History Time Capsule (Mingo, Wellsburg)

A bit of history in the Ohio Valley. The Wells Log House, mentioned below, still stands to this day.

The following information was written in 1906 and was found in the cornerstone of Jefferson School, June 23, 1967. Some of the landmarks have been updated to reflect current locations for better reference.

In the year 1749, the French inaugurated the trading system with the Indians along the Ohio River Valley. At that period, the Mingo Indians held the undisputed possession of what was formerly known as “Old Mingo Bottom”, where the City of Follansbee is now located. Here, they had large fields of maize, and the surrounding hills were their hunting grounds. During the years from 1754 to 1756, while the French and Indian War was waging, the English settlers who had forged their way in to this district were forced to return to the more thickly populated districts beyond the Allegheny Mountains for protection against Indian massacres. As a result of the French and Indian War, and the subsequent withdrawal of the English settlers, there was little development along the Ohio River Valley in this section from 1758 until about 1762, when a treaty was signed. The Indians; however, held control of the greater part of the Ohio River Valley until about 1768. At that time, at the suggestion of the General Assembly of the Virginia Colony, a treaty was drawn up between the Six Great Nations of Indians and the English settlers, by which it was agreed that the settlers were to have all the territory south of the Ohio River, the River to be the boundary line between the lands held by the settlers and that held by the Indians. The rich bottom land known as “Old Mingo Bottom” was, until the signing of the treaty in 1768, still the home of the Mingo Indians, but under the conditions of the treaty, they were compelled to move across the Ohio River to what is now Mingo Junction, where they pitched their tents on land now occupied by Wheeling-Pittsburgh Steel Corporation.


After the signing of the treaty in 1768, the settlers again pushed westward to the border and, in the spring of 1772, Isaac Cox and his companions, eager for adventure, located on Mingo Bottom and erected a log house. During the same year, Isaac Cox made a formal entry upon the land, but afterward transferred all of his rights in the same to John Decker. In 1774, quite a number of massacres occurred and many forts along the Ohio River fell into the hands of the Indians. In order to protect his family and property, John Decker built a fort on the land he had taken up on Mingo Bottom. This fort was constructed of logs and stone and was situated on the ground over which the tracks of the Norfolk & Southern Rail Road now run, at a point immediately in front of the old Rail Station and just south of Broad Street in the City of Follansbee. This fort, known as Fort Decker, was the scene of many conflicts, as the leaden bullets and arrow-heads found on the River bank in front spot bear witness. The indications are that the fort had been fired upon from Mingo Island. John Decker owned 343 acres which comprised of the land from the Wabash Bridge, west of the top of the hill, including the land once owned by W.B. Mahan.


In 1780, Alexander Wells received a patent from Thomas Jefferson, then Governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia for 200 acres of land “lying and being in the county of Ohio, on the eastern branch of the Ohio River and including the lower end of the rich bottom land called “Old Mingo Bottom” opposite the “Town of Mingo”. Shortly after this patent was received, we find that Alexander Wells institutes suit against the Heirs of John Decker for possession of the land, and the suit seems to have been decided in favor of Alexander Wells. Alexander Wells conveyed this land to his son, Henry Wells in 1799, who held the same up until the time of his death in 1815. In his will, it appeared that previous to the time of his death, Henry Wells agreed to sell the tract of land containing 360 acres to William Mahan for a consideration of $3,500.00. The 360 acres includes all of the land once owned by Webster B. Davidson and the Brooke County Improvement Company and about 100 acres lying immediately north of the land of the Brooke County Improvement Company.


William Mahan was a native of Hartford Cross Roads, Hartford County, Maryland. He was born in 1776, married in 1800, and in 1814, he brought his family, then consisting of his wife and one small son, Thomas, 8 years of age, to Mingo Bottom where he agreed to purchase the land of Henry Wells. William Mahan and his family made the trip from Maryland to their home by wagon. They descended the fill from what is now Walker Road through the Tenth and Eight Addition Plans of the City of Follansbee, to the log house that was to be their future home.

(I'm interrupting: This log home, dear readers, is the same one mentioned.)

The road down over Walker Hill (before it became know as Walker Road) was the only one in this part of the country at that time. The log house on the plantation purchased by William Mahan was one of the first built by Isaac Cox in 1772. Henry Wells, during his possession of the land, built an addition about twelve feet from the original house, which consisted of but one room, leaving a porch between the two houses over which he built a roof. When William Mahan and his little family arrived at the log house described above, they found Henry Wells, then an old man, sick on his death-bed, which made it necessary for them to wait for the possession of their new home. They journeyed on to the Army Barracks at Fort Steuben, which stood where the City of Steubenville is now situated, and took up winter quarters at the fort. During the month of February, 1815, Henry Wells dies and William Mahan took possession of the Old Mingo Bottom Plantation, which he made his home until his death in 1853 at the age of 77 years. He left his plantation to his son, Thomas Mahan, who enjoyed possession of the same until he, also at the age of 77, died in 1883 leaving quite a number of heirs, who all joined in conveying the farm to TJ Mahan and H.B. Mahan, sons of Thomas Mahan, and it was used by them as a fruit and truck farm until 1902, when they sold it to Benjamin G. Follansbee. Benjamin G. Follansbee conveyed to Follansbee Brothers Company a tract of 40-acres on which they have erected their large Tin Mill, and the remainder of the land they conveyed to the Brooke County Improvement Company, who laid the same out in town lots.


Since the establishment of the Follansbee Brothers Company Tin Mill and the many improvements made by the Brooke County Improvement Company, the City of Follansbee has grown very rapidly and much credit for its rapid advancement is due to William Banfield, the able Manager of Follansbee Brothers Company Mill and President of the Brooke County Improvement Company, whose discretion and judgment and tireless efforts have largely contributed to the marked success of this thriving little City.


At the June term of Court, 1906, the City of Follansbee received is charter as a municipal corporation, and at the first election held in the new city, Thomas J. Mahan, one of the former owners of “Old Mingo Bottom” was selected as Mayor, Brown Latimer the first City Recorder, and the following citizens compose the City Council: Thomas Rogers, George Hahne, J.W. Nott, Harry Herbert and A.S. Craig.


When the Brooke County Improvement Company laid out “Old Mingo Bottom” in town lots, there were forced to destroy two landmarks in order to secure the proper grade for the streets. These landmarks were two prehistoric mounds, supposed to have been built by the Indians who formerly inhabited the country. The smaller of the two mounds showed evidence of being fifteen or twenty feet across the base and several feet high, and was located on Main Street, midway between the intersections of Broad and State Streets with Main Street. This mound, by reason of the cultivation of the soil was partially destroyed many years ago. The large mound was thirty feet in diameter and twelve feet high. When these mounds were removed, quite a number of Tomahawks, arrowheads, scalping knives and other Indian relics were found.


In the year of 1830, William Mahan tore away a part of the old log house originally built by Isaac Cox and to which he made an addition shortly after purchasing the land from Henry Wells and built part of structure occupied as the office of the Follansbee Brothers Company. The structure consisted of a room north of the hall, the hall-way and rooms over it, while the balance of the log house was removed by Thomas Mahan in 1864 and the remaining portion of the building was erected, and up until the time of the sale of the property by Thomas J. Mahan and H.B. Mahan to Benjamin G. Follansbee on May 9, 1902, it was occupied as the Mahan Homestead.


William Mahan, soon after he acquired the “Old Mingo Bottom” plantation, built a log house near the site of the brick house once owned by W. D. Davidson, and the W.D. Davidson Homestead was built by Thomas Mahan in 1864. Thomas Mahan also erected the house near the one once owned by W. B. Mahan, and known as the William Mahan Homestead, and which was the property of Cyrus Ferguson and others, and stands immediately north of the City of Follansbee.


The Sheet Metal Specialty Company occupied the tract of land on Broad Street, adjoining the old P.W. and Ky Depot and were engaged in the manufacturing of sheet metal specialties. The S. Keighly Metal Ceiling and Manufacturing Company was once situated immediately north of State Street and near the Pennsylvania Depot and manufactured steel window and door frames, iron shutters, reinforced iron work for concreting, and metal ceilings.


The Jefferson Glass Company’s plant was located immediately south of State Street and it was their intention to manufacture fine glass table ware. The Union Lumber Company purchased a lot south of Duquesne Way where they had their lumberyard. The Builder’s Supply Company occupied land immediately west of Mill Alley and Ohio Street. The last two name Companies have furnished nearly all the material used in the early built structures in Follansbee.


The Pan-Handle Abstract Company who have charge of the sale of lots for the Brooke County Improvement Company report that there have been 931 lots offered for sale since June 1, 1904 and 572 lots sold up to September 27, 1906.


R. Humes who purchased 28 and 29 of the Original Plan to the Town of Follansbee on June 1, 1904 broke ground for his store room the same day and erected the first building in the the town of Follansbee, as platted and laid out by the Brooke County Improvement Company. The first brick structure erected in the City of Follansbee was by H.H. Provines on lot #121 of the Original Plan, and the front room of the building was known as the “Citizens Bank of Follansbee.” This bank was established in July, 1906 with an authorized total stock of $25,000.00. The United States Post Office was first established in Follansbee in 1905 with Mrs. Mary Hately as Postmistress, and was located on Lot #34 of the Original Plan of Follansbee.

Read more...

Writers, Revisions and Woes

Is it Friday yet?

Of course not.

Today is the pre-Friday show. It’s a teasing sort of day where one wishes so badly for it to be Friday yet dreads Friday itself because it will quickly turn into Saturday, then Sunday and then Monday. I, unlike most, do not worry about Friday or weekends in general. Every week is a weekend.

Yes, today is Friday. It only feels like a Thursday.

Mum sent over version 43956 of her book. I jest. She only has 43910.3 rewrites. I’m amused. Truly. “Help me edit this” is followed by “I’ve made some changes”. A day or two later, “When are you going to get around to reading the new chapters, editing them, or giving me your opinion of them?”

“WHEN YOU STOP MAKING CHANGES!”

I'll let that sink in a moment.

I love my Mum and she is a true genius, but I feel much like the husband as he moves furniture about a room. He could be playing golf or sailing but he is lugging an enormous couch and china cabinet about on his day off.

The couch thunks onto the wood floor with an audible groan (from the man, and not the couch.

“Hmm,” says the wife, “what do you think?”

He draws breath…

She shakes her head and says to him, “I don’t like it. Move the couch over there!”

Eight hours pass. The wife is not buried in the backyard with incriminating couch prints still evident upon her face. The wife is humming and arranging doilies on the upright piano (which was moved only fourteen times that day. Just ask the husband. He counted.)

I can not put off her edit (my mother loves, commas, and uses them, often, so I need to fix them.) The rush this time around is due to Fr. Leonard (he is not aware of this.)

My parents were both involved at Fordham University (NYC). I have heard Fr. Leonard’s name my entire life (the poor man was mentioned more often than any other person in the world, with the exception of….. I really can’t think of any other person.) Fr. Leonard was a phenomenal priest at Fordham. I researched some info regarding Mimes and Mummers at Fordham and chanced upon Fr. Leonard himself. Alive. With email! A call quickly went out to Mum and Dad and they were thrilled.

Mum sent a powerful email to him. She thanked him for being such an inspiration to their lives. (Believe me, Fr. Leonard, you were.) He is the unseen ghost in many things that she had done; a mentor’s invisible touch that lasts through the decades. She has her own style but he influenced it. He encouraged her to direct and teach. He believed in her. He taught my father before Mum was involved with Fordham. He knew them both before they were shackled with a small and terrifying beast, sharp fanged and content to gnaw on the table legs. ::: insert evil laugh here ::: All kidding aside, my parents would not have done what they did without the lessons given to them by this wonderful man. Mum's book reflects many of his teachings from forty years ago.

If he has turned into an old grouch and treats them poorly, I shall travel to New York and kick him in the shin.

Read more...

An old quote, by any other name, is still enjoyable

Be kind to colleagues, ruthless with theories, is a good rule. A scientific theory isn’t merely idle speculation, it’s a verbal picture of how things might work, how a system in nature might organize things – atom and molecules, species and ecosystems. But old paleontological theories too often aren’t treated roughly enough. Old theories – like the reptilian nature of dinosaurs – are accepted like old friends of the family. You don’t yell at old Aunt Cecilia. So hundred-year-old dinosaur theories live on without being questioned, and too often they are assumed to be totally correct. Even when such theory is caught in an error, it’s likely to be excused.
- Robert T. Bakker, Ph.D., The Dinosaur Heresies

Read more...

Red Peppers, a Quest for Noel Coward's script

I woke up with Red Peppers on the brain. Not the kind suitable for eating, dear Readers; the play.

I recall my mother telling me about performing in Red Peppers. It is a warm, fuzzy memory, the likes of which make you immediately think, “wow, why in the hell did I grow up?” The topic came up during some sort of play that I was working (or perhaps it was one of her productions that I was acting in?) We lived in California at the time. Perhaps my father was still employed at Paramount, perhaps he had moved on to Hannon Engineering. Who is to say? I can’t recall it. I have no intention of calling Mum to ask. Much too early in the morning (two hour difference between us.)

Let’s jump into our Way, Way Back Machine, preset to the 1970’s or early 1980’s. She hands me the tattered remains of what was once a working script. Noel Coward’s name is fading from the cover and the pages themselves bear the brunt of an actor’s touch.

There was a feeling of connectivity then, standing in their library and grasping something that my mother once used in her Younger Days before she gave up her career to raise me (promise to God, complex, to be explained someday.) Her lines were not highlighted. There were notes scribbled in the margins as well as blocking. It had the scent of old makeup and cigarette smoke. The paper, aged and soft, had the occasional gritty speck stashed between the pages. I imagined a much younger Mum, the sort that would toss the script onto the apron during a rehearsal thereby permitting the particles to embed themselves.

Wow, my mother performed this, I thought to myself, and then added for good measure, in front of people in a theatre.

To this day I have but one regret: I have never seen my mother perform. She was instructing and directing by the time that I came along. She has recited lines for me (such as the Red Peppers moment) and I always found myself to be dumbfounded by her knack of getting quickly into character, to step into a role that she had not embraced in over “a million” years. I was immeasurably proud of her during those moments.

Accents. “A Southern accent is infectious and can ruin an entire show.” It is sage advice from a woman who understands her craft better than most people know their own navels. My mother ran through a few lines (by memory) using a flawless Cockney (or East Ender) accent. The script begs for it. I was duly impressed as I stood in her library.

This is the point where I would insert a bit of dialog in order to give you a peek into Red Peppers. I would like to. I can’t find the lines anywhere.

Pickabook offers: Thisitem is not a usual stock item, but we can try to source it. Our price includes a finder's fee of £2.00 per copy. The usual dispatch time is 4-6 weeks.

No shit, Sherlock. I spent a good hour Googling in hopes of finding a snippet of lines from the script. Class and wit have been replaced by talking vaginas and cuckold men (my apologies to my NOW friends and family.)

Samuel French did have a copy and a short synopsis of the play.

One of the "Tonight At 8:30" series produced in London and New York. Doing a song and dance act in a vaudeville theatre are George Pepper and his wife, Lily. They also have a genius for picking quarrels and insulting co workers. When the house musical director, Bert, comes to the dressing room to bum a cigarette and a beer, they chide him for accompanying them in the wrong tempo, call him a drunk, and oust him. Mr. Edwards, house manager, comes to defend Bert, and he is insulted. At the following show Bert had his revenge when he plays the accompaniment so fast the Peppers get frantic and finally fall down. Lily stalks off the stage after heaving her hat at Bert. Also published in Tonight at8:30.
FEE: $35 per performance. Sheet Music (2 songs), $1.25 each.

La te da, Samuel French. (It's located in Key West. No, not Samuel French. La Te Da.)

I'd like to know some of the lines. I'd like to touch upon a memory. There is only one thing for it: Call Mum.

“Hello,” says my mother and I detect a hint of curiosity in her voice. It’s noon here and I am actually out of bed. Did the house catch fire? Am I in the hospital dying from typhoid? Did we win the lottery?

Detour moment:
I never call her early in the day. I always manage to call her towards the end of the day, as if she were nothing but an afterthought to my busy (NOT) day. This is not the case, dear Readers. My mother is not an afterthought. She is writing a book and I do not wish to disturb her. Also, Better Half drives me nucking futs during the day and I seem unable to string two words together without him shouting at some animal or another.

“Nutmeg! NUT meg! NUTMEG! Get DOWN. Down. DOWN. DOWWWWNNNNNN!”

Jebus Crisp, Better Half! “Better HALF! BETTER HALF. Shush! SHUSH! SSSHHHUSH, I’m on the damned phone”. Thus go my days.

I have a sweet friend who also is cursed with oft-impish fur children. He will politely say, “Simba, get down. Mummy’s on the phone.” So elegant. I sometimes dread calling Michael for fear that Better Half will spontaneously explode from the sound of his own voice.

“Nutmeg! Nut MEG! NUTME… KABLOOM!”

I would then have to apologize to Michael and offer to pay for his now-ruptured eardrums, hang up the phone and grab the mop and towels before the neighbors notice the red goop trickling down the walls.

Back to my mother:

“Hello,” says my mother and I detect a hint of curiosity in her voice.

“Hey, do you remember Red Peppers?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you and Dad do that one?”

“Yes”

“Wasn’t there a song in there?”

“Yes… hmm.” She sings some lyrics.

I laugh. Her memory is phenomenal. She goes into lines.
George: Now then.
Lily: Now then what?

She runs the dialog too quickly for me to type out beyond that. She runs it with the Cockney accent (very soft but still there), accurately portraying both characters as they react to each other. She laughs; she can’t remember any further.

“If Dad were here, we could run the lines for you,” she adds. (He is at the dentist today.)

I can feel her smiling as she says, “I directed your Dad in New York [City] with Peggy, and then I performed it with Dad in California.” It has been forty-two years (at the very least) since they performed ‘Red Peppers’. She still remembers.

I cast my mind about for lines from any productions that I’ve been in, reaching far back into my thirty-seven year old memory cache. It’s not impressive compared to Mum’s cache. (I have a hard time remembering what I ate for breakfast, where I left the dog and my own age.)

Lines? I have the ability to remember those. Perhaps it is a gift from Mum.

My first thought is The Decision. I remember the entire script, and I do mean the entire script. Every line. It’s a three-act play. Three hours of lines. I was in every scene; my father initially played the role.

This trial is one of great decision on your part. The accused is not present at this hearing. I have been assured by his counselor that the defendant will be watching these entire proceedings.

I am prepared to present to you many witnesses to prove the accused is guilty of having misled and confused millions of innocent people. In actuality, it is not so much the defendant who is on trial here, but rather it is his lunatic ideals that his followers have plagued mankind with…

I remember things from high school and earlier – first grade at St. Rose of Lima Elementary, we did a production called The Five Stones. I played the part of Martha. I think my husband was Zack. I can recall grabbing that young actor’s arm and delivering an irritated, “Come on, Zachary!” before dragging him stage right. Is this just some sort of floating dream? I reminiscence about a scrapbook and of an old photograph published in our local paper. It depicts that exact scene. Therefore, I can assume that either my memory is foggy or that I am actually remembering the lines.

Red Peppers. Mum and I enjoyed an hour on the phone. We talked about her old haunts and jobs. We discussed the university. We laughed over Vatican II nuns, communist lists, foolish Cardinals and the degradation of the Theatre Arts.

Today is my Grandfather Frank’s birthday. He passed when Mum was sixteen. I know it’s a poignant day for her. I am certain that her memories of her father are just as fresh as the lines that she so easily recollected over the phone. I think of the future Autrice and where I will be in forty years, when I am as old as my Mum and recalling loved ones. I also think of where my Mum was when she was my age. Both are bittersweet thoughts. I have not achieved as much as she did by her mid-thirties. I have not slain dragons or taken on the world with the same determination and fervor as she.

My hope is for my memory. I want to be able to peek over my shoulder and recall things such as soft scripts and Mum’s voice giving lines. I want to be capable of journeying down Memory Lane and seeing all the splendors with my mother’s same accuracy.

Read more...

I recomment that you try the Toast

Toast a most extraordinary blog.

Read more...

VA, zombies and shopping - oh my!

Nothing brings greater domestic ecstasy than stocking our larder with all the premium bits and pieces needed to create magnificent meals (unless you count the sheer pleasure of cooking and consuming said meals.)

Better Half and I journeyed to Pittsburgh today. The lab vampires gorged themselves upon his blood; the LPN, scrying his medical records, decreed him to be a corporally eroding human; the pharmacist plied his secret vodou conjuring and wrought wicked remedies to thwart Better Half’s progression into a zombie-like condition. They injected us both with a live viral culture. We were dispatched like a couple of winged (zombie?) monkeys, perhaps in the hope that we would rummage around the city and spot a pubescent gingham-clad farm girl and her little dog, Toto, too. It was a predictable day at the VAMC.

I happen to like zombies. The ultimate expression of their undead love is exhibited by the amount of body parts left on the carpet. I once found Better Half’s torso in the dining room. I was moved beyond tears but also irked by the amount of dusty blood on the carpet. Furthermore, the dogs feasted upon his withered internal organs while I was out; rotted human jerky tends to unsettle their little tummies. I was picking up liquid pooh all damn night.

Zombie. Zombified. Zombificaiton. Jumbie. Nzambi. Zonbi. Nzumbe.

The Epic of Gilgamesh of ancient Sumer includes zombies in a most threatening fashion. A vengeful Ishtar cries out:

“Father give me the Bull of Heaven,
So he can kill Gilgamesh in his dwelling.
If you do not give me the Bull of Heaven,
I will knock down the Gates of the Netherworld,
I will smash the doorposts, and leave the door flat down,
And will let the dead go up to eat the living!
And the dead will outnumber the living!”

The little bitch gets her way, I should add. Ishtar is granted the Bull of Heaven and all sorts of odd things happen.

Ishtar is a very impish person. We can thank her for all those charming passages in the bible that pertain to “men shall not lie with men as they do women.” We can also thank her for Romans 1 although really we should thank Christians themselves for changing God’s Word to reflect their own pedantic apprehensions. The early church was distraught over the sexually themed worship in Rome. They put their figurative foot down and became rather abstemious in regard to how and why worship would take place. Verses were changed through the ages to reflect sex alone and separate from Ishtar and temple practices.

No way, Autrice. You are wrong!

Many of my fellow Christians do not question their modern bible nor do they question why things read as they do.

Ishtar = the gay is sin debate.
Bacchus = drinking wine is sin debate.

And so on...

I could go on, but I won’t. It is not my job to educate you, dear Readers. Sheeple need to seek the best grass in the pasture instead of blindly following their shepherd (pastor or priest.) If your shepherd cannot point out the good grass and clover to you (or if he or she is unwilling to) then by all means FIND A NEW PASTOR. Don't stagnate; grow through the Holy Spirit.

I have gone completely off topic with this whole thing. My intention was to share our shopping day at the Strip. Zombies, Ishtar, doctors and flying monkeys were not on the program.

The Strip. Shopping. Lovely day.

Better Half and I started at Penn Mac. We stocked up on spices and other things. The large jug below is olive oil. This is how Italians purchase it. We fill our own bottle, allowing the precious liquid to flow from huge vats. It is light and heavenly. We do not use any other oils. Lazy Italians purchase oil it in tins. Clueless Americans purchase it in tiny bottles tucked onto the supermarket shelf.

We had a delightful lunch at our favorite restaurant, Primanti Brothers. I made the mistake of ordering their famous Colossal Fish sandwich. It is a slab of breaded fish almost as long as my forearm fried and slapped onto thick bread. Cheese and shredded greens are added to that. Tomatoes rest on top. Add another slab of bread. The artery clogger is the French fries pressed between the cheese and the greens. My God, I thought I would die. I can’t open my mouth that wide. I turned the entire affair into finger food and picked out the fries on one half. The second half was neglected with the exception of the fish. I picked that out and nibbled on it. (I did not bring my camera with me today. No fish picture for you.) They have the best food.

We stopped into Penzy spices for some Sate seasoning and ground ginger. They were offering a free jar of minced garlic.

Wholey was next. This place is fabulous. A sushi chef and his stand are the first sight you lay eyes on as you walk through the door. The abundance of the sea sits to the right. Beautiful fish with clear eyes and open mouths lay on beds of shaved ice. Thick slabs of deep red tuna tempt the shopper. A large barrel of Spot was placed prominently today. $1.49 a pound, a decent price. I had the fishmonger pull two juicy fish. They were filleted in record time. Other fish swam in large tanks towards the back of the fish section.

The second part of the store is dedicated to meat. You can find hefty cuts of beef or pork. Rabbit ($4.99 a pound) can be had fresh or frozen. A variety of internal organs are at your fingertips or, if you are at peace with it, you can purchase hocks, feet and other “walkie bits”. The shining glory today were the turkeys suspended above the butcher’s counter.

We went to the Asian market and stocked up on our miso paste and bonito flakes. (6 cups water, 2 tablespoons miso, a dash of bonito flakes = easy soup. Add some green onions and mushrooms for a vegetarian dish. Broil some chicken or pork loin, slick thin and add to the soup for a hearty meal. Thinly slick raw beef and add it to scalding hot soup for a unique adventure – I recommend using quality beef and not whatever was on sale at your local Wal-mart.)

Our final stop was Stan’s Produce. You can always fine the freshest goods at Stan’s. I picked up some Roma tomatoes (my own plants are almost dead), green onions, sweet potatoes and zucchini. I cannot recall if I bought the large garlic at Stan’s or Penn Mac.

Dinnertime has arrived. A steaming hot bowl of soup and some sweet fish await fixing.

Read more...

Papikosh Virginia Spot (or how I made Leiostomus xanthurus tasty)

I did not bring my camera with me today so I do not have a picture of a Virginia Spot while at Wholey's. I did travel around the web in search of one (finding a fantastic blog called Toast in the process.) The picture above is some generic thing I pulled off of the 'net.

Virginia Spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) is a smallish fish with a sweet flavor. I am providing a basic recipe below. Consequentially, it is also my Papikash Catfish recipe. Hmm. Papikash Spot? That has an interesting sound to it.

Fillet your fish if your monger has not already done so for you. Pat dry.

Sprinkle each side of the fillet with kosher salt, white ground pepper, onion powder and Hungarian paprika.

Pan fry on medium-high heat, in extra virgin olive oil for a total of five minutes. I keep the pan covered.

Fish will flake when ready.

You can pair this with a nice green salad and white wine.

Read more...

Must Do lists and other musings

Fall is out there. I saw it, albeit briefly. My “window tree” treats me to brilliant red foliage on the outermost branches. The air is cooler and much crisper. Dead leaves frolic along the ground, whispering, “ware, pay heed, winter approaches.”

I have a large autumn “MUST DO” list. I must get the downstairs cleaned for the holidays. I must get the upstairs cleaned for my own sanity. I must get the new plastic shower curtain put up. I must have Better Half drag my box of fall décor up from the basement. I certainly must take fall photographs, strip my garden of summer plants, take in the outside fountain near Toad Hall, sweep the porch, brush and wash the dogs, organize my cupboards and get a haircut.

I got a haircut. That is an accomplishment. Insanity is staved off for the moment.

Autrice made the mistake of wanting long, pretty hair that framed her face and hid the excess water retention. Autrice is Not Patient, however. Better Half and I were in Robinson Township last night and I raced to the nearest salon. It isn’t that I don’t appreciate our local cosmetology talent. I do. I simply do not enjoy looking frumpy. The long hair was frumpy. My local talent enjoys the bouffant style, whereupon one sprays and teases hair into place. The Robinson talent, close enough to Pittsburgh to be metro without the metro price tag, does a splendid job. I am now the proud owner of a kicky razor cut. It’s boyish yet playful. I adore it.

We like to play in Robinson (Town Centre.) There are plenty of popular restaurant chains nestled next to metropolitan places such as (scream of joy) Ikea, Barnes & Noble, Borders, Eddie Bauer, Macy’s, Marshalls, and JC Penney and did I mention (scream of joy) Ikea?

There is (o glory of glories) a Saks Fifth Avenue in Pittsburgh proper. It happens to be downtown in my favorite district - the Too Expensive For Most People District, which is nestled in the Fine Arts You Can’t Afford To See District and rather close to The Penn Avenue Market District With Foods That Wal-Mart Shoppers Will Not Be Able To Identify.

Back East living is very different from West Coast living. There is a refinement to it. Hollywood is plastic, be it clothing or breasts or faces. Back East is polished. You can drive down Penn Avenue in the fall and winter and see a tide of black flowing along the sidewalks and licking at the building facades. Dark trench coats shield business professionals and their expensive suits from the elements. Now and then a bright pop of red springs forth from the black sea, the blazingly outspoken emblem of an elderly socialite on her way to purchase tickets for the ballet or pick up her dry cleaning. People have manicures and those manicures are not there in order to impress others. Rather they are there because keeping one’s fingernails looking trim is expected.

Life is very different in Steubenville. It is very laid back. Women scrapbook. Men slap on ball caps and go out the door. Vehicles have Steelers emblems on them. You might see license plates from West Virginia (Weirton is just across the Ohio River.) People are kinder here.

Better Half has accidentally left his wallet in a shopping cart twice. He raced back to the market both times to discover that some good citizen has not only turned his wallet in but also left the cash tucked inside. People open doors for you and will hold that door open no matter how long it takes you to amble through. People say, “thank you” and are met with, “you are welcome.”

There are some unsavory elements that have slithered in. Most of downtown is a dead zone riddled by crime and populated by human beings who really don’t give a flaming fuck about maintaining their property, their lives or their environment.

I have just realized that my office calendar is still showing August. We can’t have that. Didn’t I mention something about a “MUST DO” list? Surely, I shall not accomplish anything on that list if I am sitting here being amused by the sounds the keys make as I type.

Read more...