Elizabeth Edwards, I hope you are feeling well. I am happy to note it has been a year since you graciously responded to my blog about your husband's decision to continue his campaign for the presidency, and what that decision meant to him, and to you, in your marriage and your illness. A year from now, by the rules in the breast cancer world, you will be a survivor.
I liked your commentary in today's New York Times. I was outright tickled by your phrase-making. The "Cliff Notes of News" describes very nicely the coverage consumers get when the media cuts so many corners in its presidential campaign coverage, and "strobe-light journalism" is an inspired reference to news stories "in which the outlines are accurate enough but we cannot really see the whole picture."
And you were right, that "if voters want a vibrant, vigorous press, apparently we will have to demand it." Demand it of whom? You suggest "talking calmly, repeatedly, constantly in the ears of those in whom we have entrusted this enormous responsibility."
I assume you mean newsmen, editors, media professionals who make decisions about coverage. If I may, permit me to offer an example of how that works. In September, 2006, my home town paper, the San Diego Union-Tribune (where I was a newsman for 20 years), stripped across the top of its Letters page a series of letters whining about some of the U-T’s recent choices for front-page stories.
One griped about a huge front-page photo of San Diego Padres pitcher Trevor Hoffman, the morning after he broke the all-time major league record for saves. Another letter thought the front page should be reserved for international, national or statewide content. A third wondered about showing a photo of local teachers on the front page, where the news of the day should be.
Such reader annoyance with editorial decisions is an eternal, fascinating irony. The values and realities that editors use to make their decisions are there for all to see, right there in the page. But readers can't see them, because American schools don't teach students how to see them. The long-term result is a media illiteracy rate of about 90 percent among Americans, but that's another story.
Those values and realities are nothing more than categorization and measurement of the way people react to events, and those reactions began tens of thousands of years before the media came into being. In fact the media came into being simply by adopting those values and turning them into a business.
These values, with some definitions and realities became a "media code," that today is at the heart of all media news, entertainment and manipulation. In the code are 12 media values, each with a strength measured on a scale of zero to 10. Every value is present in every story in the paper, each on its strength of zero to 10.
When a media professional, in this case an editor, looks at a photo of Trevor Hoffman on the front page of The San Diego Union-Tribune the day after he sets a new Major League record, he or she sees novelty (10), proximity (10), prominence (10), and sensationalism (7 or 8). Timeliness (7) and human interest (about a 6) are there, too, but the others are the big four behind the Trevor photo.
Novelty is the news value invoked by the unusual, the rare (Snow In San Diego! Clinton jumps to GOP!). Setting a record in major league baseball, "America's pastime," is an unusual event. People still talk about Hank Aaron breaking Babe Ruth’s home run record in 1974, and they were talking again in 2007 about Barry Bonds breaking Aaron's record. Setting a record for saves hadn’t been done for decades, until Trevor Hoffman achieved it in 2006. Novelty insured that the feat was noted in newspapers all over the country, even three paragraphs in The New York Times.
The proximity value means the story happened close to you, either physically or emotionally. Hoffman pitches for the Padres, the home-town team. San Diegans are physically close to stories about the home-town team. If Hoffman pitched for far-away Cleveland, or even Los Angeles, the story would have been three paragraphs on an inside sports page.
Emotional proximity is just that: the story is close to your emotions. Winning releases strong feel-good emotions; we all want to win, and millions of Americans get a vicarious charge from watching their team win, and, in San Diego, watching Trevor Hoffman become the best relief pitcher ever.
Prominence is simple: big names make news. Trevor Hoffman is a celebrity, who achieved a novel feat, in his home town. And sensationalism, in its legitimate sense, refers to an event that is sensational. Barack Obama's March speech on race relations was sensational and will be long remembered.
Even if they knew the code, and were able to see its presence in the page, more people than not would gripe about the front-page content selection. Why? Because of demographics. Every reader, within their demographic groups of readers, from highbrow to sports fan, has his or her own list of stories they want to see, based on personal interest. It forces editors to democratize the choices: on any given day, which demographic represents the largest number of readers likely to react to this story?
On that day, it was Trevor Hoffman. The "largest number of readers," in the editor's estimation, may have been only 20 percent of all readers, inviting 80 percent to gripe. But because of another code phenomenon, dealing with the power of small numbers, the 20 percent was enough. In fact, a 20 percent response is enough to make an editor, or any media producer for that matter, weep with gratitude. Twenty percent will sell advertisers.
That's how a newsman would respond, if you talked into his or her ear calmly, repeatedly, constantly, about better coverage in this presidential campaign. The news is a business. That is the first law of media, which drives the democratization of story choices. Audience first, stories second. There's the ears you need to talk into. To change the media, change the audience. Then let them vote at the Nielsen booth.
April 27, 2008
April 19, 2008
TV politics: Audience first, issues second
The New York Times buried a lede big-time in its story about the Clinton-Obama Pennsylvania debate.
That debate was widely criticized for the way the hosting network and its moderators, Charles Gibson and George Stephanopoulos, devoted the first half of the 90-minute debate to questions of little substance, such as the importance of wearing American flag lapel pins.
Wrote The Times: "The media post-mortem — which boiled over in more than 17,600 comments posted on the ABC Web site alone — also touched on questions that had long been simmering in the protracted Democratic campaign over the role of moderators in televised debates, to say nothing of political journalists generally.
"If there was a common theme, it was that Mr. Gibson and Mr. Stephanopoulos had front-loaded the debate with questions that many viewers said they considered irrelevant when measured against the faltering economy or the Iraq war, like why Senator Barack Obama did not wear an American flag pin on his lapel. Others rapped the journalists for dwelling on matters that had been picked over for weeks, like the incendiary comments of Mr. Obama’s former pastor, or Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton’s assertion that she had to duck sniper fire in Bosnia more than a decade ago."
The Times did not resolve the question until the story's last two paragraphs. Usually, newspaper people like to get the question answered in the first paragraph, or lede, then use the rest of the story to explain the answer.
The last two paragraphs in the story: "Don Hewitt, the director and producer of the Kennedy-Nixon debate of 1960, said ABC’s structuring of the questions was an acknowledgment that a debate entails 'a big dose of show biz' and 'trying to keep an audience.'
'When you’re in television,' Mr. Hewitt said, 'that’s your job.' "
Those truths were revealed, literally, in that Kennedy-Nixon televised debate, the very first presidential television debate, in September, 1960. John F. Kennedy – talk about an elite – was savvy, or made savvy, about the power of the new medium, television, to establish an image, so he dressed the part. He rested before the event, and worked on his tan. These were preparations, he realized, as vital as answers to any issue of the day.
Nixon, meanwhile, the old-school pol – talk about stubborn – was traveling hard, making speech after speech, and he arrived in Chicago, site of the debate, looking tired, and he was tired. He looked pale and drawn. Sallow. And he had a noticeable, natural, five o-clock shadow. At the studio, his managers and the television people sought to make him look better with face make-up. Plus, he was a natural perspirer.
In the heat of the debate, and lights – mostly the lights – Nixon started to sweat, and his make-up started to run. In David Halberstam's book, "The 50's," Hewitt said JFK's manager started calling for more shots of Nixon than of his man, and Nixon's manager was insisting on more shots of JFK. Cool and collected as the opposition might appear, anything was better than close-ups of Nixon in meltdown.
It was a famous evening in politics, and in televised politics. If Hewitt and his contemporaries had not realized it already, that debate showed that they were not in the business of televising politics. They were in the business of televising, period. That means a big dose of showbiz, and trying to keep an audience. In other words, in television, the audience comes before the issues.
Years later, Russell Baker of The New York Times wrote of the Kennedy-Nixon debate: "That night, image replaced the printed word as the natural language of politics." Where, then, does a public desperate for change go, for an in-depth comparison of Clinton and Obama? Kurt Loder is an interesting person to provide that answer. Loder won his media fame as an anchor for MTV, the television product that more than any other contributed to the evolution of the short American attention span. Loder later became a contributing editor to Rolling Stone, getting back into print in obedience to his own advice. In a teaching video produced by The Annenberg Foundation, Loder says you can't rely on television for all of your information. Television just can't provide the depth, he says, and will always be "an adjunct to the printed word."
Gibson, Stephanopoulos, and the Adjunct Broadcasting Company illustrated these truths again the other night.
That debate was widely criticized for the way the hosting network and its moderators, Charles Gibson and George Stephanopoulos, devoted the first half of the 90-minute debate to questions of little substance, such as the importance of wearing American flag lapel pins.
Wrote The Times: "The media post-mortem — which boiled over in more than 17,600 comments posted on the ABC Web site alone — also touched on questions that had long been simmering in the protracted Democratic campaign over the role of moderators in televised debates, to say nothing of political journalists generally.
"If there was a common theme, it was that Mr. Gibson and Mr. Stephanopoulos had front-loaded the debate with questions that many viewers said they considered irrelevant when measured against the faltering economy or the Iraq war, like why Senator Barack Obama did not wear an American flag pin on his lapel. Others rapped the journalists for dwelling on matters that had been picked over for weeks, like the incendiary comments of Mr. Obama’s former pastor, or Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton’s assertion that she had to duck sniper fire in Bosnia more than a decade ago."
The Times did not resolve the question until the story's last two paragraphs. Usually, newspaper people like to get the question answered in the first paragraph, or lede, then use the rest of the story to explain the answer.
The last two paragraphs in the story: "Don Hewitt, the director and producer of the Kennedy-Nixon debate of 1960, said ABC’s structuring of the questions was an acknowledgment that a debate entails 'a big dose of show biz' and 'trying to keep an audience.'
'When you’re in television,' Mr. Hewitt said, 'that’s your job.' "
Those truths were revealed, literally, in that Kennedy-Nixon televised debate, the very first presidential television debate, in September, 1960. John F. Kennedy – talk about an elite – was savvy, or made savvy, about the power of the new medium, television, to establish an image, so he dressed the part. He rested before the event, and worked on his tan. These were preparations, he realized, as vital as answers to any issue of the day.
Nixon, meanwhile, the old-school pol – talk about stubborn – was traveling hard, making speech after speech, and he arrived in Chicago, site of the debate, looking tired, and he was tired. He looked pale and drawn. Sallow. And he had a noticeable, natural, five o-clock shadow. At the studio, his managers and the television people sought to make him look better with face make-up. Plus, he was a natural perspirer.
In the heat of the debate, and lights – mostly the lights – Nixon started to sweat, and his make-up started to run. In David Halberstam's book, "The 50's," Hewitt said JFK's manager started calling for more shots of Nixon than of his man, and Nixon's manager was insisting on more shots of JFK. Cool and collected as the opposition might appear, anything was better than close-ups of Nixon in meltdown.
It was a famous evening in politics, and in televised politics. If Hewitt and his contemporaries had not realized it already, that debate showed that they were not in the business of televising politics. They were in the business of televising, period. That means a big dose of showbiz, and trying to keep an audience. In other words, in television, the audience comes before the issues.
Years later, Russell Baker of The New York Times wrote of the Kennedy-Nixon debate: "That night, image replaced the printed word as the natural language of politics." Where, then, does a public desperate for change go, for an in-depth comparison of Clinton and Obama? Kurt Loder is an interesting person to provide that answer. Loder won his media fame as an anchor for MTV, the television product that more than any other contributed to the evolution of the short American attention span. Loder later became a contributing editor to Rolling Stone, getting back into print in obedience to his own advice. In a teaching video produced by The Annenberg Foundation, Loder says you can't rely on television for all of your information. Television just can't provide the depth, he says, and will always be "an adjunct to the printed word."
Gibson, Stephanopoulos, and the Adjunct Broadcasting Company illustrated these truths again the other night.
April 14, 2008
Room for a leap of faith
I have decided to support Sen. Barack Obama for president for this reason: Of the three candidates, Obama is the only one who gives the citizens of this country room to take a leap of faith.
Sen. Hillary Clinton and Sen. John McCain are running campaigns for the single purpose of getting elected. I believe that, once elected, whatever I might have liked about the campaign picture they may have painted for America in 2009-12 will disappear like runoff after a heavy rain, and there will remain the status quo. The people can count on that. It is a conviction I cannot shake.
I have no such conviction about Barack Obama. His talk is mostly to the people, and not to the other candidates. His famous race relations speech, after the other candidates attacked his relationship to his controversial minister, transcended not only the candidates’ attacks, but the candidates, the campaign, and politics itself. In that 45 minutes, Obama laid before a national audience a simple depth of thought and understanding that is not obtainable by Clinton or McCain.
Last week Obama was talking to people again, wealthy voters at a fundraiser in San Francisco, who asked him for some background on Pennsylvania voters in advance of that state’s April 22 primary. He said, “You go into these small towns in Pennsylvania and, like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing’s replaced them. And they fell through the Clinton administration, and the Bush administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it’s not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or antitrade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.”
He obviously did not make those remarks in hopes they would win over those embittered people. He seemed to be making a general statement about conditions on the ground for any people in trouble who in anger and desperation go to ground and cling to principles they know are true. At a very simplified level, it’s called “sticking to your guns.” It’s like people embittered by the excesses of the Bush administration clinging to the Constitution, a desperation with which many of us are familiar.
Because of the remarks, Obama’s candidacy is under attack by the other candidates. I am convinced this is politics as usual, candidates running campaigns for the purpose of getting elected, with no real concern for Americans whom they insist Obama has insulted. There is evidence that, given a few days to think about it, Obama could make a 45-minute presentation about Pennsylvanians in desperation that would transcend politics. I would love to see that happen, just to see what effect such a presentation would have on the Pennsylvania vote on April 22.
For that quality of depth, in the entrenched shallowness of politics, I am ready to trust Obama’s vision. I am betting on his ability and willingness to change the status quo in America in the years 2009-12. In what ways? I don’t know. My support of Obama is a leap of faith, a roll of the dice. But he is the only one who gives me a chance to roll. That, I am convinced, is a lesser gamble than backing either of the other two.
Sen. Hillary Clinton and Sen. John McCain are running campaigns for the single purpose of getting elected. I believe that, once elected, whatever I might have liked about the campaign picture they may have painted for America in 2009-12 will disappear like runoff after a heavy rain, and there will remain the status quo. The people can count on that. It is a conviction I cannot shake.
I have no such conviction about Barack Obama. His talk is mostly to the people, and not to the other candidates. His famous race relations speech, after the other candidates attacked his relationship to his controversial minister, transcended not only the candidates’ attacks, but the candidates, the campaign, and politics itself. In that 45 minutes, Obama laid before a national audience a simple depth of thought and understanding that is not obtainable by Clinton or McCain.
Last week Obama was talking to people again, wealthy voters at a fundraiser in San Francisco, who asked him for some background on Pennsylvania voters in advance of that state’s April 22 primary. He said, “You go into these small towns in Pennsylvania and, like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing’s replaced them. And they fell through the Clinton administration, and the Bush administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it’s not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or antitrade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.”
He obviously did not make those remarks in hopes they would win over those embittered people. He seemed to be making a general statement about conditions on the ground for any people in trouble who in anger and desperation go to ground and cling to principles they know are true. At a very simplified level, it’s called “sticking to your guns.” It’s like people embittered by the excesses of the Bush administration clinging to the Constitution, a desperation with which many of us are familiar.
Because of the remarks, Obama’s candidacy is under attack by the other candidates. I am convinced this is politics as usual, candidates running campaigns for the purpose of getting elected, with no real concern for Americans whom they insist Obama has insulted. There is evidence that, given a few days to think about it, Obama could make a 45-minute presentation about Pennsylvanians in desperation that would transcend politics. I would love to see that happen, just to see what effect such a presentation would have on the Pennsylvania vote on April 22.
For that quality of depth, in the entrenched shallowness of politics, I am ready to trust Obama’s vision. I am betting on his ability and willingness to change the status quo in America in the years 2009-12. In what ways? I don’t know. My support of Obama is a leap of faith, a roll of the dice. But he is the only one who gives me a chance to roll. That, I am convinced, is a lesser gamble than backing either of the other two.
April 11, 2008
Black-eyed success
The okra worked out nicely in the black-eyed peas. My return to recession (not a depression YET) cooking is off and running.
I soaked a pound of dried black-eyes (two pounds was going to be too big a batch). They really soak up the water fast and don't require an overnight soaking, like beans do. I chopped three lean pieces of bacon, barely covered the bacon with water, and placed the pot on medium-high heat until the water had boiled away and the bacon was starting to sizzle. I added a large chopped onion, salt, and a half-teaspoon of pepper and cooked until the onion was soft, and a nice, dark, almost-burned sheen appeared on the bottom of the pot. I poured in half a cup of leftover coffee and "deglazed" the bottom of the pan. Added the black-eyes and water just to cover.
I thin-sliced six pods of okra and threw that in. I didn't want "black-eyed peas and okra;" I only wanted to see what the okra's natural viscosity would do to thicken the pot liquor. Usually, the thickening takes place when you mash a cup or so of hot black-eyes and stir that back in.
Plus I was looking for something else; a flavor twitch. I am a lifelong fan of the "meat and three" menus served in Southern cafes. You choose a meat (braised, baked, smothered, or fried), and then three sides: potatoes, macaroni and cheese, pinto beans, green beans, black-eyes, turnip greens, etc. I don't think you can eat any better than that. In addition to "recession cooking," I could call this cuisine "meat and three at home."
I think these black-eyes met the meat-and-three standard. Dried black-eyes are more intensely savory than fresh; the sappy okra juices did their thickening job nicely; and that country twitch, which I have found that only okra can provide, was present. I wish I had jotted down prices (I am making a note to myself), but these ingredients, yielding a couple of quarts, could not have cost more than two or three dollars. We have eaten some of it, and have four more containers in the freezer.
I moved on to spaghetti casserole. In good times (gas under $2.25 a gallon, the dollar worth 85 cents), standard practice is to make spaghetti for dinner, then turn the leftovers into spaghetti casserole. I have always liked spaghetti, but I like spaghetti casserole even better, so it was a simple choice to recessify it.
It is simply a matter of skipping the "spaghetti as dinner" stage, which stretches the sauce, which permits inclusion of more spaghetti into the casserole. I browned a pound of seasoned hamburger, chopped a large onion, let it brown and the pot scorch a little, as with the black-eyed peas. Deglazed with half a cup of coffee, added a teaspoon of chopped garlic, a cup of chopped mushrooms, and a 15-oz. can of diced tomatoes and enough water to rinse out the can. I let this simmer for an hour to cook down the tomatoes. Then I added a jar of Barilla spaghetti sauce (tomato and basil flavor) and simmered this for an hour.
Then I added 15-oz. cans of corn and sliced black olives. I didn't have any jalapenos (in the jar), but if I had, I would have diced a tablespoonful and added that. I boiled half a package of spaghetti, drained it, and stirred it into the sauce. Freeze in containers. To serve, bake in the oven (350) for half an hour. In the last 10 minutes, top with some grated cheese.
Next: tuna casserole, or maybe a kind of chile verde.
I soaked a pound of dried black-eyes (two pounds was going to be too big a batch). They really soak up the water fast and don't require an overnight soaking, like beans do. I chopped three lean pieces of bacon, barely covered the bacon with water, and placed the pot on medium-high heat until the water had boiled away and the bacon was starting to sizzle. I added a large chopped onion, salt, and a half-teaspoon of pepper and cooked until the onion was soft, and a nice, dark, almost-burned sheen appeared on the bottom of the pot. I poured in half a cup of leftover coffee and "deglazed" the bottom of the pan. Added the black-eyes and water just to cover.
I thin-sliced six pods of okra and threw that in. I didn't want "black-eyed peas and okra;" I only wanted to see what the okra's natural viscosity would do to thicken the pot liquor. Usually, the thickening takes place when you mash a cup or so of hot black-eyes and stir that back in.
Plus I was looking for something else; a flavor twitch. I am a lifelong fan of the "meat and three" menus served in Southern cafes. You choose a meat (braised, baked, smothered, or fried), and then three sides: potatoes, macaroni and cheese, pinto beans, green beans, black-eyes, turnip greens, etc. I don't think you can eat any better than that. In addition to "recession cooking," I could call this cuisine "meat and three at home."
I think these black-eyes met the meat-and-three standard. Dried black-eyes are more intensely savory than fresh; the sappy okra juices did their thickening job nicely; and that country twitch, which I have found that only okra can provide, was present. I wish I had jotted down prices (I am making a note to myself), but these ingredients, yielding a couple of quarts, could not have cost more than two or three dollars. We have eaten some of it, and have four more containers in the freezer.
I moved on to spaghetti casserole. In good times (gas under $2.25 a gallon, the dollar worth 85 cents), standard practice is to make spaghetti for dinner, then turn the leftovers into spaghetti casserole. I have always liked spaghetti, but I like spaghetti casserole even better, so it was a simple choice to recessify it.
It is simply a matter of skipping the "spaghetti as dinner" stage, which stretches the sauce, which permits inclusion of more spaghetti into the casserole. I browned a pound of seasoned hamburger, chopped a large onion, let it brown and the pot scorch a little, as with the black-eyed peas. Deglazed with half a cup of coffee, added a teaspoon of chopped garlic, a cup of chopped mushrooms, and a 15-oz. can of diced tomatoes and enough water to rinse out the can. I let this simmer for an hour to cook down the tomatoes. Then I added a jar of Barilla spaghetti sauce (tomato and basil flavor) and simmered this for an hour.
Then I added 15-oz. cans of corn and sliced black olives. I didn't have any jalapenos (in the jar), but if I had, I would have diced a tablespoonful and added that. I boiled half a package of spaghetti, drained it, and stirred it into the sauce. Freeze in containers. To serve, bake in the oven (350) for half an hour. In the last 10 minutes, top with some grated cheese.
Next: tuna casserole, or maybe a kind of chile verde.
April 01, 2008
Cooking recessively
I am playing with the idea of dried black-eyed peas and fresh okra. It's the sort of idea inspired by the state of the economy. We also thought about starting our own garden, but in the long run, gardens don't save much money. Black-eyed peas and fresh okra is about saving money, or at least carefully managing money, in the face of a recession, a deep recession, or an outright depression.
Recession recipes maximize bang for the buck. It must also taste good, freeze well, and fit in the available freezer space. In our case at Alta Mira, that is two standard refrigerator freezers, one in the kitchen and another on the back porch. Full-blown economy cooking calls for a full-sized freezer, bulk buys, and a willingness to eat the same thing, or set of things, for a long time. That is not what we want to do.
So I am thinking about a two-pound package of dried black-eyed peas. It's exciting, actually. I wrote a cookbook, 20 years ago, about depression cooking. I was born in 1943, so missed the Great Depression, but I grew up in my grandmother's house, and she lived through the Depression as a widow with six kids. She was already a country cook anyway, and then the Depression taught her even more about stretching it, or making a little go a long way.
I always looked forward to what she brought to the table. I also have a fond memory of lunch one day in the home of Jon Standefer's grandmother, in Weatherford, Texas. We dropped in on her by surprise, on our way to the DFW airport. She had some chicken fat, flour, and milk, and for lunch she fixed us chicken cream gravy on white bread. It was so good.
My cookbook was inspired by that kind of cooking, and based on two principles: stretching it, and how savory and good the result turns out. But that was then, when I was younger, and this is now. Sure, I'll include a few of those old recipes into the present endeavor, but now, at my age, I can't eat that much gravy. Well, I could, but I better not.
Pot liquor, though, is another thing. That may be where the okra comes in. It's worth a try. I'll soak the two pounds of black-eyes overnight. I'll dice two strips of bacon and a large onion and cook them together until the onion is starting to brown and there is a nice dark, almost-burned sheen in the bottom of the pot. To that I will add a little leftover coffee and some water, then the black-eyes in water not quite to cover. I'll slice six fresh pods of okra and add that. Okra puts out a kind of thick sweat when you slice it, and I just want to see how it interacts with the black-eyes and cooking liquid as they simmer together for an hour or so.
Then we'll eat some, freeze some. Then I'll get a pound of cheap pork shoulder and maybe make a hominy stew. Macaroni and tomatoes, maybe with some green peppers. We'll see how it goes.
Recession recipes maximize bang for the buck. It must also taste good, freeze well, and fit in the available freezer space. In our case at Alta Mira, that is two standard refrigerator freezers, one in the kitchen and another on the back porch. Full-blown economy cooking calls for a full-sized freezer, bulk buys, and a willingness to eat the same thing, or set of things, for a long time. That is not what we want to do.
So I am thinking about a two-pound package of dried black-eyed peas. It's exciting, actually. I wrote a cookbook, 20 years ago, about depression cooking. I was born in 1943, so missed the Great Depression, but I grew up in my grandmother's house, and she lived through the Depression as a widow with six kids. She was already a country cook anyway, and then the Depression taught her even more about stretching it, or making a little go a long way.
I always looked forward to what she brought to the table. I also have a fond memory of lunch one day in the home of Jon Standefer's grandmother, in Weatherford, Texas. We dropped in on her by surprise, on our way to the DFW airport. She had some chicken fat, flour, and milk, and for lunch she fixed us chicken cream gravy on white bread. It was so good.
My cookbook was inspired by that kind of cooking, and based on two principles: stretching it, and how savory and good the result turns out. But that was then, when I was younger, and this is now. Sure, I'll include a few of those old recipes into the present endeavor, but now, at my age, I can't eat that much gravy. Well, I could, but I better not.
Pot liquor, though, is another thing. That may be where the okra comes in. It's worth a try. I'll soak the two pounds of black-eyes overnight. I'll dice two strips of bacon and a large onion and cook them together until the onion is starting to brown and there is a nice dark, almost-burned sheen in the bottom of the pot. To that I will add a little leftover coffee and some water, then the black-eyes in water not quite to cover. I'll slice six fresh pods of okra and add that. Okra puts out a kind of thick sweat when you slice it, and I just want to see how it interacts with the black-eyes and cooking liquid as they simmer together for an hour or so.
Then we'll eat some, freeze some. Then I'll get a pound of cheap pork shoulder and maybe make a hominy stew. Macaroni and tomatoes, maybe with some green peppers. We'll see how it goes.
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