Dear Mr. Bageant,
Even though I feel like I know you after last Saturday's talk at the Trinity Presbyterian Church here in Denton, Texas, I was brought up by extremely well-educated but really really poor grandparents in Westminster, Vermont (town of 200 people, hasn't changed much in 73 years) who insisted on calling people "Mr." and "Mrs." so and so -- so I don't feel like I know you well enough to call you "Joe." Though I would like to.
My daughter and friend and I had to leave early that afternoon, so I missed getting a chance to talk with you, but since then I have looked your name up on the Internet and am ecstatic at all of your published articles! Where have I been all these years? (making a living and supporting a family, I guess).
Growing up in the 1930s in Vermont, we lived off the land and with bartering. My grandfather was the only doctor in town, but most of the time he got paid in products not money. We got our milk from the farm across the road, a half a pig in the springtime, etc. for taking care of the family for free. We grew all our own fruits and vegetables, grandma "put up" all of them for the winter, we had chickens for eggs and meat, and we even raised rabbits. Grandpa was NOT a hunter, but he was a very good gardener. He even raised gladiolas to sell, and there was a big sign in the summertime that said "THE GLAD DOCTOR" in our front yard.
I didn't realize until I grew up (if I ever did) that we were better educated than the people around us, who were mostly dairy farmers and were lucky to have graduated from the 8th grade. I look back on it now and realize that the sense of "class" I grew up with was pretty phony, and in spite of their strengths and the fact that I had BOOKS, my grandparents were hypocrites. They looked down their noses at the people around us, who had not had the opportunities they had had. Ever since then, I have felt I had more in common with the farmers than my grandparents. So I write "street poetry" and pretend that I am no different than my redneck neighbors. But I am also grateful that I had a chance to read Sir Walter Scott and Dickens when I was too young to really understand them, so I guess I am a square peg in a round hole. Or vice versa. Anyway, I can certainly relate to everything you said the other day, and want to thank you for taking the time to share with us your thoughts and experiences. And, oh, yes, I WOULD like your recipe for the catfish batter!
Sincerely,
Nancy
Denton, Texas
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Here is the catfish recipe:
Ingredients:
- 3 eggs
- 3 cups of coarse stone ground corn meal
- 1/2 cup flour
- 2 teaspoons salt
- 1 teaspoon pepper
- 1 teaspoon paprika
- 1/2 teaspoon chile powder
In a bowl, beat eggs and set aside. In another bowl, mix 2 cups of cornmeal and flour with salt and pepper, paprika and chile powder. Set remaining cup of meal aside.
Dip fish in egg mixture and then drop into cornmeal batter. I like to put the first layer of cornmeal into the fish a little, then roll it again in the meal mixture.
Place in hot frying pan with at least 1/2-inch layer of melted shortening in frying pan. Fry 1 minute on each side. Remove from pan and roll in remaining corn meal, then return to the hot pan to finish. Fry until golden but not too dark. This second layering of meal will make the catfish extra flavorful and crunchy.
When fish has finished frying, place on paper towels to drain. Salt again to taste.
A good trick to blow Yankee taste buds loose is this: Soak the fish in buttermilk for 20 minutes before cooking. Or better yet, grind up some pork rinds and put them in the cornmeal. Gives non-Southerners the slobbering fits. Old time Southerners will recognize this as the same principle as crackling cornbread, using pork rinds instead of cracklins.
