cornbread recipe correction

Oven temp. should be set on 400 degrees not 300

The Norphlet Mafia, Chapter 11, post 14

Chapter 11 The Execution Some things happen around Norphlet that are just as regular as clockwork, and Mrs. Graves coming out to feed her dogs is a good example. As I sat down, I checked my watch: 10 minutes to 8. It was almost like hearing a clock strike 8 when Mrs. Graves walked out of the house calling her dogs. “Here, Prince Charming, here, here, Snow White, Dopey,” and on and on, but nothing happened, and then she looked kind of puzzled as she walked over to the doghouse. “What... where are my little friends!” “Ohaaaaaaaaaaa!” Mrs. Graves let out about the loudest scream I have ever heard, and after that she began yelling, “Paul! Paul! Come here! Hurry! All my dogs are gone!” Well, yeah I did feel kinda bad upsetting a sweet, little old lady, but in about 10 seconds a man I guess was Paul, the private eye, came running out of the house buttoning up his shirt. “What's wrong, Auntie?” he yelled. ’Course Auntie was just hysterical, like there’d been multiple ax murders, but Paul figured it out pretty quickly—somebody had swiped all the dogs. He grabbed Mrs. Graves, and cooed “Auntie, calm down, calm down, I’m going to the Marshal’s office to report this. I promise you, I'll find your dogs… I’ll be right back.” I smiled. Gosh, old Paul just sprinted for the car, and in about two seconds he had the door open. And as he stood there, acting kind of startled, 10 Chihuahuas staggered out. Well Paul, called out to his auntie that he had found all the dogs, and then he looked in his car, kinda took a whiff, and, well, let’s just say, he was upset. “Auntie, I’ve got to take my car down to the station to get it cleaned up. I’ll be right back.” Auntie was busy feeding her little friends, who didn’t seem to be hungry, as Paul hopped in the car, rolled all the windows down, put the car in low, and roared off. Well, he only roared about 2 feet when he ripped up the gate and about 10 feet of fence. Wow, he let out some words that had auntie covering her ears, jumped out, and untied the chain from his front bumper, which had been yanked off the car. “Somebody’s gonna pay for this,” he screamed. Then he jumped back in the car, and this time he really floored it. Well, at least for the first 8 feet. Then there was a yank and the big doghouse came flying over the fence, hit the ground, and splintered all to heck. Yeah, I’ve seen and heard mad folks, but nothing like that, and Auntie, who was standing by the doghouse, went into a wail like nothing you have ever heard, and Paul just looked stunned. Well, he untied the chain, and this time he circled the car checking it out. No more chains—so this time he finally made it out of the front yard after managing to get his bumpers in the trunk of his car. I sneaked off heading toward home. That guy was as good as back in Little Rock, or so I thought. Anyway, the little trick had worked better than I even thought it would, and I couldn’t wait to tell John Clayton and Ears. & It was right after lunch when I found John Clayton, and it took us nearly an hour to locate Ears. He was slipping down the alley—Norphlet just has one alley-—and when we yelled at him, it was like he was shot. “What in God’s name are you doing hiding out in the alley?” I yelled. “Oh, Richard, we shouldn’t have done that. I just talked to Fred Smith down at the filling station, and he said the detective man was just so upset you wouldn’t believe it. He came in with both bumpers hanging out the trunk of his car, and there was dog poop on the seats and nearly everywhere else in his car, and he’d been sitting in it.” Yeah, me and John Clayton were snickering before the words were even out of Ears’ mouth, but Ears wasn’t laughing. “Y’all, he told Fred that if it was the last thing he ever did, he was gonna catch whoever did that.” “You mean he didn’t head back to Little Rock?” John Clayton asked. “No, he was heading to Marshal Wing’s office.” Well, yeah, that did kinda bother us, so I figured I had better go see Doc and find out what was going on. Doc and Marshal Wing are good friends and Doc will tell me everything the Marshal tells him. I walked in the newsstand and Doc was smiling, which he never does. He looked at me and said, “Richard, y’all shouldn’t have done all of that, but...” and then Doc started laughing. “No, Doc, we’re innocent...” “Innocent? You’re innocent of what?” Yeah, I usually have a quick comeback, but I just stood there like a rabbit that had been shot between the eyes. “Uh, yeah, well I heard something happened...” “A few days back, I saw the water pistol in your paper bag,” Doc said. And then he just laughed out loud. Oh, my gosh, you will never know how those words “water pistol” sent a chill down my spine. “Oh, don’t worry Richard. I’m not going to tell a soul. Paperboys are too hard to find.” And then Doc laughed again, and he added, “But your last one was a real humdinger. Wing said that detective guy came running in his office just screaming about his car being chained to stuff, and he smelled to high heaven—dog poop, he said. Well, Wing said he started laughing, and it really upset the man, and he yelled at Wing, “Who do you think could have done such a thing?” Well, Wing, who’s really mad because a city private eye is way down here in Norphlet trying to tell him how to do his job said, “The Norphlet Mafia, and get outta here, you’re stinking up the place.” Doc started laughing again, and I felt a little better, but the guy was still in town. Maybe the Norphlet Mafia needs to strike again, I thought. And this time we’ll hit him so hard he’d hitchhike back to Little Rock.

Vertis's Famous Cornbread Recipe

If you're going to try Vertis's famous Cornbread Dressing Recipe for Thanksgiving, it needs the best cornbread, or it won't be perfect. So, as a public service, I have posted her cornbread recipe. Vertis's Famous Cornbread Recipe 1 cup of stone ground yellow cornmeal 1 teaspoon on baking powder 1 1/2 teaspoons of baking soda 1 scant teaspoon of salt 1 egg Add buttermilk until soupy (note: don't make tight bread so don't worry if it seems too soupy.) Take a medium size black 2 to 3 inch deep skillet and pour in a couple of teaspoons of cooking oil. Get the skillet smoking hot on the stove, and then pour in the soupy cornbread mix.) Then put in a 400 degree hot oven and cook for 20 minutes or until done.

Best Cornbread Dressing Recipe

Everyone who has tried this recipe will tell you "It's the best!" Vertis Mason’s Famous Cornbread Dressing Recipe: 4 cups buttermilk corn bread crumbs 2 cups buttermilk biscuit or day-old bread crumbs 1 cup chopped celery 1/2 cup chopped onion 1 tart apple, chopped 1 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon black pepper 1 teaspoon poultry seasoning or 1/2 teaspoon sage 6 eggs, beaten 1 cup milk 1/4 lb. Butter, melted 4 cups hot chicken broth Combine breads, celery, onion, apple and seasonings; mix well. Combine eggs and milk; pour over bread mixture. Combine butter and broth; pour over mixture. Let set for 15-20 minutes. Pour into greased pan; bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour.

The Norphlet Mafia, Chapter 10, post 13

Chapter 10 The Plan We followed the Little Rock man out of the cafe, and watched as he roared off, turned the corner at Hill Kennedy’s Grocery Store, and parked beside Mrs. Graves’ front gate. “Humm, he staying with his aunt,” I mumbled to the others. I’d just thought of a plan, and we needed to meet. “Hey, let’s go over to the breadbox at Echols Grocery and talk. I just thought of something that might keep us all out of reform school.” Well, that really got everybody’s attention, and when we sat down, they were all ears.” “It’s real simple, guys: Marshal Wing is really mad about this guy coming into town like he gonna show us hicks how to solve the Chihuahua thing, so he’s not about to help the guy. That just leaves us and him. All we have to do is run him out of town. Bubba helped, but we have to really do a bunch more, if we’re gonna get out of this mess. This is what we're going to do tonight—after midnight. I want John Clayton to bring a big, heavy-duty tow sack. And Ears, your daddy does logging so you bring two, long logging chains, and I’ll bring some good canned dog food.” “What on earth are we gonna do with all that stuff?” asked John Clayton. “Look, it’d take too long to tell you right now. Y’all just bring the stuff and meet me right after midnight across the street from Mrs. Graves’ house.” “I ain’t gonna be a part of this,” said Ears. “Okay, Ears, if going to reform school is what you want to do, then just stay home, but if you want to get rid of that sorry guy who’s trying to send you there... show up with those logging chains!” “Come on, Ears, it's him against us!” said John Clayton. Well, after I promised we weren’t gonna kill any dogs or hurt anyone, Ears agreed to bring the logging chains. On my way home, I started wondering if my plan was a little over the top, but then I thought about this guy coming all the way from Little Rock just to try and put us in jail. That’s when I decided that this was war—us against him. And from what I know about wars, I figured a first strike was a really good idea. & I was standing across from Mrs. Graves” house at about 15 after 12 that night, holding a bowl of special dog food, when Ears walked up dragging two long chains. A few minutes later John Clayton sauntered up carrying a big, oversized tow sack. We were ready to set up the “run-him-out-of-town-quick-trick.” I said, “Ears tie one end of a chain to the guy’s front bumper and the other end to Mrs. Graves's front gate and make it kind of tight. Then take the other long chain and tie it to his back bumper.” “What do I tie the other end to?” he asked. “Nothing right now. Wait until me and John Clayton get the next part of the plan ready.” “John Clayton, get your toe sack and hold it over the opening of the doghouse. I’m going to beat on the back of that doghouse, and when all the dogs run out into the tow sack, bring the sack of dogs over to the man’s car. “And Ears, when John Clayton has all the dogs in his tow sack, tie the other end of the chain around the doghouse real good, and leave about eight feet of slack. I've got a clothes hanger to unlock the car. We’ll put all ten little dogs in the man’s car, and then I’ll put this store-bought special dog food in his car.” “Okay, Richard, I kinda get the chain part, but ten dogs in the man’s car ain’t much of a deal,” said John Clayton. “Nope, it’s not much of a deal, but with this special dog food, it becomes a big deal.” Special dog food?” “Uh huh. How about dog food mixed with castor oil?” “Wait a minute, Richard. I think that’s way over the top,” Ears whined. “Of course it is, Ears, but we have got to do something big to let the guy know we’re serious.” “Yeah, and when we get to reform school, we can tell all the other criminals how serious we were.” “Okay, if y’all are chicken, then just go on back home. I can take it from here.” Well, there was some standing around whining, but finally everybody said they’d stay, so we started getting the trick ready. Heck, it really went quickly. John Clayton put that sack over the entrance to the doghouse, I whammed it on the back of the house, and we had a sack full of Chihuahuas in about three seconds. Ears dashed up, tied the chain on the doghouse and John Clayton brought the sack of dogs over to the man’s car. I had the door unlocked in no time. We put in the special dog food, and then turned the dogs loose in the car. They were lapping up the dog food when we left. Of course, when I planned the trick and got everything ready, I wanted to see what would happen when the dogs turned up missing and the guy took off in his chained-up car. I figured it would happen about 8 o’clock the next morning when Mrs. Graves usually feeds the dogs, and I was gonna be watching from behind some bushes across the street.

The Norphlet Mafia, Chapter 9, Post 13

And, well, Mr. Secret Private Investigator didn't like that question at all, and he just mumbled something that we couldn’t hear and Bubba, who is almost deaf sure couldn’t either. "Mister you’re gonna hafta speak up. Since my accident, I’m a little hard of hearing.” Well, the man did speak up and he simply said, “Maybe.” “Huh? What does ‘maybe’ mean, and why are you here in Norphlet, anyway?” Yeah, Bubba had asked the big question that we knew he'd ask, and then, after some head-shaking, the man said, “I really can't say.” Shoot, Bubba lit up and just jumped on that one. “Ohoooooo, yeah… yeah, Uh, yeah,” and then Bubba pounced. ”You’re here because of the Chihuahua thing, ain’t ya?” Heck, if you had hit that guy with a baseball bat you wouldn’t have gotten much more reaction, and for about five minutes he just mumbled and squirmed, while we tried to hold back a laugh. Then Bubba nodded and kinda whispered—but loud enough that you could have heard him out on the street. “I know who did all that stuff to Mrs. Graves’s Chihuahuas.” “You do?” Yeah, the man was on the edge of his chair now, and so were we. Ears turned white as a sheet and mumbled to me, “Should we take off runnin’? I don't want to just sit here until the man puts handcuffs on us.” “Naw, Bubba can’t possibly know. Just be real quiet and listen to what Bubba’s gonna say,” I whispered. Well the man leaned forward, and asked Bubba, “Who?” Shoot, Bubba just drew himself up, threw his shoulders back, and bellowed, “Space creatures!” Heck, I had to put my hand over John Clayton’s mouth to keep him from just cackling. Yeah, the investigator man looked like he’d been slapped, and tried to ignore Bubba, but I knew that wasn’t gonna work ’cause Bubba was just getting started. “Yeah, I figured it out back when them dogs first showed up with white spots on ’em, and I told the Marshal, but he didn't believe me. And when that little dog just disappeared, I knew I was right ’cause that happened to me last year..." and Bubba went on and on about how different animals and people were being marked to be harvested... Uh, like eaten by the Space creatures, and he figured Chihuahuas must be really high on the Space creatures’ menu. We had split a Coke three ways, and had finished it, but we weren't about to leave until Bubba served up the Daily Special, which had been the “Special” for most of the week. Bubba went on and on about how the Space creatures were gonna gobble up stuff on Earth, until Mr. Investigator begged Bubba to go fix the Daily Special. Yeah, Bubba did finally head back to the kitchen and as he left the room, he yelled, “Tatum, don’t chunk out the rest of the onions and liver.” Bubba left the room and headed for the kitchen, and in a few minutes, we heard a Whooooommmm! and Bubba ran out and grabbed a bucket of water. Some kind of greasy smelling smoke drifted out of the kitchen, and Bubba stuck his head out and hollered, “Nothing to worry about, just strong onions.” Well, I could tell the Little Rock man was ready to break and run but he didn’t, and in about 30 minutes Bubba came out looking kinda burned... you know, his hair was signed, and it looked as if his face been lying out in the sun for about a week. “Here you go, the City Café's Daily Special.” Well, we could see the man’s plate, and there was a huge pile of onions that looked like they had been cooked to death, buried, and then cooked again. “I done gived you extra onions since we’re running short on liver, and the stove overheated and caused them onions to get a little brown."” Well, the man kinda looked that stack of burned onions, shook his head, and then looked up at Bubba. “Where's the liver?” Well, Bubba kind of puffed up said, “I done told you we was short on liver, so I gave you extra onions.” “I don't see any liver.” “Look under them onions.” I was watching as the Little Rock man started digging into that huge pile of burnt onions, and when he finally came up with a really bad sliver of what was maybe a piece of liver, Bubba said, “See the liver was just covered in all them extra onions I done gived you.” Wow, the man just lost it and, after he slammed his fork down and said the City Café had the worst food known to man, he got up and left. Bubba yelled after him, “I'll have you to know the City Café is the best in Norphlet!” Yeah, Bubba was right, ‘cause The City Café is the only place to eat out in Norphlet. But as the man jumped in his car and roar off, I had another real good thought, and it just might save us all from reform school—we had to run him out of town, and Bubba had been a good start, but we needed to do a lot more.

The Norphlet Mafia, Chapter 9, post 12

Chapter 9 A Conversation with Bubba Bubba was almost running as he kinda weaved over to the man’s table, and handed the man a menu. Then he smiled… uh, well, make that a half-smile, since the accident left the teeth on the right side of his mouth on the rig floor. “Welcome to the City Café, sir!” he slurred. “Today’s special is liver and onions... uh, wait a minute... uh, that was yesterday's special, and what was left has already been fed to the hogs... no, maybe... oh, I got it! Yes, today’s special sure is liver and onions.” You bet Mr. Private Investigator looked confused, and I could have told him not to ask Bubba a question, but I didn't. “I thought you said that was yesterday's special,” the man replied. Bubba looked a little confused, but he just threw back his shoulder and gave forth. “Mister, this ain’t no fancy place that changes their special every day. Sometimes, if I get carried away cooking, the daily special is the same for a whole week, and besides Darwin Tatum, who picks up the leftover slop, told me his hogs won’t eat liver and onions, so what I said about them hogs don’t go. I got enough liver and onions back there to feed most of Norphlet.” Yeah, we were grinning like possums eating green persimmons, ’cause we knew things were just getting going. “Well, thanks, but I think I’ll order from the menu.” “Suit yourself. Just give me a whistle when you’re ready to order.” “Okay.” We were watching the man like a hawk when he opened the menu, because we knew what was on the menu. All the menu said was “See Today's Special” in big, black letters. Yeah, we could see him grit his teeth, but he finally closed the menu and waved at Bubba, who sauntered over. “Hi,” slurred Bubba, which sounded like “Hiahaa.” “What?” “Well, you kinda waved hiahaaa, so I just said haahaaa back.” “Well I just meant I was ready to order.” “Oh, well, what can I whip up for you?” “I guess I'll have Today’s Special.” “What's that?” “Huh?” “Well, if you don’t know what's on one of our specials, how do you expect me to fix it for you?” “You have more than one special?” “Yes, especially when we have liver and onions.” “Oh, I didn’t understand. Do you have other specials today?” “No, but we will tomorrow ’cause we’re loaded with Today’s Special.” “What is Today’s Special?” “Onions and liver.” “What?” “Uh, we’re gettin’ low on liver.” “Uh, well I’ll take on order of… Onions and liver.” “Got it. How do you want it cooked?” “Medium rare.” “Okay. How about the liver?” ”I told you medium rare.” ”That was for the onions. How about the liver?” “Oh, I understand. Cook the liver medium rare to rare with a very pink center.” “No.” “No? What do you mean? Okay, maybe medium-rare is a little tricky; just cook it medium.” “No.” “What? Why not medium?” “Well, Mister, nobody in Norphlet has ever had liver anything but well-done, so that's what it is.” “Why didn’t you tell me it was already prepared?” “It’s not.” “The liver is, but not the onions.” “Okay.” “What do you want to drink?” Yeah, Bubba was just being Bubba, but he really had the man going, and there was a long pause, and then the man said carefully, “What do most of your customers drink?” “Sweet tea.” “Do you have any unsweetened tea?” “No, but why would anybody want unsweetened tea?—Say, are you from up north?” “No.” “Are you from Arkansas?” “Yes.” “Where in Arkansas?” Yeah, there was a long pause, and I figured the man was trying to come up with something to get rid of Bubba, so he finally said, in almost a whisper, “Little Rock.” Whoa, Bubba lust lit up, and he hollered at us, “Boys, we done got a real tourist from up north. This here gentleman is from Little Rock!” Of course Bubba said that loud enough to be heard all the way out into the street, and a couple of other customers kinda looked up to see what somebody from Little Rock looked like, and then Bubba asked, “Do them folks up in Little Rock drink unsweetened tea?” Well, I could tell the man sure didn't want to answer, but finally he whispered, “Yes, sometimes.” “Is that a fact? Just let me tell you this, if any of them folks ever tasted my sweet tea, they wouldn't never have nothin’ else.” “Well, then, I’ll have the sweet tea.” “We’re out for today, but if you’re here by eleven-thirty tomorrow, I can fix you up.” "Okay, that sounds fine. I’ll just have water.” “What kind of water?” “Huh?... uh… well what kind do you have?” “Well, we have just plain and ice water. The ice water has four cubes of ice in it, and there’s no extra charge.” “Well, I think I’ll take the ice water,” the man answered a bit nervously. “Do you want a large glass or a short glass?” “I'll take a tall glass.” ‘No.’ ‘What?” “We don't have anything but large and small, and the large will cost a nickel more for the extra ice.” “Okay, I’ll take the large.” “With or without?” “With or without what?” Yeah, by now Mr. Private Investigator was getting kinda upset. “With or without ice. It’s free without ice, but it’ll cost you a nickel more with ice.” “With,” replied Mr. Private Eye. “With what?” “Ice, damn it!” “Listen Mister, this is a public restaurant and Miz Smith won't allow that kinda language.” “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, just bring me the special of the day.” “Coming up, uh, by the way are you gonna be staying in Norphlet for a while?” asked Bubba. Yeah, that question had us on the edge of our seats.