispositions are such a tiny part of who we are, and we all have some undeniable things in common.

This issue came to mind as I put fingers to keys in my review of Charlena Chandler’s book Not far from Dryden: A Collection of Columns. As the title suggests, the book is a collection of columns written by Chandler (pictured) for the Odessa American, a newspaper that serves a vast area of West Texas with an unflinching grip on rugged individualism, anti-government, unpretentiousness, God and Country.

Poking a little fun at religion and other sacrosanct values, Chandler, not unlike Mark Twain or Will Rogers, performs a risky and entertaining ballet. But it is the topics to which we can all relate that I found especially endearing in Not far from Dryden – childhood memories, pride, fortitude, dogs, relatives, etc.  Although the author memorializes a lot about her country upbringing, you don’t have to have a history of ranching, horses, skunks or cabrito to relate to and appreciate writing like this:

The Pecos may not be much of a river, as rivers go, but it’s my river.

Sometimes I like to sit on its banks and remember things. I remember when it was cleaner and wider and deeper, but perhaps those are a child’s thoughts and I only pretend.

I remember swimming in clear pools beneath jagged bluffs, remnants of other geologic ages and massive floods eons ago.

I remember accompanying my father as he ran his trotlines and pulled wiggling catfish from the dark water and I thought childhood would never end.

I remember the river in cold winter dawn’s half light with a long ribbon of fog stretched over its flow, sparkling in the light of the rising sun.

I remember lying on a cot under the welcome branches of a sycamore shade tree during eternal summer afternoons, oblivious to the irony of reading “West of the Pecos” while the real thing lay just a little further than a good stones throw away.

I remember the smell of the river, the taste of the river, the feel of the river.

In fact, the scope of topics in the book reflect Chandler’s diverse history - working with the CIA, living in Peru, meeting James Dean during the filming of “Giant,” making Frito pies in a high school football concession stand. If you like writers whose words bring to life pleasurable memories long forgotten, or if you just love to read, you will enjoy Not far from Dryden: A Collection of Columns. 

Defending Jacob by William Landay

Defending Jacob was not the worst book I’ve ever read. This obviously isn’t a ringing endorsement, but I’m glad I read it because unlike most books it had a really unexpected, juicy and perfect ending!

Here’s the story line. Andy Barber, Assistant District Attorney of a non-descript community, tells the story of the stabbing death of a teen. A fingerprint is found on the dead teen. Schoolmates of the dead kid are questioned. Rumors spread on Facebook. All the evidence points to Andy’s son Jacob. Jacob is arrested. Barber is certain that, although there is a history of violence in his family, Jacob absolutely did not commit the murder. Jacob’s mother Laurie isn’t sure and (of course) blames herself.

The mystery in Defending Jacob is pretty well developed because you are never entirely sure whether Jacob is guilty or not. Landay (pictured below) played that part out quite well, and the story moves along at an acceptable pace. You won’t however read any passages that make your heart soar, or tear it out either.

One of the themes that I would have loved to see better developed was that perhaps Jacob had inherited a “murder gene.” Is there such a thing? Are there examples, any scientific evidence or studies? Something more to make that very fertile issue more believable would have been a welcome touch.

Also, Jacob just seemed lifeless. If he’d been a really nice guy, we would have had more reason to believe he was innocent. Or if he’d been a really malevolent character, we would have had more reason to believe he was guilty. Either way would have created some badly needed tension.  I cared less about non-descript Jacob than I did about his mother who was deliciously falling apart at the seams.

Defending Jacob is not a stunner, but is entertaining and worth the effort. Oh, and by the way, many of the reviews I read said that they hated the ending. So to each her own!