December Books

By Romey Petite

Forever Words, The Unknown Poems, by Johnny Cash

Very rarely are we permitted a window into the imagination, craft and creative process of one of the true greats, in this case, the Man in Black himself. Forever Words is a treasury of dusted-off relics and artifacts unearthed from the Cash family’s archives. It contains the debut of 40-50 poems, and a trove of new songs penned by the singer-songwriter and legendary lyricist. The book also includes reproductions from Cash’s diary, including his original sketches and conceptual art. The collection is edited by and contains a foreword written by poet Paul Muldoon (Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and T.S. Elliot Prize). Die-hard fans of Cash — this is one to watch out for.

George Lucas: A Life, by Brian Ray Jones

The author of New York Times best-seller Jim Henson: The Biography tasks himself with delving into the legacy of another creative visionary — the mind behind the Jedi, the Force, adventures to vast worlds beyond galaxies far, far away and lost treasures that lie in arks, tombs and temples of doom. This isn’t just about Lucas’ blockbuster hits, though. Jones charts Lucas’ transformation from a struggling student to pioneer of film and visuals, beginning with his earlier experimental films at the University of Southern California. Jones shows how he nurtured his passion of combining words with visuals and learned from fellow masters of the art, whether telling us how Francis Ford Coppola whipped the young director into shape or the handshake that began his partnership with Spielberg. Fans, aspiring artists, and those nostalgic for the movie magic of this wizard of special effects will appreciate Jones’ thorough, moving, definitive portrait of the artist.

Metaphors Be With You, by Dr. Marty Grothe

Dr. Marty Grothe, whose forte is the category of words and language, has compiled a list of no less than the finest and most formidable examples of metaphor usage for dabblers and language enthusiasts alike. Grothe, a resident of Southern Pines, will be celebrating his release party at The Country Bookshop at 5 p.m. on Dec. 8. Metaphor is one of the most effective flowers of rhetoric, the bedrock of both homespun wisdom and eloquent, persuasive writing. This event is a rare bloom — not to be missed!

The Undoing Project, by Michael Lewis

With The Undoing Project Michael Lewis returns to make his newest foray into the realm of financial journalism. Lewis has written numerous other New York Times best-sellers, including the book that inspired the critically acclaimed film The Big Short (2015) — which ran at the Sunrise back in February. In The Undoing Project Lewis tells the tale of the two key figures that reshaped Big Data Studies, illuminating the collaboration between a pair of psychologists specializing in mathematics and behavior, Amos Tversky and Daniel Kahneman. He traces their truly seamless partnership — one that resulted in the publication of seminal studies on the process of decision making, cognitive bias, and predicting reoccurring system errors — research that has influenced much of the author’s own body of work.

A Most Improbable Journey, by Walter Alvarez

Professor Walter Alvarez, scientist, historian, one of the foremost minds in geology today and originator of impact theory, has taken aim at presenting the big picture. His enthralling new read, A Most Improbable Journey, concerns an exercise in mapping out time itself by positing the concept of big history. He categorizes the vastness of time and space into four categories: the cosmos, earth, life and humanity. The book begins with an anecdote of Alvarez chasing the fragments of the Mimbral discovery in 1991 — an asteroid that smashed into the Gulf of Mexico at the end of the Cretaceous period (66 million years ago) and prompted the dinosaur’s mass extinction. Through putting the Earth, even the universe, in perspective, Alvarez reminds us that human history itself is only a fraction of what the past can teach us.

Grape, Olive, Pig, by Matt Goulding

Grape, Olive, Pig, an Anthony Bourdain book, is written by Matt Goulding, co-founder and editor of Roads and Kingdoms online journal and author of the bestselling Eat This, Not That! series. A sequel of sorts to Rice, Noodle, Fish, Goulding has returned with a book navigating a plethora of tastes as numerous as there are cultural identities in Spain. It’s a whirlwind of dishes, destinations, histories, myths and meals meant to be enjoyed over long conversations late into the night — bread, blood sausage, fried pork, salads doused in olive oil and coarse salt. It’s a book for the hungry, but not the faint of heart as it gives the reader a look into the “sacrifice” required to bring such delicious food into being. It is also very much the love story of how Matt Goulding met and wooed his wife, Laura, a native Catalan. Read it and dream of the Iberian Peninsula, whether it’s the winding alleyways of Barcelona or the rustic Basque Country.

Rao’s Classics, by Frank Pellegrino Jr.

In Rao’s Classics, Frank Pellegrino Jr. debuts more than 140 new recipes — creative yet quintessential approaches to linguini, lobster, eggplant and veal. Pellegrino, owner and operator of the famous New York family business and food product line, has published previous entries in this series of cookbooks, including The Rao’s Cookbook, Rao’s: Recipes from the Neighborhood and Rao’s on the Grill. His newest entry tells of the family’s restaurant and this third generation proprietor’s family history. Tables at East Harlem’s Rao’s may be in high demand, but with these recommendations from the chef, you can bring their delightful Southern Italian recipes home to your very own table.

CHILDREN’S BOOKS

By Angie Tally

The Christmas Fox, by Anik McGrory. One by one, field and forest, the animals make their way to the barn, bearing gifts for the newborn baby. The cow brings hay, the bluebird brings a sweet song and the lamb brings cozy wool, but the shy little fox seemingly has nothing to offer, or does he? This beautiful take on the Nativity story from the animals’ point of view is the perfect addition to every family’s Christmas collection. Ages 3-6.

Penguin Problems, by Jory John. Some problems are serious, some are silly and some, well, some are just penguin problems. When the water is too salty, the sea too dark, when you are a bird that cannot fly and when everyone you know looks EXACTLY THE SAME, well, those are penguin problems. This fun picture book is sure to make even the grumpiest young reader giggle. Ages 3-6.

Land of Stories: A Treasury of Classic Fairy Tales, by Chris Colfer. Holiday gift-giving time is the perfect time to revisit much-loved classic tales, and what are more loved than classic fairy tales? New York Times best-selling author Chris Colfer has compiled a collection of 35 stories, including Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Jack and the Beanstalk. Readers young and older will enjoy curling up in front of a fireplace in a deep leather chair with this stunningly illustrated book. Ages 3-adult.

The Sweetest Christmas Eve, by Annie Hallinan. It is Christmas Eve and after a long search, the mouse family has finally found a house of its own. With pink, green, purple and yellow walls, a fireplace of brown bricks surrounded by shiny tiles and room for everyone, it seems perfect. But when they are discovered by a (gasp) human, the mouse family’s holiday peace is threatened. As often happens on Christmas Eve, something magical secures the mouse family’s sweet home forever. Annie will be signing copies of The Sweetest Christmas Eve at The Country Bookshop from 12-2 p.m. on Dec. 10. (ages 3-8)  PS

PinePitch

Holly & Ivy Time Travel

Go back in time for a good cause when Given Tufts celebrates the season at its annual Holly & Ivy Dinner, Tuesday, Dec. 6, at 6:30 p.m. in the Evergreen Room of the Holly Inn. The evening includes “old-fashioned” parlor entertainment (magic, songs and readings) and a delicious meal recreated from a menu at the Holly Inn circa 1915. Period dress is encouraged but not necessary to have a great time. Tickets are $125 per person and are available now, online only, at www.giventufts.org. For additional information, call (910) 295-3642. Space is limited.

Will Ferrell and a Winter Wonderland

The Arc of Moore County’s fifth annual Christmas Movie and Snow Spectacular is Saturday, Dec. 17, beginning 11 a.m. at the Sunrise Theater, 250 N.W. Broad Street, Southern Pines. There will be caroling, a visit from Santa, a screening of Elf at 11:30 a.m. and refreshments, too. A winter festival on the green (white) space — covered with snow for sledding — will follow the movie. A bouncy house, face painting, live entertainment and food trucks Stacks Cheddar, Dawg Wagon and Ouida’s Wildfire Pizza will make it a fun day for the whole family. Tickets are $10 with all proceeds benefiting individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities. Access to the green space activities only is $5. For tickets and more information, visit www.thearcofmoore.org or The Arc of Moore County, 673 S. Bennett St., Southern Pines, or call (910) 692-8272. Tickets will be available at the event but seating at the Sunrise Theater is limited, so booking in advance is recommended.

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Holidays at The Rooster’s Wife

Dec. 2: Jeanne Jolly and the Mistletoes in the Jolly Holiday Review bring a big voice to the season with the band to match. There will be mistletoe, and a special holiday cocktail from Reverie’s Tony Cross.

Dec. 4: Jonathan Byrd and Corin Raymond put the low in loneliness, and the high in hijinks with their unforgettable stories, poetry and guitar slinging.

Dec. 11: A new album brings jazz wonder Peter Lamb and his Wolves to Aberdeen. Horns, vocals, keys and more horns! Full band show for your holiday pleasure.

Dec.31: Perennial favorites and two-time International Bluegrass Music Association performers of the year, the Gibson Brothers, end the year with a matinee and full-blown New Year’s Eve party. The afternoon show begins at 2:46 p.m. The New Year’s festivities begin at 8:46 p.m., with a break for Champagne and tasty treats from Thyme and Place. Hold onto your party hat, as the Brothers are joined for an all-star jam with Hank and Pattie, Laurelyn Dossett, Alex McKinney, Alex Bingham to ring in 2017.

Elvis Christmas

Vision 4 Moore presents “An Elvis Christmas Special” featuring Todd Allen Herendeen, whose drive, dynamic voice and excellent showmanship have earned him wide acclaim, including the No. 1 hit “My Name is America” during his 15 years of performing professionally. Join him on Sunday, Dec. 18 at the Robert E. Lee Auditorium at Pinecrest High School, 250 Voit Gilmore Lane, Southern Pines. Music begins at 2 p.m. General admission tickets are $20, reserved seating section $30. Group rates are available for 10 or more. Purchase your tickets in advance at The Country Bookshop, Southern Pines; Sandhills Winery, West End; or Given Memorial Library, Pinehurst; or by credit card on our website, www.vision4moore.com (no additional fees added). For additional questions call (910) 365-9890 or email info@vision4moore.com.

First Eve

Bring friends and family to celebrate the New Year with music, games, activities and entertainment — then a countdown to the Pinecone Drop — on Dec. 31 (naturally) from 6-to-8 p.m., downtown Southern Pines, at the train station. No possums will be endangered

Reindeer Fun Run

A community event for everyone from serious runners to recreational walkers, families and pets. The 5k Reindeer Fun Run/Walk beginning at 9:30 a.m. curves through Aberdeen’s historic downtown neighborhoods with rolling hills and wide turns. The 12ks of Christmas Run beginning at 9 a.m. incorporates the 5k route along with a scenic tour of Bethesda and the Malcolm Blue Farm. Both courses finish on a sloping downhill toward downtown and the historic Union Station. For kids, the 1/2 Mile Egg Nog Jog & Kids Zone at 10:30 a.m. is a holiday must and fan favorite. Costume judging begins at 9:30 a.m. Awards presentation begins at 11 a.m. All proceeds go to the Boys & Girls Club of the Sandhills. Register at http://reindeerfunrun.com.

Murphy Family Encore

The annual Murphy Family Christmas Concert is Dec. 4 at 3 p.m. Doors open at 2:15 p.m. General admission tickets are $15 and VIP tickets are $20. Proceeds benefit the Sunrise Theater. The family will be performing American popular standards, jazz, alternative rock, gospel-influenced Christmas arrangements, traditional carols, and Brazilian bossa nova and samba.

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Christmas at Shaw House

Enjoy period decorations, warm apple cider and homemade cookies at the annual Christmas Open House at the historic Shaw House, Friday, Dec. 9, through Sunday, Dec.11, from 1 to 4 p.m. Tour three house museums built between the 1700s and 1800s to see how early Southern Pines and Sandhills residents lived. Admission is free. Shaw House is located at 110 W. Morganton Road and South West Broad Street in Southern Pines. For information, call (910) 692-2051, email info@moorehistory.com, or visit www.moorehistory.com.

Open House at Bryant House

Get into the old-time Christmas spirit with the annual open house at the historic Bryant House and McLendon Cabin, from 1 to 4 p.m. Saturday, Dec. 4. The Moore County Historical Association and Friends of the Bryant House host the event free of charge so every Yule visitor can get a little taste of how early settlers celebrated Christmas. Decorations are based on old-timey materials and traditions. There will be refreshments, live music, a historical interpretation and tours. The Bryant House and McLendon Cabin are at 3361 Mount Carmel Road, in Carthage. Built in the 1760s, the cabin is the county’s oldest dwelling remaining on its original site. Next door on the same lot is the Bryant House, a bigger dwelling dating back to the 1820s. For information, call (910) 692-2051, email info@moorehistory.com, or visit www.moorehistory.com.

Sound of Sandhills

Classical guitarist Dr. Adam Kossler performs Thursday, Dec. 1, at 7 p.m., at Sandhills Community College, Owens Auditorium. Kossler has been a top prize-winner in a number of international guitar competitions, including the Boston Guitarfest, Columbus Guitar Symposium, East Carolina Guitar Competition, Music Academy of North Carolina Guitar Competition, Texas International Guitar Competition, Music Teacher National Association Competition, and the Appalachian Guitarfest Competition. Kossler performs regularly as a solo artist, as a member of the NOVA Guitar Quartet, and with the Kossler Guitar Trio alongside his father, Bill, and brother John. He has been featured on several prestigious concert series, including the John E. Marlow Guitar Series (Bethesda, Maryland), Isle Newell Concert Series (Appalachicola, Florida), and the Seven Hills Guitar Series (Tallahassee, Florida). Admission is free.

The Cold Truth About Winter

All I want for Christmas is a little warm weather

By Bill Thompson

Some folks think that to really catch the Christmas spirit we need to have cold weather. Well, as Sportin’ Life says in “Porgy and Bess”:“It ain’t necessarily so.”

The main thing I catch from cold weather is a cold, the sneezing, wheezing, coughing kind. Although my doctor tells me we don’t catch a cold because of the cold weather, I don’t believe him. He says the cold is a virus we catch from other people; that it is passed person to person. I look at that kind of like the chicken and the egg. Somebody had to catch it first from something, and my money’s on cold, wet weather.

It can be difficult to summon the Christmas spirit in cold weather. One thing that is not conducive to a merry season is the effect on water pipes. I know that frozen water pipes are not a factor for many people, particularly those who have city water and insulation. But for people like me who live in old houses out in the country, frozen pipes are a fact of life.

It is hard to be jolly and joyful when you can’t get the shower to work or even get enough water to fill a basin to wash or shave your face. I know it sounds incongruous for me to be complaining about the lack of modern conveniences, since I am always extolling the virtues of the past. However, in those olden days, not having the convenience of a shower was something you more easily could predict before you went to bed and could, therefore, make adequate arrangements for your ablutions.

If, by luck, you are able to make yourself presentable to the public without water in the house, you must face the challenge of getting from the door of the house, across the porch, down the steps and to your car. I have heard that in Minnesota (a place of forbidding cold and icy mornings) folks can just push a remote control button and their cars will start automatically and everything will be nice and warm and ready to go when the driver gets to the car. (I know. We can buy such conveniences down here, too, but, unfortunately, I didn’t think about that when I bought my car in the middle of a Carolina summer.)

I don’t even have a garage or carport at my house. My car sits outside all night accumulating frost and/or ice on the windshield. That means that after I have negotiated my way from the door of my house, across the slick porch and down the slippery steps, I have to scrape the windshield and start the car and give the motor enough time to warm up and give the heater time to, at least, take the chill off the car seat.

Scraping the ice off the windshield with a putty knife is not a good idea. It takes a long time to clear ice with an instrument that is only one inch wide, and there is a good chance that you will put permanent scratches on the glass. Somebody told me a shortcut to getting the ice off the windshield was to turn on the windshield wipers and throw a glass of water on the windshield while the blades are moving. That is not a good idea. First of all, windshield wiper blades are made of rubber and they stick to the icy glass, allowing the arm to detach itself and scrape its steel edge across the glass. Secondly, the only thing the water does is clear the frost away, leaving a film of ice which, though transparent, still hinders a clear vision of the road and creates a blinding glare if the sun is shining. Of course, the main reason I don’t do the water thing is my pipes are frozen; I don’t have any water.

Fortunately, the Christmas spirit, which, like a cold, I do seem to catch year after year, is warm enough to overcome even the chilliest weather. Merry Christmas. PS

Bill Thompson is a frequent — and wise — contributor to Salt magazine.

The Proof of the Pudding

And don’t spare on the Christmas Brandy Butter

By Serena Kenyon Brown

“I am always surprised to hear British cooking maligned by Americans: So many of our best dishes, especially in the South, are absolutely English.”

— John Martin Taylor, Hoppin’ John’s Lowcountry Cooking.

If you happen to be leafing through the pages of an early American book of receipts for your fall and winter menu plans, you might be struck by how many of the dishes we still eat today. Fricassee, velvet cakes, pilau, fried oysters, kohlrabi. There are also a large number of dishes that graced the American table in days of yore, but would now be considered strictly British fare. Mrs. Rorer’s Cookbook of 1886 gives a recipe for shepherd’s pie and another for bread sauce. In The Virginia House-wife, first published circa 1824, Mrs. Randolph offers the reader a glorious receipt for using up leftover roast beef.

And the Yorkshire pudding?

Sure enough, it’s there. Look for Batter Pudding in Mrs. Rorer’s Cookbook. Or try Mrs. Rundell’s American Domestic Cookery (1823). That venerable lady also offers a Batter Pudding with Meat that sounds a lot like the British classic Toad-in-the-Hole.

While plenty of British dishes have remained part of American cuisine, many more have fallen away. In those early books there are whole chapters devoted to puddings, yet open up a modern American cookbook and you’ll be unlikely to find much beyond the familiar bread pudding.

A pudding might be crumbly and cakey or oozily moist. It is generally boiled or steamed, but can also be baked. The sweet variety tends to be cooked in cotton cloth as opposed to the intestine or stomach that traditionally encases the savory kind.

As the nights stretch into the cooling days, few things make a more warming, rib-sticking ending to a feast than a dark, glossy pudding. It’s time for a restoration. The holidays aren’t far away. Let’s return the plum pudding to the American table.

You’ll find many delectable recipes, both old and new, online — look for “Christmas pudding” as “plum” is an archaic term for a raisin or currant. If you’d like to try your hand at an authentic 19th-century plum pudding, something Dickens himself, the godfather of the holiday banquet, would have recognized, Mrs. Hale gives the most comprehensive method in The Good Housekeeper of 1839:

“As Christmas comes but once a year, a rich plum pudding may be permitted for the feast; though it is not healthy food; and children should be helped very sparingly. The following is a good receipt.

“Chop half a pound of suet very fine; stone half a pound of raisins; half a pound of currants nicely washed and picked; four ounces of bread crumbs; four ounces of flour; four eggs well beaten; a little grated nutmeg — mace and cinnamon pounded very fine; half a teaspoonful of salt; four ounces of sugar; one ounce candied lemon; same of citron.

“Beat the eggs and spices well together; mix the milk with them by degrees, then the rest of the ingredients; dip a fine, close linen cloth into boiling water, and place it in a hair-sieve; flour it a little, then pour in the batter and tie it up close; put it into a pot containing six quarts of boiling water; keep a tea-kettle of boiling water and fill up your pot as it wastes; be sure to keep it boiling, at least six hours—seven would not injure it.

“This pudding should be mixed an hour or too (sic) before it is put on to boil; it makes it taste richer.”

What would also make it taste richer is the addition of a fine brandy. In a brief survey of historic receipts it seems Southern cooks were much more freehanded with the liquor than their Yankee contemporaries. In this grand tradition the British still so saturate their puddings that they can be made a year or more in advance. Silver charms are stirred in for luck. Especially lucky for the person who finds them — and their dentist.

Before serving, the pudding is doused with yet more brandy and set alight. Carry in the pudding triumphant, blue flames dancing around it (though do be careful if you’ve decorated with a lot of greenery). Allow the flames to subside, then dig in.

Whether your pud be Prohibition or 100 proof, you will need some brandy butter to accompany it. A word of warning — you may find your holiday guests making late-night raids on your fridge for this. It’s irresistible, especially in wee hour spoonfuls straight from the saucer.

Brandy Butter

4 ounces softened unsalted butter

4 ounces powdered, caster or soft brown sugar

2 tablespoons brandy

Mix the butter and sugar and beat until soft. Add the brandy very slowly and mix it in. Cover and refrigerate. It will keep for about a week, though it won’t be around that long.  PS

Serena Kenyon Brown is an Anglo-Southern writer. Before her recent return to Blighty, she was senior editor at PineStraw magazine in Southern Pines.

Black Duck Paradise

And three mallards for Christmas Dinner

By Tom Bryant

A brisk wind was blowing out of the northeast. It had a little bite to it and felt good after the unseasonably warm weather we had been experiencing. Paddle, my yellow Lab, and I were in the backyard loading up the boat. As a matter of fact, Paddle was already in the boat, ready to go. She looked at me whimpering with excitement, wanting to do what she was bred for, go duck hunting.

For me it was the best of all worlds. Tomorrow, duck season would come back in after the early teasers in October and November. Those few short days were just enough to get hunters wired with anticipation for the real season in December. And if that excitement wasn’t enough, it was only six days until Christmas. It’s a wonder I wasn’t in the boat whining with Paddle.

We had a good plan. Early in the morning around 4 o’clock, I was to ride up to Hyco Lake, boat in tow, launch at the landing on the north end, duck hunt at our special spot until noon, then motor down to Bubba’s cabin and wait for him to show up toward evening. Bubba’s cabin is located on a creek tributary and sits high on a ridge overlooking the lake. The view in winter with all the leaves off the trees is spectacular. Beginning at the cabin and meandering down the ridge are steps leading to a boathouse and dock where I would moor my little duck boat for the duration of the hunt. Bubba has a big johnboat that we planned to use for the rest of the weekend.

It was rare that Bubba missed an opening day, but his textile mill needed him; and try as he might, he couldn’t get away from an important conference call. I would miss his company, but sometimes I enjoy the wild all by myself, and as long as Paddle is along, I rarely get lonesome.

My boat is a little Armstrong Wigeon model. She’s only 12 feet long with a 4-foot beam, almost like a layout rig and extremely stable, impossible to turn over. She’s rated for a 10-horse kicker, which will get her up on plane quickly and zip across the water like a little speedboat. With decoys, hunting gear and dog, the little boat is comfortable, and I’ve spent a lot of time in her, pursuing the noble waterfowl. I had already hooked her to the Bronco and was making sure that the fuel tank was full when Linda, my bride, came to the back door with the message that Bubba wanted me to call him back as soon as I could. Wonder what’s going on with that boy, I thought.

The decoy spread I planned called for six mallards — hens and drakes, three black ducks, and a couple of Canada geese thrown in just for good measure. I was using my L.L. Bean cork decoys, although they weigh a lot more than the molded plastic models I use when I’m shooting impoundments. On the water, the Bean decoys look more like real ducks. I picked out the ones that I had just had repainted by the Decoy Factory in Maryland. They looked great, and if any ducks were flying in the morning, I was sure they would pay us a visit.

It didn’t take long to finish loading the rest of the hunting paraphernalia, then I went inside to give Bubba a call. Paddle refused to leave the boat and would probably stay there until we left in the early morning if I let her. That little dog was excited.

“Hey, Bubba, what’s up? I’ve got the boat all loaded and I’ll be trucking out ‘o here at 4 a.m. You sure you can’t go?”

“Man, I wish. But duty calls. It also looks as if I can’t get there until late. You know where the cabin key is. Let yourself in and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Steaks and all the fixings are in the fridge. Why don’t you go ahead and grill ’em and I hope to be there in time to help eat ’em. Remember, I like mine rare,” he said, laughing.

“I think this is nothing but a ploy to get me to do all the work,” I replied. “If I’m real hungry, I might eat your steak as well as mine.”  After a little more conversation about supplies and timing, we rang off and I resumed my efforts getting ready.

I slept in the guest room that night, so as not to wake Linda when the alarm clock woke me. By 4:30, Paddle was in her favorite spot, sitting in the passenger’s seat, and we were on our way to the lake and another great adventure.

A half moon was breaking through a low overcast, providing enough light to help in launching the boat; and in record time, I had the little Wigeon tied to the landing dock. I parked the Bronco and trailer next to a fence bordering the gravel lot and was surprised to see that mine was the only vehicle there. I thought for sure there would be more hunters, especially since it was opening day of the late season.

The motor fired on the first pull, and I eased away from the landing area, made the turn south and poured on the juice. Running at night in a little boat has a thrill all its own, but it also has dangers that accompany the experience. Constant vigilance to avoid floating debris and other boats had me on the lookout for anything unusual on the horizon.

Hyco Lake is a deep-water lake and was built in the early ’60s by Carolina Power and Light Company (now Duke Energy Progress) as a cooling reservoir for their generating plant. Migrating waterfowl use the lake to rest on their way south and are quite prevalent during cold snaps up north. I was hoping the recent snowfall around Maryland would hurry a few my way. Last duck season, Bubba and I discovered a 30-foot-wide water ditch that runs about a mile to the power plant. The canal is used to get cooling water to their generators. It was cabled across to keep out big boats, but our little crafts had no problem getting under. On the east side of the ditch is an opening that leads to a sheltered area of water, almost like a small lake. This is our honey hole, the spot we would later name Black Duck Paradise.

The run to the ditch took about 40 minutes, and a grey tint was in the eastern sky as I hurriedly put out the decoys: mallards in a bunch and geese and black ducks off to the side. I pulled the boat into a small slough, and Paddle and I hunkered down under alders that grew on the bank right to the water. We made it just in time to legally shoot and had just got settled with shotgun loaded when whistling wings could be heard right over us. I didn’t dare look up but watched Paddle as her head moved with the flight of the ducks. I could tell that they were circling, so I blew a soft chuckling welcome on my duck call. That did it.

They came in low, right in front, wings locked, big yellow legs down like landing gear. It was a classic. Three shots and three big mallards for Christmas dinner. I sent Paddle to retrieve, and she was in the water like an otter. I stood up grinning. It was going to be a great season.  PS

Tom Bryant, a Southern Pines resident, is a lifelong outdoorsman and PineStraw’s Sporting Life columnist.

A Glorious Glühwein Christmas

Add a little “glowing wine” to your holiday traditions

By Robyn James

This holiday season, consider adding some European customs to your festivities for an Old World feel. Here’s a concoction that dates back to the 1400s in Germany and the 1300s in cookbooks in Great Britain.

Glühwein, known throughout Europe and South America by many other names, is a staple at Christmas and throughout the winter months.

Glühwein literally means “glowing wine” in German and is reported to be originated by folks who had red wine that was on the cusp of spoiling, so they added cinnamon sticks, cloves, star anise, oranges and sugar, then heated the wine up to make it palatable so it would last longer. Occasionally they would drink it “mit Schuss” (with a shot) of rum or another liquor. The glowing wine term stems from the contraption (irons with long handles) they used to heat up over a fire and then dip into the Glühwein mix to mull it (warm it up).

Throughout all the little villages in Germany, there are pockets of charming outdoor markets that sell goods and feature their own Glühwein by the glass and the bottle during the holidays. Each individual market has its personal recipe of Glühwein and the signature little pottery mug you can purchase to drink its particular Glühweins. They are coveted German souvenirs.

What food does Germany pair up with Glühwein? Yum, “Lebkuchen,” a chewy German spice cake, along with roasted almonds, potato pancakes and “stollen,” a very dense fruitcake. In Sweden the typical accompaniment is gingerbread and “Lussebullar,” a type of sweet bun with saffron and raisins. Norway pairs its Glühwein with a traditional cold rice pudding.

Glühwein is not exclusive to Germany and England; it is common in the Alsace region of France and many other European countries, including Sweden, Denmark, Romania and Hungary. They all have their native names and twists on the recipes. In France it is referred to as “vin chaud,” meaning “hot wine.” The French back off on the honey and sugar in their Glühwein, preferring a drier version.

It’s not the norm but you can find some German markets that sell white Glühwein, and a little bit is imported to the United States. A small amount of spices and fruits are just infused into a full-bodied white wine.

While Glühwein is a very traditional drink for the entire Christmas holidays, there is a traditional German version for New Year’s Eve called “Feuerzangenbowle” that uses the same recipe but incorporates a rum-soaked, cone-shaped sugar loaf that is set on fire and drips into the wine.

In Great Britain they traditionally use a combination of orange, lemon, cinnamon, nutmeg, star anise, cloves, cardamom and ginger. They may boil the spices in sugar syrup before they add the red wine. They have been known to blend the spices with port, brandy or ginger wines. They often use a tea bag of spices added to the heated wine and served in porcelain or glass mugs with a garnish of an orange slice studded with cloves.

St. Lorenz winery out of the Mosel region of Germany exports its Christkindl Glühwein into the United States in a colorful one-liter bottle priced under $10. This wine is already infused with cinnamon, cloves, oranges, lemon and sugar so all you have to do is gently warm it up and break out the gingerbread cookies! Give Glühwein a try this holiday season! PS

Robyn James is a certified sommelier and proprietor of The Wine Cellar and Tasting Room in Southern Pines. Contact her at robynajames@gmail.com.

When Whiskey Woos Wine

Wine aged in bourbon barrels may be a passing fancy — or a taste here to stay

By Robyn James

My mother was a bourbon drinker, and to my surprise, my father and I were able to convert her to a wine drinker. At least I think we did: Knowing my mom, she may have faked it to make us happy. I say to my surprise, because she never could have swayed me in her direction. I would smell her bourbon drink, turn up my nose and refuse to even taste it. I couldn’t imagine two more polar opposite drinks.

The wine industry, unlike so many industries such as fashion or food, really doesn’t have any “trends.” We are steeped in tradition, the old ways are the best ways, and “fads” are frowned upon.

Recently, it has become impossible to ignore that we have, dare I say, a “fad” to contend with. Maybe it will stay, maybe it will go, but suddenly wine aged in whiskey barrels has become all the rage in my industry.

Weird because the opposite is usually true. Winemakers generally use new French or American oak barrels to age wine, a very expensive investment. Once they have gotten their one to three years’ use out of the barrels they usually sell them to whiskey distilleries to attempt to recoup some of the high investment. American distilleries are very patriotic, using only American oak. They appreciate the open grain of American oak that helps to soften the harshness of the whiskey. Winemakers lean toward the tighter French oak that imparts subtle vanilla flavors. Winemakers buying used barrels from distilleries seems totally backward.

What is the difference between a whiskey barrel and a wine barrel? Apparently a lot. When using a barrel for whiskey, the barrel is actually charred inside so the interior of the barrel acts like a carbon filter, softening and calming down the contents. The whiskey may stay in that barrel for 15 or more years. That never happens with wine. A wine barrel is never “charred,” it is “toasted” to different degrees. The toasting of a French wine barrel doesn’t filter or remove any flavors. It is destined to add flavors of vanilla and light tannins to the wine, enhancing it.

Because of the “aggressiveness” of the old whiskey barrels, the standard routine is to leave the wine in these barrels for only about three months to attempt to add a super subtle nuance of the bourbon.

The idea for this new “fad” came from Dan Phillips, an importer of French and Spanish wines and his good friend Julian Van Winkle, the owner of the cult crazy Pappy Van Winkle Distillery. Pappy Van Winkle whiskey is so sought after and has such small production that most liquor stores hold a lottery to sell the one bottle a year they may be allocated. And, that bottle may sell for anywhere from $750 to $2,000.

They launched the Southern Belle Spanish red wine, a blend of 50 percent syrah and 50 percent monastrell from Spain that is an absolute fruit bomb and delicious. I really didn’t get a big taste of bourbon influence here. It was extremely subtle, but I can see that winemakers are pushing up the alcohol content of the wine to compete with the whiskey flavors, so we have big, bold, fruity reds that knock your socks off. Southern Belle, made by Chris Ringland, one of the best winemakers in the world, is about $20 and worth every penny. It’s produced at Bodegas Juan Gil, one of the best vintners of monastrell in the world.

Mendocino’s 1,000 Stories zinfandel is aged in wine barrels prior to the old bourbon barrels from Heaven Hill and Four Roses that are as much as 13 years old. This wine, again, tops out the alcohol at 15.2 percent. It’s very ripe, with big raspberry and black pepper spice flavors, and sells for about $15. This wine has small amounts of syrah and petite sirah that add to the delicious complexity of the wine.

Cooper & Thief Cellarmaster’s Red Blend has become a big favorite of mine for the bourbon-aged blends. A kitchen sink California wine that is a blend of 38 percent merlot, 37 percent syrah, 11 percent zinfandel, 7 percent petite sirah and 4 percent cabernet sauvignon, it’s aged in bourbon barrels for three months.  Almost port-like in style, it’s 17 percent alcohol, a little higher in price at about $23 and has velvety tannins and a long, velvety finish. What the heck, give them a try, see what Kentucky brings to California.  PS

Robyn James is a certified sommelier and proprietor of The Wine Cellar and Tasting Room in Southern Pines. Contact her at robynajames@gmail.com.

Same Old Game

Just new stuff

By Clyde Edgerton

I’m in the bleachers watching baseball practice. My youngest son, 11, has just started playing — this is his second practice ever — and so far, he likes it. After the first practice, we shopped for equipment, and I hear some of you already thinking: Why does Papadaddy always gripe about high prices?

The answer is this: I didn’t buy anything between 1994 and 2012, until I finally started shopping for my children’s sporting equipment.

But on the softer side — the nostalgic side — this baseball business is taking me back, in good ways, to over 60 years ago. “Yep,” I say to my son, “I started playing baseball when I was 9 years old.”

“What?” he says, “They had baseball back then?”

When I was 10 or 12, our coach worked at a local funeral home and drove a hearse to practice. I can see the hearse as it pulled onto the field near first base — long, shiny, and black. This is all true. My friends and I would open the swinging rear door and pull out a canvas bag of bats, a handbag of baseballs, and a large duffle bag with the catcher’s equipment and bases and the little plastic things held together with stretch bands that we fitted over our ears when batting. These flimsy head protectors became the norm in the late ’50s, as I recall. (Protective head gear was a consequence of mid-century political correctness.)

While we were shopping a few weeks ago, my son and I inspected batting helmets, baseball gloves — for fielding and batting — bats, baseballs and a protective cup. The protective cup comes with a pair of fancy black underwear to hold the cup in place. The reason my son is expected to buy his own equipment these days is because if, say, a funeral home bought a bag of, say, 20 baseball bats, then the funeral home could be out four grand. Easily. Check it out at your local sporting goods store.

In addition:

My son’s bat: metal. Ours: wooden.

My son’s headgear: a hard plastic helmet. Ours: (early on) a cloth cap.

My son’s cleats: plastic or rubber. Ours: steel.

My son’s batting gloves: two. Ours: none.

My son’s “protection”: a plastic cup. Ours: underwear (most of us, I guess).

My son’s fielder’s glove: synthetic, stiff, and complicated. Ours: leather, limber, and plain.

My son’s infield surface: mostly grass. Ours: mostly dirt.

My son’s outfield surface: grass. Ours: mostly dirt.

My son’s pitching mound: raised. Ours: flat.

My son’s dugout: concrete behind a fence. Ours: a wooden bench, in the open — with splinters.

My son’s coach: loves the game. Ours: loved the game.

I’m so glad the game is the same. Three strikes, four balls, three outs. Secret signals and hidden ball tricks, balks, walks and home runs. Timing, speed and precision. It’s still best to step on the base with your inside foot, watch the third base coach as you approach second base, start with your glove on the ground to catch a grounder. And the playing field itself — it expands outward from home plate. Unlike football, basketball and other sports, boundaries exist on only two sides of a baseball field, not all four sides. Hit a home run and the ball could travel all the way around the Earth and roll up behind home plate and still be in fair territory.

After the second practice, we’re gathering up equipment to head home. My son says, “Dad, they make a backpack for gloves, helmet and all that. It has two sleeves for two bats. We could get one at Dick’s along with another bat.”

“If we get another bat, we’ll have to sell your bicycle, the trampoline and your bunk bed.”

“You mean . . . like a yard sale?”

“Sure. Good idea.”  PS

Clyde Edgerton is the author of 10 novels, a memoir and a new work, Papadaddy’s Book for New Fathers. He is the Thomas S. Kenan III Distinguished Professor of Creative Writing at UNCW.

November Books

By Brian Lampkin and Shannon Jones

We can tell that the food truck phenomenon has reached its zenith, because now you can buy prepackaged, microwave-ready “food truck” food — sometimes in boxes shaped like food trucks! Still, we love the very idea of food trucks, and Vivian Howard, the owner of the acclaimed Chef & Farmer restaurant in Kinston, North Carolina, has us thinking about food. And trucks. Is there a literary intersection? Can we find it? Without GPS?

Deep Run Roots: Stories and Recipes from My Corner of the South, by Vivian Howard. Howard has embarked on a grand tour with her food truck, serving meals along with the wisdom (and more than 200 recipes from eastern North Carolina) she’s gained from her years in the restaurant business. “Part story, part history, part recipes, I’d like to think Deep Run Roots is much more than a cookbook,” Howard says.

Food Trucks!: A Lift-the-Flap Meal on Wheels!, by Jeffrey Burton. For a kid, there is nothing cooler than hitting a food truck with Mom and Dad, then plopping down right there on the curb to devour an overstuffed taco. Now foodies can go behind the scenes of their favorite food trucks with a fun board book: Lift the flaps to see what makes the food in different trucks so yummy, from fryers to griddles, from snow cone dispensers to ice cream freezers. Like its counterparts in real life, this book is a crowd-pleaser.

The World’s Best Street Food, by Lonely Planet, Mark Bittman, James Oseland and Austin Bush. Perfect for a small kitchen shelf, these recipes from street carts the world over are well-organized and easy to follow, authentic but with substitutions given for harder-to-find ingredients so that you can get started exploring the world’s best street food right in your own kitchen. This is a great gift for adventurers who delight in trying new world cuisines. 

Duel: Terror Stories, by Richard Matheson. What is the most frightening 18-wheeler in literary history? Undoubtedly, the truck in Matheson’s short story “Duel.” This collection includes several stories adapted into great “Twilight Zone” episodes.

Truck: A Love Story, by Michael Perry. The New York Times calls it “a funny and touching account” of a love life ruined by Neil Diamond. And the Chicago Tribune, in an over-the-top food metaphor, says, “Perry takes each moment, peeling it, seasoning it with rich language, and then serving it to us piping hot and fresh.”

And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer: A Novella, by Fredrik Backman. The author of A Man Called Ove offers an exquisitely moving portrait of an elderly man’s struggle to hold on to his most precious memories.

J. D. Salinger: The Last Interview: And Other Conversations, edited and introduction by David Streitfeld. Melville House Publishing does a great service with their Last Interview series, and a famous recluse like Salinger is particularly interesting.

Twenty-Six Seconds: A Personal History of the Zapruder Film, by Alexandra Zapruder.  The moving, untold family story behind Abraham Zapruder’s film footage of the Kennedy assassination and its lasting impact on our world.

I’ll Take You There, by Wally Lamb. Lamb’s new novel is a radiant homage to the resiliency, strength and the power of women.

Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis: The Vampire Chronicles (Vampire Chronicles #12), by Anne Rice. Is it possible? Another? Yep.  PS

The Forgotten Lunch

He may never remember it. But I won’t forget that smile

By Sara Phile

He did it again, yesterday.

He does it around 25 percent of the time. He strolls outside, armed with his book bag in one hand and his trumpet case in the other and hikes the .8 miles down the gravel road to the bus stop. Or, if he’s done fixing his hair by 6:55, his dad drives him the .8 miles to the bus stop. I’m typically taking a shower at this point, maybe working on my own hair when he calls. It’s usually five minutes after he leaves, sometimes 10.

“Mom, I forgot my lunch. Will you bring it to me?”

Only twice have I not taken it to him. Cruel, maybe, but I wanted him to learn the natural consequences of forgetting his lunch. He is, after all, one day shy of 13. It’s his job to remember.

The first time I said, “No, I can’t take you your lunch. I don’t have time.” He said OK and hung up, and all day I felt stings of guilt. I tried to will them away, but thought of him hungry, shriveling in a corner of the classroom, so hungry he couldn’t pay attention to fractions, integers, or even more dramatic, adverbs and prepositional phrases. (Gasp!) When I picked him up from school, he bebopped out to the car, looking his high-energy self. I was a little taken back.

“How was your day? I bet you’re hungry.”

“Oh, fine. I just ate lunch at school.”

“Oh, really.” (I had not put any money on his account in a while and was pretty sure he had a zero or negative balance.) “With what money?”

“I just charged it. No big deal. Every one charges lunch, Mom. Everyone.”

“Don’t charge your lunch again.”

The next time he called, while I was straight-ironing my hair and still had several sections to do, he said, “Mom, I left my lunch on the counter. Can you drive it to me?”

“Sorry, I don’t have time this morning. You are going to have to be more responsible. Do not charge your lunch.”

Again, all day I felt guilt. I told him not to charge his lunch, but what was he supposed to do? I willed away these guilt feelings when children who really are hungry came to mind. Neither of my boys has ever really missed a meal, not really. He would be fine, and he would learn.

When I picked him up, he was still alive. Very much alive, talking in the way he talks, that if it were written out, there would be no commas or periods. Just run-on sentence after run-on sentence punctuated with exclamation points, lots of them.

“How did you do?”

“Oh, fine. I just ate Ethan’s lunch.”

“Wait, what? David!”

“He shared, and then basically let me eat it all. Mom, it’s OK. He shares his lunch with me a lot.”

Great. Now I have to reimburse lunches to Ethan’s mom.

“Quit stealing other kids’ lunches!”

He continues to forget his lunch, maybe once every two weeks. Back to yesterday. He spent 17 minutes on his hair, and his lunch was simply an afterthought. He called around 12 minutes after he left the house. I grumbled that he was going to make me late for work. That this was the last time ever in the history of moms I was going to interrupt my getting-ready-for-work routine and drive down the hill just to take him his lunch. I stopped at the bottom of the hill and there he was, book bag and trumpet case on the grass and phone in hand, thumbs flying over the keys. He didn’t even look up. I rolled down the window and the thought to throw his lunch out and drive off passed through my mind. He looked up and a smile passed over his lips, the one that shifted to his eyes.

“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

I obviously don’t know the solution; I’m not asking for advice here. All I know is, those words, coming from him, melted all my madness away. Just like that. It didn’t matter if he meant them or if he was just trying to soften the mood. I drove back up the hill thinking that taking him his lunch may not be so bad and maybe I should just start planning for it.

Until the next time . . .  PS

Sara Phile teaches English composition at Sandhills Community College.