#alabama red okra | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unsettlingshortstories · 3 years

Text

He'll Come Knocking at Your Door

Robert R. McCammon (1986)

In the Deep South, Halloween Day is usually shirtsleeve weather. But when the sun begins to sink, there’s a foretaste of winter in the air. Pools of shadow deepen and lengthen, and the Alabama hills are transformed into moody tapestries of orange and black.

When Dan Burgess got home from the cement plant in Barrimore Crossing, he found Karen and Jaime working over a tray of homemade candies in the shape of pumpkins. Jaime, three years old and as curious as a chipmunk, was in a hurry to try out the candy. “Those are for the trick-or-treaters, hon,” Karen explained patiently, for the third or fourth time. Both mother and daughter were blond, though Jaime had inherited Dan’s dark brown eyes. Karen’s eyes were as blue as an Alabama lake on a sunny day.

As Dan hugged his wife from behind and peered over her shoulder at the candies, he felt a sense of satisfaction that made life seem deliciously complete. He was a tall man, his face lean and rugged from a life of hard, outdoor labor. He had curly dark brown hair and a beard in need of trimming. “Looks pretty Halloweeny around here, folks!” he drawled, and lifted Jaime into his arms when she reached up for him.

“Punkins!” Jaime said gleefully.

“Hope we get some trick-or-treaters tonight,” Dan said. “Hard to tell if we will or not, this far from town.” Their home, a rented two- bedroom farmhouse set off the main highway on a couple of acres of rolling woodland, was part of a subdivision of Barrimore Crossing called Essex. The business district of Barrimore Crossing was four miles to the east, and the thirty-five or so inhabitants of the Essex community lived in houses similar to Dan’s, comfortable places surrounded by woods where deer, quail, possum, and fox were common sights. At night, Dan could sit on his front porch and see the distant porch lights of other Essex houses up in the hills. It was a quiet, peaceful place. And lucky too, Dan knew. All sorts of good things had happened to them since they’d moved here from Birmingham, after the steel mill shut down in February.

“Might have a few.” Karen began to make eyes in the pumpkins with little silver dots of candy. “Mrs. Crosley said they always have a group of kids from town. If we didn’t have treats for them, they’d probably egg our house!”

“Hallo'een!” Jaime pointed excitedly toward the pumpkins, wriggling to be set down.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Karen licked a silver dot from her finger and walked across the kitchen to the cork bulletin board next to the telephone. She took off one of the pieces of paper stuck there by a blue plastic pin. “Mr. Hathaway called at four.” She gave him the note, and he set Jaime down. “He wants you to go over to his place for some kind of meeting.”

“Meeting?” Dan looked at the note. It said Roy Hathaway. His house, 6:30. Hathaway was the real-estate agent who’d rented them this house. He lived across the highway, up where the valley curved into the hills. “On Halloween? Did he say what for?”

“Nope. He did say it was important, though. He said you were expected, and it was something that couldn’t be explained over the phone.”

Dan grunted softly. He liked Roy Hathaway, who’d bent over backwards to find them this place. Dan glanced at his new Bulova wristwatch, which he’d won by being the thousandth person to buy a pickup truck from a dealership in Birmingham. It was almost five- thirty. Time enough for a shower and a ham sandwich, and then he’d go see what was so important. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll find out what he wants.”

“Somebody’ll be a clown by the time you get back,” Karen said, glancing slyly at Jaime.

“Me! Me’ll be a clown, Daddy!”

Dan grinned at her and, his heart full, went back to take his shower.

Darkness was falling fast as Dan drove his white pickup truck along the winding country road that led to Hathaway’s place. His headlights picked out a deer as it bolted in front of the truck. Beyond the ridge of hills to the west, the setting sun tinted the sky a vivid orange.

Meeting, Dan thought uneasily. What was it that couldn’t wait? He wondered if it might have something to do with the last rent check. No, no; his days of rubber checks and irate landlords were over. There was plenty of money in the bank. In August, Dan had received a letter that said they’d won five thousand dollars in a contest at the Food Giant store in Barrimore Crossing. Karen didn’t even recall filling out an entry slip. Dan had been able to pay off the new truck and buy Karen a color television she’d been wanting. He was making more money than ever before, since his promotion in April from gravel-shoveler to unit supervisor at the cement plant. So money wasn’t the problem. What was, then?

He loved the Essex community. It was fresh air and bird songs and a low-lying morning mist that clung like lace in the autumn trees. After the smog and harshness of Birmingham, after the trauma of losing his job and being on unemployment, Essex was a gentle, soul- soothing blessing.

Dan believed in luck. In hindsight, it was even good luck that he’d lost that job at the mill, because if he hadn’t he never would have found Essex. One day in May he’d walked into the hardware and sporting-goods store in Barrimore Crossing and admired a double-barreled Remington shotgun in a display case. The manager had come over, and they’d talked about guns and hunting for the better part of an hour. As Dan had started to leave, the manager unlocked that display case and said: Dan, I want you to try this baby out. Go ahead, take it! It’s a new model, and the Remington people want to know how folks like it. You take it home with you. Bring me back a wild turkey or two, and if you like that gun, tell other folks where they can buy one, hear?

It was amazing, Dan thought. He and Karen were living some kind of fantastic dream. The promotion at the plant had come right out of the blue. People respected him. Karen and Jaime were happier than he’d ever seen them. Just last month, a woman Karen had met at the Baptist church gave them a rich harvest of garden vegetables that would last them through the autumn. The only remotely bad thing that had happened since they’d moved to Essex, Dan recalled, was when he’d made a fool of himself in Roy Hathaway’s office. He’d sliced his finger on a sliver of plastic in the pen he was using to sign the lease and had bled all over the paper. It was a stupid thing to remember, he knew, but it had stuck in his mind because he’d hoped it wasn’t a bad omen. Now he knew nothing could be further from the truth.

He rounded a corner and saw Roy’s house ahead. The front- porch lights were on, and lights showed through most of the windows. The driveway was packed with cars, most of which Dan recognized as belonging to other Essex residents. What’s going on? he wondered. A community meeting? On Halloween?

He parked his truck next to Tom Paulsen’s new Cadillac and walked up the front-porch steps to the door. As he knocked, a long keening animal cry came from the woods behind Hathaway’s house. Bobcat, he thought. The woods are full of ‘em.

Laura Hathaway, an attractive gray-haired woman in her mid- fifties, answered the door with a cheerful, “Happy Halloween, Dan!”

“Hi! Happy Halloween.” He stepped into the house, and could smell the aromatic cherry pipe tobacco Roy favored. The Hathaways had some nice oil paintings on their walls, and all their furniture looked new. “What’s going on?”

“The men are down in the rumpus room,” she explained. “They’re having their little yearly get-together.” She started to lead him to another door that would take him downstairs. She limped a bit when she walked. Several years ago, Dan understood, a lawn mower had sliced off a few of the toes on her right foot.

“Looks like everybody in Essex is here, with all those cars outside.”

She smiled, her kindly face crinkling. “Everybody is here, now. Go on down and make yourself at home.”

He descended the stairs. He heard Roy’s husky voice down there: “… Jenny’s gold earrings, the ones with the little pearls. Carl, this year it’s one of Tiger’s new kittens—the one with the black markings on its legs, and that ax you got at the hardware store last week. Phil, he wants one of your piglets and the pickled okra Marcy put in the cupboard… ”

When Dan reached the bottom of the stairs, Roy stopped talking. The rumpus room, carpeted in bright red because Roy was a Crimson Tide fan, was filled with men from the Essex community. Roy, a hefty man with white hair and friendly, deep-set blue eyes, was sitting in a chair in the midst of them, reading from some kind of list. The others sat around him, listening intently. Roy looked up at Dan, as did the other men, and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “Howdy, Dan. Grab yourself a cup of coffee and sit a spell.”

“I got your message. What kind of meeting is this?” He glanced around, saw faces he knew: Steve Mallory, Phil Kane, Carl Lansing, Andy McCutcheon, and more. A pot of coffee, cups, and a platter of sandwiches were placed on a table on one side of the room.

“Be with you in a minute,” Roy said. While Dan, puzzled at what was so important on Halloween, poured himself a cup of coffee, he listened to Roy reading from the list he held. “Okay, where were we? Phil, that’s it for you, I reckon. Next is Tom. This year it’s that ship model you put together, a pair of Ann’s shoes—the gray ones she bought in Birmingham—and Tom Junior’s G.I. Joe doll. Andy, he wants…”

Huh? Dan thought as he sipped at the hot black coffee. He looked at Tom, who seemed to have released a breath he’d been holding for a long time. Tom’s model of Old Ironsides had taken him months to put together, Dan knew. Dan’s gaze snagged other eyes that quickly looked away. He noted that Mitch Brantley, whose wife had just had their first child in July, looked ill; Mitch’s face was the color of wet cotton. A haze of smoke hung in the air from Roy’s pipe and several other smokers’ cigarettes. Cups rattled against saucers. Dan looked at Aaron Greene, who stared back at him through strange, glassy eyes. Aaron’s wife, Dan had heard, had died of a heart attack last year about this time. Aaron had shown him pictures of her, a robust-looking brunette in her late thirties.

“… your golf clubs, your silver cufflinks, and Tweetybird,” Roy continued.

Andy McCutcheon laughed nervously. In his pallid, fleshy face his eyes were dark and troubled. “Roy, my little girl loves that canary. I mean… she’s real attached to it.”

Roy smiled. It was a tight, false smile, and something about it started a knot of tension growing in Dan’s stomach. “You can buy her another one, Andy,” he said. “Can’t you?”

“Sure, but she loves—”

“One canary’s just like another.” He drew at his pipe, and when he lifted a hand to hold the bowl, the overhead light glinted off the large diamond ring he wore.

“Excuse me, gents.” Dan stepped forward. “I sure would like for somebody to tell me what this is all about. My wife and little girl are getting ready for Halloween.”

“So are we,” Roy replied, and blew out a plume of smoke. “So are we.” He traced his finger down the list. Dan saw that the paper was mottled and dirty; it looked as if it had been used to wipe out the inside of a garbage can. The writing on it was scrawled and spiky. “Dan,” Roy said, and tapped the paper. “This year he wants two things from you. First is a set of fingernail clippings. Your own fingernails. The second is—”

“Hold on.” Dan tried to smile, but couldn’t find one. “I don’t get this. How about starting from the beginning.”

Roy stared at him for a long, silent moment. Dan felt other eyes on him, watching him carefully. On the opposite side of the room, Walter Ferguson suddenly began quietly sobbing. “Oh,” Roy said. “Sure. It’s your first Halloween in Essex, isn’t it?”

“Right. And?”

“Sit down, Dan.” Roy motioned toward an empty chair near him. “Come on, sit down and I’ll tell you.”

Dan didn’t like the feeling in this room; there was too much tension and fear in here. Walter’s sobbing was louder. “Tom,” Roy said, “take Walter out for a breath of air, won’t you?” Tom muttered an assent and helped the crying man out of his chair. When they had left the rumpus room, Roy struck a kitchen match to relight his pipe and looked calmly at Dan Burgess.

“So tell me,” Dan urged as he sat down. He did smile this time, but the smile would not stick.

“It’s Halloween,” Roy explained, as if speaking to a retarded child. “We’re going over the Halloween list.”

Dan laughed involuntarily. “Is this a joke, gents? What kind of Halloween list?”

Roy’s thick white brows came together as he gathered his thoughts. Dan realized the other man was wearing the same dark red sweater he’d worn the day Dan had signed that lease and cut his finger. “Call it… a trick-or-treat list, Dan. You know, we all like you. You’re a good man. We can’t think of a better neighbor to have in Essex.” He glanced around as some of the others nodded. “Essex is a very special place to live, Dan. You must know that by now.”

“Sure. It’s great. Karen and I love it here.”

“We all do. Some of us have lived here for a long time. We appreciate the good life we have here. And in Essex, Dan, Halloween is a very special night of the year.”

Dan frowned. “I’m not following you.”

Roy produced a gold pocket watch, popped it open to look at the time, then closed it again. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes seemed darker and more powerful than Dan had ever seen them. They made him shiver to his soul. “Do you believe in the Devil?” Roy asked.

Again Dan laughed. “What are we doing, telling spooky stories?” He looked around the room. No one else was laughing.

“When you came to Essex,” Roy said softly, “you were a loser. Down on your luck. No job. Your money was almost gone. Your credit rating was zero. You had an old car that was ready for the junkyard. Now I want you to think back on all the good things that have happened to you—all the things you might have taken as a run of good luck—since you’ve been part of our community. You’ve gotten everything you’ve wanted, haven’t you? Money’s come to you like never before. You got yourself a brand-new truck. A promotion at the plant. And there’ll be more good things to come in the years ahead—if you cooperate.”

“Cooperate?” He didn’t like the sound of that word. “Cooperate how?”

“With the list. Like we all do, every Halloween. Every October thirty-first I find a list just like this one under the welcome mat at the front door. Why I’ve been chosen to handle it, I don’t know. Maybe because I help bring new people in. These items on this list are to be left in front of your door on Halloween. In the morning, they’re gone. He comes during the night, Dan, and he takes them away with him.”

“This is a Halloween joke, isn’t it!” Dan grinned. “Jesus Christ, you gents had me going! That’s a hell of an act to put on just to scare the crap out of me!”

But Roy’s face remained impassive. Smoke seeped from a corner of his wrinkled mouth. “The list,” Roy continued evenly, “has to be collected and left out before midnight, Dan. If you don’t collect the items and leave them for him, he’ll come knocking at your door. And you don’t want that, Dan. You really don’t.”

A chunk of ice seemed to have jammed itself in Dan’s throat, while the rest of his body felt feverish. The Devil in Essex? Collecting things like golf clubs and cufflinks, ship models and pet canaries? “You’re crazy!” he managed to say. “If this isn’t a damned joke, you’ve dropped both your oars into the water!”

“It’s no joke, and he ain’t crazy,” Phil Kane said, sitting behind Roy. Phil was a large, humorless man who raised pigs on a farm about a mile away. “It’s just once a year. Just on Halloween. Hell, last year alone I won one of them magazine sweepstakes. It was fifteen thousand dollars at one whack! The year before that, an uncle I didn’t even know had died and left me a hundred acres of land in California. We get free stuff in the mail all the time. It’s just once a year we have to give him what he wants.”

“Laura and I go to art auctions in Birmingham,” Roy said. “We always get what we want for the lowest bid. And the paintings are always worth five or ten times what we pay. Last Halloween he asked for a lock of Laura’s hair and one of my old shirts with blood on it where I cut myself shaving. You remember that trip to Bermuda the real-estate company gave us last summer? I’ve been given a huge expense account, and no matter what I charge, nobody asks any questions. He gives us everything we want.”

Trick-or-treat! Dan thought crazily. He envisioned some hulking, monstrous form lugging off a set of golf clubs, one of Phil’s piglets, and Tom’s Old Ironsides. God, it was insane! Did these men really believe they were making sacrifices to a satanic trick-or-treater?

Roy lifted his eyebrows. “You didn’t return the shotgun, did you? Or the money. You didn’t refuse the promotion.”

“I earned that promotion!” Dan insisted, but his voice was strained and weak, and it shamed him.

“You signed the agreement in blood,” Roy said, and Dan remembered the drops of blood falling from his cut finger onto the white paper of the lease, right underneath his name. “Whether you knew it or not, you agreed to something that’s been going on in Essex for over a hundred years. You can have anything and everything you want, Dan, if you give him what he wants on one special night of the year.”

“My God,” Dan whispered. He felt dizzy and sick. If it was true... what had he stumbled into? “You said... he wants two things from me. The fingernail clippings and what else?”

Roy looked at the list and cleared his throat. “He wants the clippings, and… he wants the first joint of the little finger of your child’s left hand.”

Dan sat motionless. He stared straight ahead, and feared for an awful moment that he would start laughing and giggle himself all the way to an asylum.

“It’s really not much,” Roy said. “There won’t be a lot of blood, will there, Carl?”

Carl Lansing, who worked as a butcher at the Food Giant in Barrimore Crossing, raised his left hand to show Dan Burgess. “Not much pain if you do it quick, with a cleaver. One sharp blow’ll snap the bone. She won’t feel a whole lot of pain if you do it fast.”

Dan swallowed. Carl’s slicked-back black hair gleamed with Vitalis under the light. Dan had always wondered exactly how Carl had lost the thumb of his left hand.

“If you don’t put what he wants in front of your door,” Andy McCutcheon said, “he’ll come in after them. And then he’ll take more than he asked for in the first place, Dan. God help you if he has to knock at your door.”

Dan’s eyes felt like frozen stones in his rigid face; he stared across the room at Mitch Brantley, who appeared to be either about to faint or throw up. Dan thought of Mitch’s new son, and he did not want to think about what might be on the list beside either Mitch’s or Walter Ferguson��s name. He rose unsteadily from his chair. It was not that he believed the Devil was coming to his house tonight for a bizarre trick- or-treat that frightened him so deeply; it was that he knew they believed, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

“Dan,” Roy Hathaway said gently, “we’re all in this together. It’s not so bad. Really it isn’t. Usually all he wants are little things. Things that don’t matter very much.” Mitch made a soft, strangled groaning sound. Dan flinched, but Roy paid no attention. Dan had the sudden urge to leap at Roy and grab him by the front of that blood- red sweater and shake him until he split open. “Once in a while he… takes something of value,” Roy said, “but not very often. And he always gives us back so much more than he takes.”

“You’re crazy. All of you… are crazy.”

“Give him what he wants.” Steve Mallory spoke in the strong bass voice that was so distinctive in the Baptist church choir on Sunday mornings. “Do it, Dan. Don’t make him knock at your door.”

“Do it,” Roy told him. “For your own sake, and for your family’s.”

Dan backed away from them. Then he turned and ran up the stairs, ran out of the house as Laura Hathaway was coming out of the kitchen with a big bowl of pretzels, ran down the front steps and across the lawn to his pickup. Near Steve Mallory’s new silver Chevy, Walter and Tom were standing together. Dan heard Walter sob, “… not her ear, Tom! Dear God, not her whole ear!”

Dan got into his truck and left twin streaks of rubber on the pavement as he drove away.

Dead leaves whirled through the turbulent, chilly air as Dan pulled up into his driveway, got out and ran up the front-porch steps. Karen had taped a cardboard skeleton to the door. His heart was pounding, and he’d decided to take no chances; if this was an elaborate joke, they could laugh their asses off at him, but he was getting Karen and Jaime out of here.

Halfway home, a thought had occurred to him that had almost made him pull off the road to puke: if the list had demanded a lock of Jaime’s hair, would he have given it without question? How about her fingernail clippings? A whole fingernail? An earlobe? And if he had given any of those things, what would be on the trick-or-treat list next year and the year after that?

Not much blood, if you do it quick.

“Karen!” he shouted as he unlocked the door and went in. The house was too quiet. “Karen!”

“Lord, Dan! What are you yelling about?” She came into the front room from the hallway, followed by Jaime in clown makeup, an oversize red blouse, patched little blue jeans, and sneakers covered with round yellow happy-face stickers. Dan knew he must look like walking death, because Karen stopped as if she’d run into a wall when she saw him. “What’s happened?” she asked fearfully.

“Listen to me. Don’t ask any questions.” He wiped the sheen of sweat off his forehead with a trembling hand. Jaime’s soft brown eyes reflected the terror he’d brought into the house with him. “We’re leaving right now. We’re going to drive to Birmingham and check into a motel.”

“It’s Halloween!” Karen said. “We might have some trick-or-treaters!”

“Please… don’t argue with me! We’ve got to get out of here right now!” Dan jerked his gaze away from his child’s left hand; he’d been looking at the little finger and thinking terrible thoughts. “Right now,” he repeated.

Jaime was stunned, about to cry. On a table beside her was a plate with the Halloween candies on it—grinning pumpkins with silver eyes and licorice mouths. “We have to go,” Dan said hoarsely. “I can’t tell you why, but we have to.” Before Karen could say anything else, Dan told her to gather whatever she wanted— toothpaste, a jacket, underwear—while he went out and started the truck. But hurry! he urged her. For God’s sake, hurry!

Outside, dead leaves snapped at his cheeks and sailed past his head. He slid behind the pickup’s wheel, put the key into the ignition, and turned it.

The engine made one long groaning noise, rattled, and died.

Christ! Dan thought, close to panic. He’d never had any problem with the truck before! He pumped the accelerator and tried again. The engine was stone-cold dead, and all the warning lights—brake fluid, engine oil, battery, even gasoline—flashed red on the instrument panel.

Of course, he realized. Of course. He had paid off the truck with the money he’d won. The truck had been given to him while he was a resident of Essex—and now whatever was coming to their house tonight didn’t want him driving that truck away from Essex.

They could run for it. Run along the road. But what if they ran into the Halloween visitor, there in the lonely darkness? What if it came up behind them on the road, demanding its trick-or-treat like a particularly nasty child?

He tried the truck again. Dead.

Inside the house, Dan slammed the door and locked it. He went to the kitchen door and locked that too, his wife and daughter watching him as if he’d lost his mind. Dan shouted, “Karen, check all the windows! Make sure they’re shut tight! Hurry, damn it!” He went to the closet and took out his shotgun, got a box of shells off the shelf; he opened the box, put it on the table next to the pumpkin candies, broke open the gun’s breech, and stuffed two shells into the chambers. Then he closed the breech and looked up as Karen and Jaime returned, clinging to each other.

“All… the windows are shut,” Karen whispered, her scared blue eyes flickering back and forth from Dan’s face to the shotgun. “Dan, what’s wrong with you?”

“Something’s coming to our door tonight,” he replied. “Something terrible. We’re going to have to hold it off. I don’t know if we can, but we have to try. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“It’s… Halloween,” she said, and he saw she thought he was totally cracked.

The telephone! he thought suddenly, and ran for it. He picked up the receiver and dialed for the operator in Barrimore Crossing to call for a police car. Officer, the Devil’s on his way to our house tonight and we don’t have his favorite kind of candy.

But on the other end of the line was a piercing crackle of static that sounded like a peal of eerie laughter. Through the static Dan heard things that made him believe he’d truly hurtled over the edge: the crazy theme music from a Porky Pig cartoon, a crash of cymbals, the military drumming of a marching band, assorted gurgles and gasps and moans as if he’d been plugged into a graveyard party line. Dan dropped the receiver, and it dangled from its cord like a lynched corpse. Have to think, he told himself. Figure things out. Hold the bastard off. Got to hold him off. He looked at the fireplace and felt a new hammerblow of horror. “Dear God!” he shouted. “We’ve got to block up the chimney!”

Dan got on his knees, reached up the chimney, and closed the flue. There were already pine logs, kindling, and newspapers in the fireplace, ready for the first cold night of the year. He went into the kitchen, got a box of Red Top matches, and put them into the breast pocket of his shirt; when he came back into the room, Jaime was crying and Karen was holding her tightly, whispering, “Shhh, darling. Shhhh.” She watched her husband like one would watch a dog with foam on its mouth.

Dan pulled a chair about ten feet from the front door and sat down with the shotgun across his knees. His eyes were sunken into his head and ringed with purple. He looked at his new Bulova watch; somehow, the crystal had shattered. The hands had snapped off.

“Dan,” Karen said—and then she too started to cry.

“I love you, honey,” he told her. “You know I love both of you, don’t you? I swear I do. I won’t let him in. I won’t give him what he wants. Because if I do that, what will he take next year? I love you both, and I want you to remember that.”

“Oh, God… Dan…”

“They think I’m going to do it and leave it outside the door for him,” Dan said. His hands were gripped tightly around the shotgun, his knuckles white. “They think I could take a cleaver and—”

The lights flickered, and Karen screamed. Jaime’s wail joined hers.

Dan felt his face contorting with fear. The lights flickered, flickered—and went out.

“He’s coming,” Dan rasped. “He’s coming soon.” He stood up, walked to the fireplace, bent down, and struck a match. It took four matches to get the fire going right; its orange light turned the room into a Halloween chamber of horrors, and smoke repelled from the blocked flue swept around the walls like searching spirits. Karen was pressed against the wall, and Jaime’s clown makeup was streaming down her cheeks.

Dan returned to the chair, his eyes stinging with smoke, and watched the door.

He didn’t know how much longer it was when he sensed something on the front porch. Smoke was filling the house, but the room had suddenly become bone-achingly cold. He thought he heard something scratching out there on the porch, searching around the door for the items that weren’t there.

He’ll come knocking at your door. And you don’t want that. You really don’t.

“Dan—”

“Shhhh,” he warned her. “Listen! He’s out there.” “Him? Who? I don’t hear—”

There was a knock at the door like a sledgehammer striking the wood. Dan saw the door tremble through the smoke-haze. The knock was followed by a second, with more force. Then a third that made the door bend inward like cardboard.

“Go away!” Dan shouted. “There’s nothing for you here!” Silence.

It’s all a trick! he thought. Roy and Tom and Carl and Steve and all the rest are out there in the dark, laughing fit to bust a gut!

But the room was getting viciously cold. Dan shivered, saw his breath float away past his face.

Something scraped on the roof above their heads, like claws seeking a weak chink in the shingles.

“GO AWAY!” Dan’s voice cracked. “GO AWAY, YOU BASTARD!”

The scraping stopped. After a long moment of silence, something smashed against the roof like an anvil being dropped. The entire house groaned. Jaime screamed, and Karen shouted, “What is it, Dan, what is it out there?”

Immediately following was a chorus of laughter from beyond the front door. Someone said, “Okay, I guess that’s enough!” A different voice called, “Hey, Dan! You can open up now! Just kiddin'!” A third voice said, “Trick-or-treat, Danny boy!”

He recognized Carl Lansing’s voice. There was more laughter, more whooping cries of “Trick-or-treat!”

My God! Dan rose to his feet. It’s a joke. A brutal, ridiculous joke!

“Open the door!” Carl called. “We can’t wait to see your face!”

Dan almost cried, but there was rage building in him and he thought he might just aim the shotgun at them and threaten to shoot their balls off. Were they all crazy? How had they managed the phone and the lights? Was this some kind of insane initiation to Essex? He went to the door on shaky legs, unlocked it— Behind him, Karen said suddenly, “Dan, don’t!”

—and opened the door.

Carl Lansing stood on the porch. His black hair was slicked back, his eyes as bright as new pennies. He looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

“You damned fools!” Dan raged. “Do you know what kind of scare you people put into me and my family? I ought to shoot your damned—”

And then he stopped, because he realized Carl was standing alone on the porch.

Carl grinned. His teeth were black. “Trick-or-treat,” he whispered, and raised the ax that he’d been holding behind his back.

With a cry of terror, Dan stumbled backward and lifted the shotgun. The thing that had assumed Carl’s shape oozed across the threshold; orange firelight glinted off the upraised ax blade.

Dan squeezed the shotgun’s trigger, but the gun didn’t go off. Neither barrel would fire. Jammed! he thought wildly, and broke open the breech to clear it.

There were no shells in the shotgun. Jammed into the chambers were Karen’s pumpkin candies.

“TRICK-OR-TREAT, DAN!” the thing wailed. “TRICK-OR-TREAT!”

Dan struck into the Carl-thing’s stomach with the butt of the shotgun. From its mouth sprayed a mess of yellow canary feathers, pieces of a kitten, and what might have been a piglet. Dan hit it again, and the entire body collapsed like an exploding gasbag. Then he grabbed Karen’s hand in a frantic blur of motion and was pulling her with him out the door. She held on to Jaime, and they ran down the porch steps and across the grass, along the driveway and the road and toward the main highway with the Halloween wind clutching around them.

Dan looked back, saw nothing but darkness. Jaime shrieked in tune with the wind. The distant lights of other Essex houses glinted in the hills like cold stars.

They reached the highway. Dan shouldered Jaime, and still they ran into the night, along the roadside where the high weeds caught at their ankles.

“Look!” Karen cried. “Somebody’s coming, Dan! Look!”

He did. Headlights were approaching. Dan stood in the middle of the road, frantically waving. The vehicle—a gray Volkswagen van—began to slow down. At the wheel was a woman in a witch costume, and two children dressed like ghosts peered out the window. People from Barrimore Crossing! Dan realized. Thank God! “Help us!” he begged. “Please! We’ve got to get out of here!”

“You in trouble?” the woman asked. “You have an accident or something?”

“Yes! An accident! Please, get us to the police station in Barrimore Crossing! I’ll pay you! Just please get us there!”

The woman paused. Then she said, “Okay. Climb in.” Dan pulled open the van's side door.

They started off, the engine backfiring, toward Barrimore Crossing.

“I don't see no accident,” the woman said. “You have a car wreck or what?”

Dan shook his head. The two ghost-children were watching him over the front seat. In his arms, Jaime was dazed and shaking. “We're okay,” he managed to say to Karen, and took her hand. “We're safe now, honey.”

And something wet dripped onto his cheek. He looked up at the van's ceiling.

The van had teeth.

Long rows of triangular, serrated teeth.

As his mind cracked and he began to laugh, he saw the sticky fluid dripping down off the teeth, saw in the green glow of the instrument panel more teeth pushing up from the van's soft, wet gray sides and floorboard.

His last coherent thought, as Karen's scream filled his head, was that the Devil sure could come up with one hell of a costume.

“Trick-or-treat, Dan,” the shape at the wheel said.

And the entire van smashed shut like a huge mouth, the teeth grinding down until bone and flesh were pulverized and unrecognizable.

Then the van, looking more like a large shiny roach, scuttled off the road toward the Essex woods. It changed shape into something that would drive a man mad to behold—and then it was gone into the hills, with its bellyful of Halloween treats.

1 note · View note

swampthot · 6 years

Note

this is completely unprompted but if u feel like it, how do u feel about the following foods: cotton candy, okra, gummy sharks, pomegranates, oreos, radishes, corn dogs

hey dude thanks for this ask I dig it it’s that kinda nightcotton candy: love more than anything in the world, tastes exactly the way pink clouds shouldokra: I rly love fried okra I’ve had it like twice when I went down to Alabamagummy sharks: good but if I eat more than 2 I start to crave deathpomegranates: YAH good sour fruit crunchy seeds stain ya mouth red good shit also I drink that 100% pure pomegranate juice shitoreos: I actually don’t like Oreos at all golden Oreos can stay but they’re on thin iceradishes: Good on a saladcorn dogs: disgusting zero out of tenappreciate it !☺️

#a #most of the anons I get r awesome I feel blesst

6 notes · View notes

notlostonanadventure · 7 years

Conversation

The States summarized (for non-US people)

Alabama: Incest joke capital of the world

Alaska: We produced Sarah Palin we know we're sorry

Arizona: The inevitable heat death will end our misery soon

Arkansas: Our state is beautiful but our politicians are just fucking awful also meth

California: It's too big full of traffic rich people and every wannabe actor ever also HEAT

Colorado: Mountains and weed. So much weed. Blaze it.

Connecticut: Where old white people go to die

Delaware: WE WERE THE FIRST STATE and then we peaked

Florida: We know "penis of America" is a joke but by golly we are gonna live up to it

Georgia: We film movies here now. Also peaches.

Hawaii: Becoming a tourist trap and losing our culture was such a great trade.

Idaho: Potatoes. Puns. Neo-Nazis. Yup.

Illinois: Thank god for Chicago or we'd be bumfuck nowhere

Indiana: Cars! Trains! Forests! please ignore the Klan running this place in the '20s

Iowa: People leave here.

Kansas: The buckle on the Bible Belt.

Kentucky: Every terrible southern stereotype lives here. And horses.

Lousiana: YEAH N'AWLINS BAYOU SHRIMP COOKING MARDI GRAS what do you mean the rest of the state is a dump that hasn't recovered from Katrina

Maine: So much goddamn lobster also nightmares born here

Maryland: Are we hicks? Are we Yanks? No safe answer exists

Massachusetts: We have the biggest IQ divide of any state

Michigan: Help us we're dying

Minnesota: Bring up the accent one more friggin time why dontcha.

Mississippi: Look! Poverty.

Missouri: Look! Racism.

Montana: Ever seen a cowboy movie? That but depressing

Nebraska: Corn.

Nevada: VIVA LAS VEGAS god there is so much fucking desert

New Hampshire: Presidents care about us once every four years. Jokes on them- we're libertarians.

New Jersey: Great beaches! Fucking awful people.

New Mexico: Are we Americans? Are we racists? Red or Green?

New York: Bada-boom ignore the urine smell we're amazing

North Carolina: Voted Romney and Trump but hey we made Michael Jordan

North Dakota: YES WE KNOW ABOUT FARGO

Ohio: Our lake got set on fire.

Oklahoma: Yes there was a musical but also okra and terrorism

Oregon: Can the Californians please leave our hippie commune why is it so white here

Pennsylvania: We have two amazing cities and the rest is shit. Also Hershey's chocolate and the Amish.

Rhode Island: We're not even an island and that's not even the worst thing we've done

South Carolina: We sell fireworks. Also Stephen Colbert. YOU'RE WELCOME.

South Dakota: Home of the unfinished President Heads.

Tennessee: We made Elvis, whiskey, dry counties and crime

Texas: We're like five different states in one and it's only safe to be gay and non-white in a couple of them

Utah: Hey buddy! Wanna join our cult? Yes I'm on Grindr stop judging me.

Vermont: Syrup, cheese, and Ben & Jerry's. Truly the Hufflepuff of America.

Virginia: Named after a virgin but man are we fucked

Washington: Inventors of coffee, grunge, and weather-induced suicide

West Virginia: Okay, the REAL incest capital of America

Wisconsin: Home of cheese and the best footb- wait, what do you mean California makes more cheese than us

Wyoming: Guys? Hello? We're over here! We invented equality but we still vote Republican! Guys?

#funny #wtf #america #american humor

813 notes · View notes

easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

Text

A Peak Southern Recipe That’s Also the Ultimate Summertime Dish

Chef Steven McIntyre’s “summer crop” relies on okra, corn, tomatoes, and collard greens

You don’t need to be from the South to be familiar with collard greens, fried okra, or grits. But a deeper cut, if you will, of Southern cuisine is potlikker, a soup made from the brothy liquid left in the pot after cooking a batch of greens. Chefs in the South like Steven McIntyre know that that’s where all the good stuff is, since much of the beneficial nutrients cook out of the greens.

McIntrye has a varied culinary background, having worked in restaurants as a line cook before becoming the lead instructor at kitchenware retailer Sur La Table, where he taught classes on subjects including pasta making, knife skills, and one dedicated to sushi. Today he teaches courses to public housing residents in Birmingham, Alabama on everything from food safety and cooking skills to napkin folding and hospitality management.

As part of our Eater at Home series, McIntyre is making a potlikker that’s the star of his “summer crop” recipe, which highlights beautiful produce like collard green stems, okra, and corn. Check out the recipe below which includes black-eyed pea fritters, and try it for yourself.

Vegan “Summer Crop”

Serves 1

Ingredients:

For the potlikker:

4 cups vegetable broth 1 bunch collard greens, washed, de-stemmed, and cut (keep stems) 1 cup white onion, sliced 1 green bell pepper, diced into large pieces 1 rib of celery, quartered 3 bay leaves 1⁄2 teaspoon red pepper flakes

For the black eyed pea fritters:

1 cup cooked black-eyed peas 2 tablespoon green onion, sliced 2 garlic cloves, minced 1 tablespoon flax seed Finishing salt

For the summer crop:

4 okra, cut in 1⁄2 inch pieces 1 ear of corn 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil 1 Roma tomato, cut in 1⁄4 inch slices Micro mustard greens Salt and pepper to taste

Step 1: Prepare the potlikker. In a medium saucepan, bring vegetable broth to a rolling boil. Add all vegetables except for the collard greens as well as the spices into the pot and allow to boil for 5 minutes. Add in collard greens and cook for 20 additional minutes. Set aside.

Step 2: Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Using a pan lined with aluminum oil, arrange corn and okra and drizzle with oil, salt, and pepper. Roast for 20 minutes. Once cool, shuck the corn; set aside,

Step 3: While the corn and okra are roasting, mash the cooked black-eyed peas in a bowl. Add green onion, garlic, and flax seeds and mix to combine. Using a teaspoon, form balls in your hand; set aside. In a sauté pan over medium-high heat, add just enough olive oil to coat the bottom of pan. When oil is ready, press on black-eyed peas ball to create flat disks. Add to pan and cook until golden brown on both sides. Once cooked, place on a plate lined with a paper towel. Finish with salt.

Step 4: To assemble, slice one Roma tomato into 1⁄4 inch slices and arrange in serving bowl. Pour potlikker on top, then arrange pieces of roasted corn in the broth. Sprinkle roasted okra around bowl and place black-eyed pea fritters on the edge of bowl, so they are touching the liquid but no immersed. Garnish with micro mustard greens and reserved stems from collard greens. Finish with an olive oil drizzle.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3g3Mer9 https://ift.tt/3h5BU37

Chef Steven McIntyre’s “summer crop” relies on okra, corn, tomatoes, and collard greens

Vegan “Summer Crop”

Serves 1

Ingredients:

For the potlikker:

For the black eyed pea fritters:

1 cup cooked black-eyed peas 2 tablespoon green onion, sliced 2 garlic cloves, minced 1 tablespoon flax seed Finishing salt

For the summer crop:

4 okra, cut in 1⁄2 inch pieces 1 ear of corn 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil 1 Roma tomato, cut in 1⁄4 inch slices Micro mustard greens Salt and pepper to taste

Step 2: Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Using a pan lined with aluminum oil, arrange corn and okra and drizzle with oil, salt, and pepper. Roast for 20 minutes. Once cool, shuck the corn; set aside,

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3g3Mer9 via Blogger https://ift.tt/2DSBIGl

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

0 notes

omgstupendousbouquetbasement · 4 years

Text

Sessions in Fight to Win Back His Senate Seat

To reclaim the Alabama Senate seat he held for 20 years, Jeff Sessions must first get through a competitive GOP primary with challengers eager to capitalize on his very public falling out with President Donald Trump.

The former attorney general is banking on his long history in state politics as he tries to persuade Republican voters that he is the best candidate to advance Trump's agenda.

“I am the same Jeff Sessions that faithfully and honorably and vigorously defended Alabama values in the U.S. Senate before. I am determined to be even more effective when I return to the Senate if the people allow me to," Sessions said in an interview.

Sessions gave up the Senate seat when he was appointed Trump's first attorney general, a position he was forced to resign from after his recusal from the Russia inquiry sparked blistering criticism from the president.

Sessions had been the first senator to endorse Trump — donning a red Make America Great Again hat and infusing the 2016 campaign with Washington credibility. But in a twist of political irony, the president's public scolding now threatens Sessions' political comeback for a seat he held securely for two decades.

No chance

At a candidate forum in Florence, Alabama, that Sessions did not attend, retired restaurant owner Yara Ruther, 67, was shopping for someone else to support in the seven-person field.

"He did not support Trump. That's a deal breaker," Ruther said, slicing her hand horizontally through the air to emphasize that she wouldn't vote for Sessions this time.

Sessions said Trump wasn't happy about the recusal, but he did so because Department of Justice regulations required it. Still, Sessions has maintained his allegiance to the president.

"Where were my opponents when Donald Trump was in a titanic, billion-dollar campaign for the presidency of the United States, where our court system was a stake, our taxes and regulations were all at stake?" Sessions said.

"The people of Alabama rallied to Trump and I was leading the charge. And I haven't changed," he said.

He'll face former Auburn University football coach Tommy Tuberville, U.S. Representative Bradley Byrne, former Alabama Chief Justice Roy Moore, state Representative Arnold Mooney, businessman Stanley Adair and community activist Ruth Page Nelson in the Republican primary Tuesday. The winner will face Democratic Senator Doug Jones in November.

U.S. Senate fliers for the Alabama seat rest on tabletops at a Jefferson County GOP candidate pancake breakfast, Feb. 29, 2020, in Birmingham, Ala.

Sessions greeted diners over plates of chicken, dressing and fried okra during a Thursday campaign stop at the Blue Plate Cafe, a restaurant in Madison County.

"I really believe in the experience he has and what he brings he to the table," said Scott Woodard, a test manager at Redstone Arsenal, a mammoth facility that houses the Army's missile programs.

The Alabama race has turned into a bitter slugfest to claim a slot in the anticipated March 31 runoff between the top two GOP finishers. A runoff is required unless one candidate claims more than 50% of the primary vote Tuesday. It has also become a race to embrace Trump, with candidates jockeying to portray themselves as the most loyal to the president.

Tuberville, harnessing the name recognition from years as a college football coach in the state, and Byrne, the first Republican to announce for the seat, have emerged as two of Sessions' strongest challengers.

"I'm a conservative. I'm a fighter. I vote with President Trump 97% of the time," Byrne says on the campaign trail.

Sessions 'let the president down'

A Byrne campaign television spot dismisses Sessions — portrayed in the ad by a diminutive actor clad in a baseball hat — as someone who "let the president down and got fired."

Tuberville — who has said Trump was sent by God to save the United States — issued this statement at the start of Trump's impeachment trial: "As attorney general, Jeff Sessions handed the ball to the other team and walked off the field the moment play started getting rough."

Sessions' campaign fired back at both in an ad. He noted that Byrne once called Trump unfit to lead the ticket after the 2016 release of Trump's vulgar outtakes on "Access Hollywood" about grabbing women. He called Tuberville a "tourist" who moved from Florida to run for Senate.

from Blogger https://ift.tt/39fEEqI via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Blogger

0 notes

ihouseberkeley · 4 years

Text

Throughout the year, International House, Berkeley hosts themed dinners, honoring cultural heritage and holidays celebrated around the world. Dinners range from Oktoberfest to Native American Heritage, as well as Diwali and Lunar New Year. For the month of February, guests were treated to a special dinner in honor of Black History Month. The February 20 dinner, led by sous-chef Ray Sharp, featured a range of Southern food which paid homage to African American heritage. “Red Beans and Rice, Stewed Okra with Fire Roasted Tomatoes, Gumbo, Braised Collard Greens w/ Ham Shanks, and Southern Fried Chicken, there were so many dishes I could choose from for this event,” he said.

Sous-chef Ray Sharp (left) and cook Morgan Townsend (right) posing in front of a banner honoring African heritage.

Sharp has been the lead chef for the African American Heritage dinner at I-House for the past two years. Born in San Francisco but raised in Berkeley, Sharp has been cooking Southern cuisine for years. “Most of the dishes I placed on the menu for this event are dishes that I have made hundreds of times working as the Chef de Cuisine at Elite, a New Orleans inspired restaurant in San Francisco.”

Morgan Townsend, whose been working as a cook with the I-House dining team for over a year, assisted Sharp with the menu. “The inspiration of the food really stemmed from [the dining staff’s] love and experience with African American food, which I really think showed that night,” he said. Townsend’s unique cultural background helped him see how food brings people together. “I grew up in Oakland and Berkeley, but my family is originally from Mississippi, Alabama, and the Dominican Republic,” he said, adding that his background gave him “insight on how African food transcends through geographical boundaries.”

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Residents and guests entered the dining buffet to see decorations that honored African ancestry. Some of the décor featured wooden spoons, carved masks, and baskets which Townsend said were “used in praise of sharing positive spirits, love and prosperity to the tribes who created them.”

Many of the decorations were passed down to Townsend from his mother, and he was able to display them during the dinner. “I’m thankful that my mother was very much into her African heritage and was able to pass down [pieces] of art to me and share the meaning behind [them],” he said.

Sous-chef Ray Sharp arranging food he prepared for the African American Heritage dinner. Photo by Chan’Cellore Makanjuola.

Themed dinners at I-House often give residents the opportunity to experience other cultures through food. For Sharp, “theme[d] meals not only provide students a taste of their home country that they are so far away from, but also provide the dining team an educational experience as we are learning and working with the residents whose countries we are representing.”

For Townsend, the themed dinners such as the one for Black History Month, are a great way to bring residents together.“[What] I hope for students and residents to learn from these dinners is that no matter where we all come from, our food really shows the true similarities that we all have with one another all across the world.”

For a list of themed dinners and to see what’s cooking at I-House, please visit: https://ihouse.berkeley.edu/menu

We’ve set a standard on the UC Berkeley campus as students, faculty, and staff from other facilities are frequently spotted in our Dining Commons. In case you missed it, here is a wonderful article written about I-House Dining Services, published in the February 2020 issue of Food Service Director Magazine. Congratulations to the entire Dining Services team!

Celebrating Black History Month at I-House through Food Throughout the year, International House, Berkeley hosts themed dinners, honoring cultural heritage and holidays celebrated around the world.

#dining hall #dinner #food #I-House Life #lunch #menu #what&039;s cooking

0 notes

tanjanica · 5 years

Photo

today’s lunch was made possible by @kirinyaga_wellness_center. I met this young lady yesterday during Ignite Alabama Minority Women’s Business Expo. I was intrigued by the beautiful harvest of veggies that she had with her as she pitched her business idea to a panel of judges and a room full of fellow future business leaders. after the pitched, i asked about the okra because i had never seen okra in any color except green. she explained that all of@her veggies are exotic and she grew them in her own backyard. she gave me okra and some beautiful tomatoes (next photo)z well, let me tell you, today is the first day i’ve had a sweet tomato! it’s so good. I added feta, green and red onions. i almost baked some salmon to complete this delicious, healthy lunch. do me a favor and go follow this young lady. and when passing through Gadsden, stop by and see her. Her veggies are just a part of what she offers. it was great meeting you kenya! i will see you again! . . . . . . #healthyeats #goodeats #eattolive #heirloomtomatoes #tomatoes #exoticveggies #exoticvegetables #feta #cleaneating #imnotcooking2nite #ipushfoodie #eeeeeats #scrumptious #yummy #getinmybelly #garden #eatlocal #holisticliving #localeats #supportsmallbusiness https://www.instagram.com/p/B4Asz8cJsIo/?igshid=198hqyuxfvd75

0 notes

icleanedthisplate · 2 years

Text

Dine-Out Meals of September 2022, Ranked

I ranked the following based on taste alone. I made no consideration for ambiance or the general dining experience or whatever. I included meals I got to go. I included food trucks, catered meals, and fast food.

This is the most meals I've had in a month since October 2020. No major disappointments, and a couple of really good ones.

Should you be interested in the pictures or reading the few words I had to say about each meal, click on the home page and scroll down or see the archives.

Dry Aged Pork Chop. Allsopp & Chapple. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.7.2022.

Birria de Cabrito Plate. Ruins. Dallas, Texas. 9.14.2022.

Chicken & Goat Cheese Nachos App (shared), Chopped Salmon Salad. Cheers. Maumelle, Arkansas. 9.26.2022.

Ribeye w/Collard Greens. Samantha’s Tap Room. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.20.2022.

Noodle Bowl w/Pork, add an Egg. Three Fold Noodles + Dumpling Co. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.1.2022.

Hamburger Steak w/Mashed Potatoes & Fried Okra. Sallie’s Café. Checotah, Oklahoma. 9.8.2022.

Ribeye w/Broccoli, Green Beans, Side Salad. Kasper’s. Clarksville, Arkansas. 9.27.2022.

Sushi Rolls (Spicy Girl, Eel Roll). Kemuri. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.15.2022.

Prime Rib w/Butternut Squash, House Salad. Redlands Grill. Hoover, Alabama. 9.28.2022.

Yia-Yia’s Kota w/Green Beans & Yigandes. Platia Greek Kouzina. Frisco, Texas. 9.15.2022.

Luncheon Filet. McGill’s. Tulsa, Oklahoma. 9.9.2022.

White Bean & Sausage Soup, Seared Mahi Mahi. 42 Bar & Table. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.7.2022.

Thai Kai Salad, Pumpkin Cheesecake. Redlands Grill. Hoover, Alabama. 9.29.2022.

Mushroom Swiss Burger w/Bacon, Sweet Potato Fries. Smitty’s Garage. Rogers, Arkansas. 9.12.2022.

Julie’s Niçoise Salad, Cup of Soup Special (Carrot Something?). Parigi. Dallas, Texas. 9.13.2022.

Spicy Ramen, Pork Dumplings. Ginger. Fayetteville, Arkansas. 9.11.2022.

Cheese & Charcuterie (shared), Half Chicken. The Preacher’s Son. Bentonville, Arkansas. 9.26.2022.

Tamales, Corn & Crab Bisque, Soaked Salad. Doe’s Eat Place. Fort Smith, Arkansas. 9.9.2020.

Beef Noodle Soup w/Egg. Three Fold Noodles + Dumpling Co. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.22.2022.

Argentinian Burger w/Fries. Buenos Aires Grill & Café. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.6.2022.

Smokey Robinson w/Cheese Tots. Stickyz Rock’n’Roll Chicken Shack. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.2.2022.

Pink Lady Beets & Goat Cheese Salads. Mendocino Farms. Dallas, Texas. 9.13.2022.

Thai Chop Salad w/Mahi Mahi. Big Orange (Midtown). Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.23.2022.

Smoked Turkey Soaked Salad. Brood & Barley. North Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.16.2022.

Chicken Noodle Soup, Veggie Wrap w/Chips. 42 Bar & Table. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.20.2022.

Lunch Catering (Three meats, pasta, beans, banana pudding). Count Porkula. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.21.2022.

Mushroom Garlic Scramble. Ellen’s. Dallas, Texas. 9.14.2022.

PLT (Pancetta, Lettuce, Tomato) w/Chips. Boulevard Bread Company (SOMA). Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.28.2022.

Mango Shrimp. San Miguel Mexican Grill. Fayetteville, Arkansas. 9.27.2022.

Main Street Hash. The Root Cafe. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.18.2022.

Spicy Beef Avocado Omelet. Bob’s Grill. Conway, Arkansas. 9.4.2022.

Spicy Chicken Deluxe Pizza (to go). Pizza Café. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.2.2022.

Spicy Chicken Deluxe Pizza (to go). Pizza Café. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.19.2022.

Venison Goat Cheese Sliders. Flyway Brewing. North Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.17.2022.

The Renaissance Cobb, Turkey & Dumpling Soup. Merlot’s Lounge (Renaissance Hotel). Tulsa, Oklahoma. 9.8.2022.

Egg White Grill, Yogurt w/Fruit. Chick-fil-A. Hoover, Alabama. 9.29.2022.

Breakfast Catering (Chicken Biscuits, Fruit). Chick-fil-A. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.23.2022.

Turkey Bacon, Cheddar & Egg White Sandwich. Starbucks. Tulsa, Oklahoma. 9.9.2022.

Turkey Bacon, Cheddar & Egg White Sandwich. Starbucks. Dallas, Texas. 9.14.2022.

Turkey Chipotle Sandwich w/Chips. Fidel & Co. Little Rock, Arkansas. 9.23.2022.

Bacon, Gouda, & Egg Sandwich. Starbucks. Dallas, Texas. 9.15.2022.

Red Pepper Sous Vide Egg Bites. Starbucks. Rogers, Arkansas. 9.27.2022.

Red Pepper Sous Vide Egg Bites. Starbucks. Rogers, Arkansas. 9.12.2022.

Red Pepper Sous Vide Egg Bites. Starbucks. Tulsa, Oklahoma. 9.8.2022. (No photo.)

#food ranking #food blog #september 2022

0 notes

reneeacaseyfl · 5 years

Text

Restaurant Review: Elysian Bar | Fortune

The Elysian Bar in New Orleans’ Marigny neighborhood occupies the 150-year-old rectory of Saints Peter & Paul. Set behind a gated garden of pygmy palms, the building is an inviting confection of brick and marzipan stucco. I don’t so much walk through the arched doorway as a magnetizing presence inside summons me forth, the single gas lantern flickering above my head like biblical tongues.

A long hallway stretches down the first floor of the former clergy quarters. There’s a snug coffee bar to the right. Two adjoining parlors to the left are lit and furnished for the sequel to Interview With the Vampire: ornately mantled fireplaces, cane chairs with crimson cushions, marble tables with legs shaped like sea serpents, eruptions of ferns and blood-purple flowers, body-length gold mirrors, bustled and billowing mustard drapes framing a burgundy gingham sofa like a theater stage. The dreamy space feels less like a restaurant than an exclusive house party you were invited to by mistake or as a cruel joke.

I pause by the entrance near a stack of menus, waiting for a host. There’s one on staff (management confirms later) but none appears, so I walk down the hallway. It’s difficult to tell the staff from the diners, but no one says hi or can I help you, so I keep going. The hall opens into a sunroom modeled after Monet’s dining room in Giverny, France. One door leads out to a brick courtyard, guarded by stained-glass saints watching from the 24-foot windows. Another doorway connects to the moody vermilion bar, whose cocktail menu showcases a grand tour of vermouths, including an Athenian rouge that smells like a bowl of vanilla and roses. I wait 10 minutes. Neither of the bartenders acknowledges me.

Hotel Peter and Paul’s rectory parlor. Courtesy of Hotel Peter and Paul

I backtrack to the foyer, where someone tells me to sit anywhere and “a server will be right over.” A server does not come right over. Then two do, a moment apart. The first takes my drink order and the second takes my food order, as if they were cocktail waitresses absentmindedly wandering the Harrah’s casino floor. Then Martha Wiggins materializes alongside my table, bearing a bowl of grilled okra and crispy, rice-floured-and-fried eggplant lashed with harissa, and the night starts looking up.

Rebirth

After she became a Popsicle tycoon but before she was a hotelier, People’s Pops founder Nathalie Jordi would pass the Peter & Paul compound—the schoolhouse, the rectory, the church, the convent—all closed more than a decade before she relocated to New Orleans from Brooklyn in 2009. “These buildings tower over the neighborhood,” she says. “They were dark and gloomy but still very beautiful.”

Jordi wanted to open a hotel in Marigny, but “much smaller and more modest” than the 71-key situation she wound up with: “I was aware of the [Peter & Paul buildings] but they just seemed out of my league because they were so big and required so much expensive renovation.” Partnering with design firm ASH NYC (the Dean in Providence, the Siren in Detroit) made the $20 million, four-year rehabilitation possible, and the Hotel Peter & Paul opened in October. The Elysian Bar, which is managed by the folks behind the Bywater smash Bacchanal, debuted a month later.

I wake up in a wrought-iron canopy bed, in an attractively monastic room at the foot of a dramatic wishbone-shaped cypress staircase in the old schoolhouse, thinking about that eggplant and okra. The tender vegetables were shellacked in fragrant, feisty pepper paste. Crème fraîche, fennel, and mint countered with cool touches. Black sesame seeds, whole cumin seeds, and peanuts made every bite crunch like Cracker Jacks.

The Elysian Bar inside Hotel Peter and Paul. Courtesy of Hotel Peter and Paul

Martha Wiggins, deliverer of the dish, is the chef de cuisine to Alex Harrell’s executive chef, and the two go way back. They cooked together at Sylvain and Angeline and have resumed their easy two-step at Elysian Bar, banging out an all-day menu featuring Southern produce and proteins on an international vacation. Huge, sweet, head-on prawns were plucked from the gulf, roasted, and bathed in fruity-hot Calabrian chile butter. Lacto-fermented corn blew up a mild-mannered cucumber salad with mini explosions of sugar, salt, and funk.

The grits were best I’ve eaten, a strain of red corn grown and dried by the Alabama coast, milled at Bellegarde Bakery in New Orleans, and finally simmered with milk and cream into a porridge as silky and beige as cappuccino foam. They came topped with a perfect poached egg, frizzled shallots, and mushrooms suspended in a barbecue-y tomato sauce, all delicious but ultimately unnecessary. These grits stand alone.

Laissez-faire

Elysian Bar’s eerie evening glamour abates in the sunlight. At 8:30 in the morning, when I shuffle across the hotel courtyard into the restaurant, the place feels like a mansion museum before the docents have arrived. There are no customers and no breakfast besides baked goods at the twee coffee bar—strange for a hotel restaurant. “The menu starts at 10:30,” says a dour barista, passing a cup of Congregation Coffee across the counter. She looks like she needs it more than I do.

I take the coffee for a walk around Marigny, where the houses are taffy-colored and the sidewalks cracked like Kit Kats. Trees turn whole blocks into canopied tunnels of greenery, and the air is thick with humidity and magnolias. There are worse places to wait for a restaurant to open.

I head back into Elysian Bar at 11 a.m. and, just like at dinner, there’s no staff to direct me. I wander into the sunroom, by daylight a country kaleidoscope of lemons and sapphires, and sit down. A server appears to inform me I have to order at the bar, and while I can order now, the kitchen won’t start serving food until 11:30. So I get up from my table, walk into the bar, place (and pay for) my order with the bartender. Nearly an hour later, the server then delivers that order to my table. Confused? Me too.

Inside the cafe at Hotel Peter and Paul. Courtesy of Hotel Peter and Paul

Harrell and Wiggins hold up their end of the deal again. The tannish-gray puck of sunchoke custard looks like something you’d use to grout bathroom tile, but it tastes purely of the creamy, nutty Jerusalem artichokes. A tangle of shaved asparagus, arugula, and radishes tossed in acidic, mustardy vinaigrette surrounds the custard like a green halo. Bourbon creates a subtle undercurrent of sweetness in the exquisite chicken liver pâté. Grilled sliced of wheat-y Bellegarde sourdough and tangy strawberry-beet mostarda accompany, and the three components eaten together harmonize like a choir.

The duck egg omelet is perfect. Made with Mississippi eggs and served with a well-dressed pile of arugula, it’s as yellow as a buttercup, pregnant with rich, runny triple-crème cheese, and not too wet or too dry. Chives and bowfin caviar bead the omelet’s sloping surface, adding balancing pops of salinity and allium heat to each luxurious forkful. I would eat this every day for breakfast and never get bored.

It’s afternoon—literally, after noon—when my “breakfast” is done. I see my server/not-server once during the meal. Because I’ve already paid, I can leave quickly, without saying goodbye.

Many people think the best thing a hotel restaurant can be is not a hotel restaurant. It’s much more valuable to be a place activated by locals, somewhere authentic, with genuinely good food and noncorporate ambiance. Elysian Bar has clearly achieved that. The smart cooking and evocative atmosphere make it a spectacular place to be, but for the guest who wants to belong to another city for one night, to feel welcomed and cared for, it’s only spectacular in how short it falls.