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The family of Anthony Kinslow, 18, the only child of Fel Houston (see today's column), set up a scholarship fund for him. If you click to his mother's on-line death notice, you will see information about the scholarship fund and photographs of Anthony and his mother.
I'll make a deal with the people who use the old-enough-to-fight/old-enough-to-drink argument that we heard back in the Vietnam era -- if you stop using this argument, I'll be glad to listen to the rest of what you have to say.
Starting your crusade for lowering the drinking age to 18 with this old argument carries no weight when the nation does not have a military draft, or any other requirement of public service, for men and women between 18 and 21.
Back in the day, when everyone was subjected to the draft, you might have convinced me with the old-enough-for-the-Army/old-enough-for-booze proposition. Now, many of the same people who use this argument have no support of a draft and, to be frank, have little affinity with the military class in the United States. They say they support our troops but are, in fact, AWOL from even the consideration of military service for themselves or the young men and women in their family. After the 9/11 attacks, George Bush said, "Go shopping." He didn't call for public service of any kind, and we have an all-volunteer military with the vast majority of Americans not even looking in that direction for service or career.
So here's the rule, if were are, in fact, going to reopen this debate about the drinking age.
You don't get to use this as an argument for lowering the drinking age unless your willing to support a draft of young people into public service of some kind. If we, as a nation, are going to compel 18-year-olds to serve, I'll be among the first to buy the committed a beer and drink it with them (in moderation, of course).
I've said this before and this seems like a good time to bring it up again -- when Baltimore builds its new downtown arena, it should include a new home for the North Baltimore Aquatic Club. It's the best in the country and, according to our story today, the facility is maxed out and could use a new home for expanding its swimming programs. So, in the design of the new arena, why not include a permanent new home for NBAC, Michael Phelps and Katie Hoff? It is not crazy for a developer to consider building an Olympic-size pool in the basement of the new arena and bringing Phelps back to town to promote it as a site for training and for national swimming trials.
The new arena could earn international distinction another way -- by being designed as a fully "green" building, eco-smart in every way. The new arena will likely be heated and cooled using downtown's present steam energy system, which is great, except for one thing - the wasteful water discharge. Experts say the water can be recaptured, filtered and put to other use - for flushing toilets, for making ice for an NHL rink or perhaps for filling an Olympic swimming pool.
In some respects, the rumors about Michael Phelps acquiring the old Northwest Family Skating Center to expand Meadowbrook into a larger training center makes sense. The rink is right next to where North Baltimore Aquatic Club runs its programs, and the best swimming club in the country needs more room to meet demand. A new ice rink opened in Reisterstown last winter, the first of its kind in Baltimore County since the 1970s, so the folks who run Northwest in Mount Washington might have felt this was a good time to sell out.
But there's one thing about this that makes no sense -- the whole area is a flood zone. When the Jones Falls rises in heavy rains, muddy waters comes a'gushin' everywhere. I've seen mud spread onto the ice rink. (Maybe Phelps and his associates think they can have a white-water kayaking center there, too.)
Hey, it's none of my business what the golden boy does with his money, but if it was me, I'd be talking to the city of Baltimore about including the Michael Phelps Aquatic Sports Center in the new downtown arena, not at Meadowbrook.
The reference in Sunday's column to Tippy Martinez's feat 25 years ago (Aug. 24) has provoked an outpouring of comments. (I'm just posting a sample received by e-mail; the rest of you can post to this blog.) Seems like every Orioles fan was there that night, just as Tippy has said over the years. It's the thing for which he is best remembered. (I always felt his short-lived line of salsa was pretty good, too.) Thanks to everyone who wrote in about this. More memories welcome.
And here's a question: What are the odds such a thing will ever be duplicated?
From Steve Carlyle: "I was wondering if you also knew that because of all of Altobelli’s defensive moves, that the 2nd baseman for that inning was another fan favorite (and legendary character) John Lowenstein. I was at the game with my wife and another couple, (we sat in the upper deck on the 3rd base side) and when the final out was made we started high-fiving everybody around us, I got too exuberant and high-fived my friend’s wife’s forehead…hard! Oops! Thankfully the excitement of the situation overwhelmed her pain. Thanks for bringing that memory up again."
From Bill Ratherbe (he'd rather be anonymous for some reason): "It's even better... Because of the manager's moves, Gary Roenicke and/or John Lowenstein was (or were) playing at 2nd base and/or 3rd base. The story goes, Tippy kept throwing over to 1st basebecause Eddie Murray was the only guy he recognized as being where he belonged!"
From Rob Beaty: "Wow, did you bring back memories. I was at that game. A friendwho worked for Martin's gave me his tickets, box seats right behind the Orioles dugout. You could smell the aftershave lotion and here them talking. We were 3 rows up. Man, I got chills thinking about it. Really that was one of the most boring games I'd ever been to but the seats were so good we decided to tough it out. Real Orioles Magic. If my memory serves me right, hardly anyone was playing their regular position. I remember that stadium went wild. After the game Lenn Sakata was interviewed and told reporters he had to hit that home run 'cause there was no way he was going to catch another inning. Thanks for the flashback."
Glenn Roche: "Thanks for the story about what I've always considered to be the best baseball game I ever witnessed, the one I affectionately call "Tippy's Pickoff" Game. Can't believe it's been 25 years - thanks for confirming how old I'm getting! The one exception I have to take with your account is the 'crowd roaring' stuff. When the Jays pushed one across against Tim "Bigfoot" Stoddard before an out was recorded in the top of the tenth, what was left of a sparse crowd headed for their cars. I'll bet there wasn't 1,000 of us diehards left to see Tippy's miracle and, a bit later, Lenny hook a fly around the left field pole for the win (we did our best to roar, I'll give you that)."
Genevieve: "Thank you, thank you for remembering that game in '83. I had almost forgotten that night. I was lying in bed listening to the game while my husband tried to sleep. Not much sleep for him that night; and the screams were not for him either. They were for Len making plays I'll never forget. Baseball will often break our hearts, but can give us great memories, too!"
Dr. and Mrs. Donald Hobart (Janice): "My husband Don and I were there with our daughters and the excitement was awesome. My husband kept exclaiming, “This is history!” I saved our ticket stubs and the original envelope. We are season ticket holders and so we will call to find out if indeed they will honor Tippy. Several years ago, when he had the food stand at the park, I told him of my treasured tickets. At the time he mentioned that perhaps at an auction they might bring in some donation to a worthy cause. As with many should do things, I did not follow up. We really enjoyed the column and had forgotten the rest of the story as related by Turkey Joe Trabert. What a great job you have to remind us of special moments in time."
Rich Schurman: "It was great to read Sunday's column about Tippy Martinez' 3 pickoffs. I remember it well (OK - fairly well). I was there and witnessed the whole thing. Of course, about 89,000 people claim that they were there! There was actually more weird stuff about that game than you mentioned. I'm surprised that Turkey Joe didn't mention some of the other stuff. By the way, my brother and I were regulars at his bar for a few years. His bartender, Vince, got me started with my beer can collection. Once a week they would have a "mystery beer" that no one had heard of, and Vince would open the can from the bottom so that the customers could add the can to their collection. . . . I don't think Rhino had ever played third before that night, and every time a batter would come to the plate he would look into the O's dugout, which was at that time on the 3rd base side, for direction on where to play the batter. It was hilarious just watching him trying to figure out where they wanted him to play!"
Mark Wolkow: "I happened to be in attendance at that game, as a former partial season ticket holder at the time... and it was truly a magical experience. As to what video footage remains, I couldn't say. But you may recall that in 1983, WBAL radio replayed certain highlights of interesting games a day or two (or perhaps its was a week or two) after the game was complete. I was able to tape the radio rebroadcast of the final two innings, and I drag it out every couple of years to listen and reminisce. I still get chills when I hear the Chuck Thompson describing the action from that game. The whole family - including my college-aged daughters - are now familiar with Tippy's feat."
Would love to hear from you between 1 and 2 pm today if this subject strikes a sentimental nerve.
We're talking about "HomeTown Favorites" in the second hour of Midday, and need some suggestions. You can call in at 410-662-8780 or tol-free 1-866-661-9309
In this mobile society of ours, with people moving and settling far from the cities and towns where they grew up, we all have longings for hometown treats -- that is, the drinks, cookies, candies and other brand-name consumables you can only find in certain regions of the country. And this kind of thing, in our mass-market culture, is becoming increasingly rare. The things I miss about my boyhood in New England are still hard to find around Baltimore -- Gaspar's linguica, Autocrat coffee syrup, any locally-made grape nut ice cream and Moxie soda -- and I guess that makes me appreciate them even more.
What's yours? If you're not from the Baltimore region originally, tell us what you miss from back home, the goodies you always make sure to pack in your carry-on luggage.
And if you are from around here -- if you grew up in the Baltimore area, but live elsewhere now -- tell us what you miss. (I mean, besides Berger Cookies!)
Would love to hear from ya. MIDDAY, WYPR-FM, 88.1
Really like this new, richly-illustrated book, The Cone Sisters of Baltimore: Collecting at Full Tilt, by Ellen B. Hirschland, their great-niece, and her daughter, Nancy Hirschland Ramage. The Sisters Cone are the subject of Midday at 1 pm today. WYPR-FM, 88.1
Oh, well. It was for a good cause. . . . I took two chances but didn't win. . . . The prize was a restored 1976 BMW auctioned off to raise funds for a new ambulance for a hospital in Tanzania, one of the world's poorest countries. (The raffle tickets cost $30 each, and that's roughly a week's wages in Tanzania.)
A bit of irony: Jack Gallagher of Great Falls, Va., purchased the winning ticket and, turns out, he once owned a '76 Beamer. It was totaled in an accident.
The auction was staged to purchase the ambulance for St. Elizabeth Hospital in Arusha, Tanzania.
"We've had a wonderful response," says Pam Protani, who organized the auction. "Our fundraising goal was $65,000 and as of Friday, we raised $60,000. It has been an incredible experience and so many people have become a part of this ambulance. From the inner-city elementary school in Pittsburgh that held a coin campaign, raising $1,800 for the fund, to the students from Mount de Sales Academy and Mount. St. Joe's donating monies from their school's dress-down days, to Carroll Kohler donating the BMW after spending four years meticulously restoring the car. . . . All for the purpose of purchasing an ambulance in a community a world away! This week will be exciting for us as well, as we will order the ambulance for St. Elizabeth's."
The legendary Morris Martick, subject of today's column, has asked me for advice several times regarding his French restaurant on Mulberry Street. He has also sought the advice of attorney John Murphy. Mr. Murphy told me that, based on what he heard Monday at a meeting with city development officials, "If [Morris] fixed the place up a little, he could stay there for the rest of his life."
I don't think Morris wants to remain in business; he has become more adamant about that during the last week. But, should his many old fans and long-time customers learn the news of his closing today, he might -- might -- be willing to re-open to answer popular demand. (Martick's phone numbers are 410-752-5155 and 410-685-5192.)
I've made some other suggestions, but Morris is stubborn and, while he asks for advice, he doesn't seem inclined to take it. Nonetheless, here's what I advised:
1. Hire a carpenter and painter to make repairs to the exterior of his building and satisfy the city housing code. This would not have to be an exorbitant expense, based on what I see, and Morris says he can afford it.
2. Hire a MICA student to repaint the funky, but faded sign on the sheet of plywood covering the front windows of the restaurant.
3. Take on a kitchen helper and student willing to learn Morris's recipes. Take the time now, at 86 and a half years old, to train someone to help produce the fine food for which Martick is famous. This apparently never worked before -- Morris likes to tell stories about chefs who failed to run his kitchen -- but, if he wants to follow his bliss for the rest of his life, this perfectionist needs to mentor a successor who can help him keep the place alive.
4. Have a grand re-opening this fall.
5. Don't re-open as a restaurant and, instead, go into the pâté business. Morris still makes a great French country-style pâté. He could keep his restaurant license and spend a few hours each day working in his upstairs kitchen making pâté. He could sell them to old customers, to other restaurants, to gourmet delis and to supermarkets. Loaves and slices of this pâté would appear on menus and deli cases as, "Martick's famous pate Francais," as a tribute to one of Baltimore's culinary legends. He could advertise on e-Bay. Someone with marketing skills might want to help him figure out a way to sell his pâtés to an even wider audience with Internet sales. (If I had time, I'd take a stab at it myself.)
Morris seems to perk up at the pâté idea.
In polite conversation recently, I heard a guy refer to "an Asian problem" in his community. I pressed to know what he meant by that, and he didn't offer much in the way of a "problem." The "problem" seemed to be that "Asians" were visible in his community, that they were here.
Oh, well. That's how it is with some people. A lot of the rhetoric about our "immigrant problem" -- the illegality of their entry into the United States, the cost to taxpayers, the refusal of immigrants assimilate and learn the nation's dominant language -- seems to be a cover for general discomfort with having immigrants here at all, and all around us. The plaint about language -- or the alleged refusal of many immigrants to speak English -- is most overstated. English is the world's dominant language and the number of its speakers grows by millions every year.
And it's baloney that immigrants refuse to learn to speak it. I'll finish this entry with a note I received from an old friend who is teaching ESOL (English for Speakers of Other Languages) at an elementary school in Baltimore County. I asked how she liked her job, and this was her reply:
"In a school of about 330 students, we have 72 students in pre-K through grade 5 whose second language is English, and they come from all over -- China, El Salvador, India, Iran, Ethiopia, Bulgaria . . . I pull out my small groups for a half-hour of English grammar and vocabulary instruction each day. I love the kids, and their parents are great to work with because they come from cultures that still value education. They hold teachers in high esteem -- imagine that. Plus, they have sacrificed so much to come here, trying to find a better future for their children. I'd never be brave enough to leave my homeland and my extended family, so I admire folks who have that much courage."
OK, so . . . a couple of weeks ago, I mentioned in my column an odd bill at First Mariner Arena, some 40 years ago when it was called the Civic Center. I said Jimi Hendrix had opened for Herman's Hermits. That wasn't the case. Even stranger, if you ask me, was the actual bill: Jimi Hendrix opening for The Monkees.
"I was there," says 60s rock aficionado Frank "Beatle Frank" Lidinsky. "I saw every major show at the Civic Center starting with the Dick Clark Road Show, starring Gene Pitney, in the summer of 1964, followed by the Beatles in September, until I went away to college in September of 1968.
"Jimi Hendrix opened for the Monkees at the Baltimore Civic Center on July 21, 1967. Mostly girls in the audience, and they didn't like his act. They walked around or went to the bathroom during it. Hendrix [toured] with the Monkees in mid- to late-summer of 1967."
So who opened for Herman's Hermits when they played the Civic Center?
That's right. The Who.
"I was a junior in high school and remember telling all the guys the next day about this group from England that broke up their instruments and threw them into the audience," Beatle Frank says. "I still have the promotion flyer at home . . ."
Frank also has a report on the concert from The Sun, which he scanned and shared with us:
One of the young brothers sentenced to life-plus-20 in Baltimore Circuit Court yesterday called me in 2005, looking for help finding a job. Tavon Tyner, now 21, was one of the youngest men to call 410-332-6166 to seek help getting a job. Tavon hadn't finished high school. He was living with his grandmother in West Baltimore. He had one foot on the street -- and in trouble -- and the other just a few steps away from it. His father had recently re-entered the picture, having been deeply involved in Baltimore's drug culture, then away in prison, for many years.
I interviewed Tavon and his dad, Berson Tyner, and wrote a column about them for Father's Day 2005. It was Berson Tyner's first Father's Day as a free man in 10 years, and he was so earnest about making ammends and finally doing the right thing. "I made a lot of mistakes and bad choices," he said at the time. "But I am trying to tell my sons, to appeal to their hearts and their consciences, to make them think. They can do better."
Berson Tyner had a job and, with his wife, Karen, supported a family of three boys. Twice-weekly group therapy sessions at Hagerstown, prayer and regular visits from his family are what seemed to have helped him the most in prison. He put aside the anger and hate he had been taught by his own father since he was a boy. "And that criminal mentality left me," he added. "That's most important, you know. I used to be weak. I used to give in to peer pressure. ... I've been in [many] prisons in Maryland and a lot of guys know me, and I want them to know that life doesn't have to stop there. You can come out with a plan."
The plan included helping his sons go straight -- and to get Tavon, in particular, off the drug-dealing track. That's why his family sent him to live with his paternal grandmother, away from bad influences on the east side of town. Tavon had been expelled from three schools. His father gave him and his brothers an ultimatum -- find a job or go back to school.
Tavon expressed an interest in getting a GED and, by August 2005, he was enrolled in a class. He also expressed a desire to be a chef one day. A Sun reader from Pikesville mailed me a couple of cookbooks to pass along to him, and I did so. That was the last I saw of Tavon -- on his grandmother's front porch on West Lanvale. That was the last I heard of him until his name popped up in the newspaper a year later -- September 2006. He'd been arrested with his brother in a murder.
I contacted Berson Tyner a couple of months ago to talk about this -- to see, really, if he wanted to talk about what had gone wrong with Tavon and his brother, Donte. But he claimed his boys were innocent and he didn't seem ready to acknowledge what had happened. I might try him again this week.
Lots of reader-reax to last Thursday's column item, in which I swore off plastic bags forever.
I first saw plastic bags in 1984 on a bus ride to the airport in Bangkok. It was hot day and I felt something warm on my leg. My seatmate was carrying his soup in a clear bag. They spread and quickly became global. . . . Countermeasures came quickly. By 1986 I was shopping in a small grocery in Oslo. When my purchases were tallied, the cashier took my kroner and leaned back. I inquiired about a bag and he asked which size and price I wanted, There was a small rack of different bags by the counter; I bought one (cheap). I finally noticed that other shopppers were carrying their own cloth or mesh bags. The Norwegians had quickly come to grips with their plastic bag problem.
-- Norman Stewart
I agree that an eco-manly bag needs to be offered for men to get into the anti-bag movement, but hey, Home Depot does sell reusables in macho Home Depot orange. My problem is remembering to take the damn things in the store with me. . . . Checkout clerks could use a little eco-training. I'm always grateful when I go to Wawa and they ASK if I need a bag; it makes people think about it. I almost always say no. . . . . But I notice [in most other stores, clerks] want to put EVERYTHING in a bag... plastic milk jugs, a single bottle of soda, a candy bar or most wasteful of all, a bag of something which of course is already in a bag. Just mechanical
idiocy. . . . Try refusing a bag, and who knows what can happen next. I was once told that if I tried to leave the store without my merchandise in a bag, I would be apprehended by the security guard. When I stacked a few items I bought in Home Depot (I forgot my reusable) together and went to carry them out to my car (OH GOD, in my BARE HANDS), the checkout queen-bee admonished me with "You CAN HAVE a bag you know!"
-- Doug Ebbert
Peter Moskos spent more than a year as a Baltimore police officer, assigned to the violent Eastern District of the city. He is also an assistant professor of law, police science and criminal justice at the John Jay College at the City University of New York. Coming up after the news at 1 pm on Midday, we’ll hear about Peter Moskos’ experience in the Eastern District and how those experiences shape his view of modern policing in big cities. How should police department’s approach persistent drug trafficking? Should police officers spend more time preventing crime than reacting to it – and how exactly would they do that. Cop In the ‘Hood, 1-2 pm today on Midday, 88.1 FM, WYPR.
In the final item of last Thursday's column, I mistakenly referred to the poet Robert Frost as a "native New Englander," when, in fact, he was born in California and did not move to Massachusetts until age 11. Thank you to reader Jeffrey R. Manning for pointing this out. The Sun regrets the error, as does the Son of the former Rose Popolo.
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
-- Yale Review, 1923
Reader Clark Semmes of Baltimore knows exactly what I'm talking about in today's column -- this guy thing about taking reusable shopping bags into the supermarket and eschewing plastic. "Personally," Semmes wrote this morning, "I feel that the blue reusable bags that Giant Food sells are the most macho. They are certainly better than the ones sold by Whole Foods or Trader Joe's. But somebody needs to make reusable bags in purple and black with the Ravens logo on the side. I think that would kick this thing into high gear. If they could be made out of greasy denim or recycled footballs that would be even better."
Lots of readers wanted to comment on having seen Jimi Hendrix play the Civic Center (now the First Mariner Arena, and soon to be replaced) back in the day:
"That concert was unforgettable," writes Larry Koppelman. "Jimi had me and the audience mystified. I was a garage band guitar player and both me and my friend were ready to give away our guitars after seeing the way he could play . . . Red House house was one of the better numbers that evening. it was Mother's Day soon and Jimi kept kidding Noel Redding about how he had his own special connotation about how to celebrate Mother's Day. But also, I saw the Rolling Stones at the Civic Center. Keith and Mick played three or four acoustic numbers, just the two of them with one guitar. I especially enjoyed Mick's big stovepipe hat and long red scarf. His first words to the audience? How is everyone in BALLLLLL-timore!?"
A reader named Ronald Amon seems to know a lot about -- and is quite concerned about -- one of our favorite beverages in the whole wide world:
Stewart's is now owned by the Dr. Pepper Snapple Group -- a subsidiary of Cadbury Schweppes. Cadbury Schweppes wanted all of the beverages under one group. You can call Crystal (800-762-7753) and give her your zip code and she will tell you where you can buy Stewart's Ginger Beer. THEN GO OUT AND
BUY IT. Because the problem is that Stewart's Ginger Beer is really low in production due to sales percentages with a 1% availability nationwide. In fact, sales production on all Stewart's beverages are not that high due to sales percentages and a lack of demand. They claim people aren't buying because Stewart's is an older line of products. But this should be the reason for greater demand. I sure hope they don't discontinue the line
entirely because the Ginger Beer is the greatest. I even suggested that
they change the name to a gourmet ginger ale and maybe that would kick up
the sales a bit. Apparently the Richmond VA market has several places to
purchase Stewart's Ginger Beer but as you go north or east from Richmond it
is hard to find.
As much as I like Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray, I would call for Stewart's Ginger Beer with my last meal on this Earth. (Some people would order a fine wine; I'd order a "Jamaican-style Ginger Beer with a zesty pepper flavor.") It lives up to its advertising claim: This is not your mother's ginger ale. And it leaves a scary burn on the back of your throat. For this reason, I'm not a regular swigger. I savor Stewart's, have one every now and then; it's like taking my palate to an amusement park.
I haven't been to the Stewart's on Pulaski Highway for a while, but it's still in business -- open daily until late September, when they close for the season. You can buy root beer by the jug there. If you've never had one, try the "steamburger." ("A loose meat sandwich," served with a plastic fork, a Sloppy Joe without the barbecue sauce.)
I had a suggestion for a new sales slogan for Stewart's, but I don't think they ever used it. Stewart's is known as "Home of the Steamburger," which is catchy and intriguing to the steamburger-uninitiated. But it's the huge root beer float that's worth bragging about. When he was about eight years old, my son, Nick, came up with a new slogan after his first attempt to finish the thing: "It's the float that makes you bloat."
Muster a strong Bawlmer accent and say it aloud. It works.
A friend of mine holds to the wise policy of refusing to order dinner specials in restaurants unless the waiter or waitress announces the price of each one. This is the same cat who recently ordered "just a glass of red" with his dinner in a Baltimore restaurant, only to find out when the bill came that the meager four ounces of red the waitress brought to our table cost $15. (Another fellow diner ordered "just a glass of white," and found out later that it cost $11.)
I mentioned this infuriating lack of disclosure in Sunday's column and -- whaddaya know? -- a fellow named Steve had the same experience in the same restaurant. Here's his report:
If someone from the MTA wants to explain this, please get in touch:
From a helpful Midday listener on Kent Island:
On your noontime program on 8/5. callers asked about seeing rodeos and jousting tournaments. Both are available at the Queen Anne's County Fair near Centreville, MD. which will be held Aug. 11-16.
Friday, Aug. 15 - 6 pm - Jousting
Saturday, Aug. 16 - 6 p.m. - Rodeo
The fairgrounds are off Rt. 301
-- a Stevensville Listener
And don't forget the chicken! I enjoyed getting this note about -- and recipe for -- grilled chicken from an Eastern Shore farmer named Mark Sultenfuss. He was listening to the Midday show when City Paper contributor and food nerd Henry Hong discussed great barbecued ribs and grilled chicken in Maryland. Sultenfuss wants no particular credit for the recipe; it's more of a community concoction -- called the 4-H Park Chicken, a highlight of the annual Queen Anne's County Fair.
"Lately I've been in the tractor listening to the radio a lot. The other day you were talking about barbecue. I wanted to mention to you about the best chicken recipe I know. The recipe is widely used here in the Centreville/Queenstown area and our family affectionately calls it 4-H Park Chicken. We call it that because it is the
recipe used at the Queen Anne's County Fair when they do the chicken dinner, on the Wednesday night of the fair. I do it here at home and everywhere around here for special occasions, or just a Sunday dinner. We make it for the County Farm Bureau picnic and the local churches and fire departments use it for fundraisers, too."It's a simple recipe and can be multiplied to do however much chicken you are
cooking:"One part vegetable oil, two parts vinegar; a couple of eggs (or many
more for a large batch), lots of salt; lots of poultry seasoning and some
black pepper. Mix it all up and dunk the chicken parts in it before laying
them on the grill. Whenever you turn the chicken, sop with the mix."Frankly, grilled chicken this way is my favorite. Come on out to the QA
Fair and get a taste this summer in early August.
"The Queene Anne's fair is the week of August 11th, Monday to Saturday. Wednesday night is the chicken dinner and it has always seemed to be the 'big night' at the fair, though every night has something great. If you've never been to it, it is a real agriculturally-centered, county fair -- lots of farm animal competitions, crop competition, crafts, wholesome nightly entertainment, a slice of apple pie from the past showing off the way of life we love and want to hang on to."
