A food craving satisfied and memories of rodeo days

 

Eating fried chicken in the cottage
For some time, I’ve beencraving fried chicken, so tonight we ordered dinner for four from Bonnell’sCurbside meals. During quarantine, when restaurants saw their business diminishand disappear, Fort Worth’s Jon Bonnell found a way to keep his Bonnell’s FineCuisine active. He packaged curbside meals for four, priced them reasonably,and sold them literally on the curb by his restaurant each afternoon, Tuesday throughSaturday. They were so successful, he has continued the tradition to this day. Wehave had them a few times—mostly the Beef Stroganoff. Several of the entreesare pasta which isn’t popular here, usually one is shrimp which I can’t eat,and one is smoked chicken and pulled brisket which doesn’t appeal. TheStroganoff though is delicious, and I still want to try the meat loaf. Tonight’schicken came with mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, salad, and brownies. Andthe amount is generous. So craving satisfied.

Jacob almost never ever eats Saturdaynight dinner with us. This afternoon when I asked if he was joining us, hesaid, “Probably not. It’s Saturday night, you know.” I replied, “Sometimes inlife you have to make choices. We’re having fried chicken.” He said with a grinhe’d have to think about that. Somewhat to my surprise, he showed up forsupper.

So now I’m full and happy—and waitinguntil I’m hungry enough to eat the remaining brownie.

We never had fried chicken inmy home when I was growing up, which may account for my fascination with itnow. I honestly don’t know if my mom ever tried to fry a chicken. (She didteach me early on how to cut up a chicken, something the girls in my familyrefuse to do—Jordan in particular won’t touch raw poultry, and for some yearsmy function at Thanksgiving and Christmas was to prepare the turkey forroasting. They’ve gotten better now about it.) Not only did Mom not want to fryin all that oil, Dad, the proper Englishman, did not tolerate picking up food inour hands. A sandwich at lunch at the kitchen table was okay but never at the dinnertable (we ate with linen tablecloth and napkins every night and no passed food—Dadserved the plates as the head of the household; no, we were not rich, justshaped by his Canadian/British background). I have never myself tried to frychicken, and I find “oven fried” a poor substitute. But tonight I was thinkingthat what attracts me as much as anything is the slightly peppery seasoning ofthe coating. I think that’s a southern thing.

Tonight may have been friedchicken night at the cottage, but it is the last night of the Southwestern Expositionand Stock Show, lovingly known in Fort Worth as the stock show and in the pastas the “Fat Stock Show.” The powers that be dropped the “Fat” some years ago. Tonight,the owner of the champion steer, a high school girl, is $340,000 richer—I’m nojudge but her snow-white steer is one of the most beautiful steers I’ve everseen. I think a conglomerate usually buys the winner, so it is spared from theslaughterhouse, and the owner is spared that dilemma between emotion and profit.

Rodeo always makes menostalgic. When my children were little, going to the rodeo was a rite ofpassage. Each had to wait until they were judged old enough, and then it wasone of the highlights of the year. We routinely went with another family forseveral years and dined on the ribs and sausage offered by Coburn’s Catering, alongtime culinary institution. That family moved away, but then we developed atradition of all the Alters coming for rodeo—the performance on Friday night,prowling the grounds, especially the Midway Saturday afternoon, and dinner at JoeT.’s Saturday night. It was an annual reunion that I truly looked forward to.Gradually the tradition fell apart—with kids in school, it was hard forfamilies ot get away and parents had other demands. Now, some years Megan comeswith a friend, but she didn’t even do that this year. Jordan and Christian havegone several times, with friends, and Jacob has gone at least once. My rodeodays are long over, not just because the arena is not accessible for me butbecause I’ve joined the ranks of those who don’t want to see the brutality ofrodeo, especially the bull riding. Having written a bit about rodeo, I knowthey take every precaution for man and beast, but it can still be brutal. I don’twant to see anyone or any animal hurt. But it sure does provide some greatmemories.Grands at the rodeo, back in the day