In Mason, Tennessee between Jackson and Memphis there is a restaurant called Bozo's BBQ. It is on Highway 70 which used to be the main drag between the east and west coasts of the USA and runs the length of Tennessee. As a kid traveling with my parents, we always timed a trip to or from Memphis to coincide with lunch or supper there. The place was always crowded, and the BBQ was wonderful. The arrival of Interstate 70 bypassed Mason, and I thought no more of it until fifty years later.
A couple of years ago, Barbara and I were near Mason and went to see if the place was still there. I was pretty sure that it remained because I had Googlized it, and it had a webpage. It was only a couple of miles off the interstate, and there Bozo's was! It looked like it always had except that the parking lot seemed smaller.
I am here to tell you that Bozo's BBQ is still going strong, has great southern style food and hospitality, even sold me a Bozo's ball cap. Next time you are in Mason, Tennessee, drop by.
25 October 2006
ER Memories
When I was a rotating intern after graduation from medical school, we were assigned a 2 month rotation in the Emergency Room. Nurses and interns staffed the place. Residents were available if you called for a consult. We saw about two hundred patients in a twentyfour hour period. We each worked twelve hour shifts. Fortunately, there were interns who were working ER as their last rotation, as well as those of us who were just starting. I had already had two months of pediatrics, so that came in handy. We all consulted each other. This was in the days before Medicare/Medicaid, so the care we gave was free.
At that time, there was a new ER being built where the old one had been, so we practiced ER medicine in a single hallway of a clinic building. This was christened The Black Hole of Calcutta. It was cramped and crowded at its best, and absolute chaos when things got busy. There was one intern almost finished with his internship who was a whiz at triage. He sat by the lady who registered the patients and quickly sorted out who needed what. A lot of bad colds and sore throats went with a prescription without having to be examined quickly to make the same diagnosis.
ER duty was both hard and easy. Long periods of boredom treating lacerations, skin eruptions, etc. Interspersed with cases where lives were saved in minutes. Saturday nights in Memphis could be hell on wheels. Gunshot wounds were common. I helped a general surgery resident open a young warrior's chest on the floor of the ER to plug up a hole in a pulmonary artery, did a bedside traction on a man whose adversary blew his entire face off with a shotgun, delivered babies in the parking lot, and treated all sorts of misery.
There were lighthearted times too. One of the registry clerks was a stickler about anyone going "back" (to our treatment area) without first having the paperwork filled out. One Sunday afternoon, a young man walked in the waiting area with a car's fan blade stuck in his skull. The room cleared in a flash. When this clerk looked at him, she said, "no need to fill these papers out, go right on back". About once a week, an elderly diabetic patient would come in by ambulance in insulin coma. Taking your insulin when you can't or won't eat is a big NO-NO for diabetics, but it was common. To see the family's response to a miracle dose of IV 50% glucose was fun. The patient was literally brought back from the dead in their eyes, and your stock went through the roof with them.
Then there was the homeless woman famous for smuggling razor blades into jail in her "nether parts". She would then cut herself and get a free ride to the ER. The police decided to do a reverse of that, so they started bring her by the ER for a pelvic exam before going to jail. She was always drunk but cooperative. New interns were told to always do a speculum exam before doing a manual.
Officer "C" was the policeman assigned to the ER. He was a likeable but pompous appearing guy who tended to be on the portly side. Once he tried to quell an unruly drunk and almost shot himself in the leg freeing up his weapon. He was quite upset when a pair of ladies panties was found in the canister that was used to dispense iced tea to the ER personnel. No one ever found out who put them in there, or how long they had been in there. There were a few green faces for awhile, and the tea consumption took a dive.
At that time, there was a new ER being built where the old one had been, so we practiced ER medicine in a single hallway of a clinic building. This was christened The Black Hole of Calcutta. It was cramped and crowded at its best, and absolute chaos when things got busy. There was one intern almost finished with his internship who was a whiz at triage. He sat by the lady who registered the patients and quickly sorted out who needed what. A lot of bad colds and sore throats went with a prescription without having to be examined quickly to make the same diagnosis.
ER duty was both hard and easy. Long periods of boredom treating lacerations, skin eruptions, etc. Interspersed with cases where lives were saved in minutes. Saturday nights in Memphis could be hell on wheels. Gunshot wounds were common. I helped a general surgery resident open a young warrior's chest on the floor of the ER to plug up a hole in a pulmonary artery, did a bedside traction on a man whose adversary blew his entire face off with a shotgun, delivered babies in the parking lot, and treated all sorts of misery.
There were lighthearted times too. One of the registry clerks was a stickler about anyone going "back" (to our treatment area) without first having the paperwork filled out. One Sunday afternoon, a young man walked in the waiting area with a car's fan blade stuck in his skull. The room cleared in a flash. When this clerk looked at him, she said, "no need to fill these papers out, go right on back". About once a week, an elderly diabetic patient would come in by ambulance in insulin coma. Taking your insulin when you can't or won't eat is a big NO-NO for diabetics, but it was common. To see the family's response to a miracle dose of IV 50% glucose was fun. The patient was literally brought back from the dead in their eyes, and your stock went through the roof with them.
Then there was the homeless woman famous for smuggling razor blades into jail in her "nether parts". She would then cut herself and get a free ride to the ER. The police decided to do a reverse of that, so they started bring her by the ER for a pelvic exam before going to jail. She was always drunk but cooperative. New interns were told to always do a speculum exam before doing a manual.
Officer "C" was the policeman assigned to the ER. He was a likeable but pompous appearing guy who tended to be on the portly side. Once he tried to quell an unruly drunk and almost shot himself in the leg freeing up his weapon. He was quite upset when a pair of ladies panties was found in the canister that was used to dispense iced tea to the ER personnel. No one ever found out who put them in there, or how long they had been in there. There were a few green faces for awhile, and the tea consumption took a dive.
Paricutin
When I was about 7 years old, my parents bought me a set of Compton's Pictured Encylopedia. I think that they paid about eighty dollars for them, and they were my pride and joy. I frequently went to bed at night reading one of the volumes.
In my rambles through these books, I happened upon the story of Paricutin. Paricutin is a volcano in Mexico. I believe it is the eastern part of the country. It is a young volcano, having popped up in a farmer's field in 1943. Over several years the lava flow completely covered and destroyed a small village except for the top of the church steeple. It still remains active today but is no danger to populated areas.
When I was about fourteen, I went with my parents to Mexico. We went from the USA border to the tip of the country's southern parts. We also went to Paricutin! We drove to a small village about an hour's mule ride from the volcano, spent the night, and my dad and I got up at 4 AM to meet a guide. We rode on mules with wooden saddles. I remember that for sure! When we got to the edge of the cool lava flow, it was possible to get off and walk over to the church steeple at a level of the belfry and walk into it.
There were no people there but us. I'll bet that today, the place is covered with tourist traps.
13 October 2006
Mrs. Levy
Sometimes, I wonder why stuff like this pops into my mind. For some unknown reason, the other night I thought of Mrs. Levy. She was in my life for a few minutes about 63 years ago. That's right 63 years ago when I was 4 years old.
I don't know if there was a Mr. Levy, but there must have been one at some time because Mrs. Levy had a son. I don't know the son's name, and I am sure that I never saw him. I do remember his mother as a nice lady who lived across the street and down about 3 houses from us.
Why do I remember Mrs. Levy? She was the lady who baked cookies for us neighborhood brats on the day she got word that her son had been killed in Germany while serving in WWII. I just remember her bringing cookies out the back door for us on that morning that she became a Gold Star Mother. I wonder what her thoughts were now, but then, I just knew that she baked good cookies and loved us kids.
I remember Gold Stars in the windows of homes where a son had died in WWII. I think that Mrs. Levy's star was a Star of David.
I don't know if there was a Mr. Levy, but there must have been one at some time because Mrs. Levy had a son. I don't know the son's name, and I am sure that I never saw him. I do remember his mother as a nice lady who lived across the street and down about 3 houses from us.
Why do I remember Mrs. Levy? She was the lady who baked cookies for us neighborhood brats on the day she got word that her son had been killed in Germany while serving in WWII. I just remember her bringing cookies out the back door for us on that morning that she became a Gold Star Mother. I wonder what her thoughts were now, but then, I just knew that she baked good cookies and loved us kids.
I remember Gold Stars in the windows of homes where a son had died in WWII. I think that Mrs. Levy's star was a Star of David.
05 October 2006
Some of the Things that I Put into my Mouth
To begin; it is not my purpose to proselytize and encourage anyone to eat anything.
I have always been somewhat of an adventurer in culinary pursuits. At about age two, I became known as junebug because I ate one (I do not, thankfully, remember this). My nanny at the time confirmed this. One of my first adventures were raw oysters. I had seen my dad eat these but never asked for one. When I was about to become an intern, a hospital threw a bunch of us a beer fest. They had a guy opening oysters like a magician, and after a few glasses of beer, I tried one. Wonderful! Later on, I lived in a place where a guy who owned a seafood market and restaurant used to bring oysters back from New Orleans each week. One could get them in the shell to take home and shuck. Both my children were quite young and would stand with me at the sink, while I shucked away. My son loves them to this day. I think my daughter merely ate them to please me. A few years later, we were in a hotel coffee shop in Atlanta, and my son (he was about 8 years old) ordered a dozen on the half shell. The waitress asked if he would eat them, and when I said that he did at home, she asked if she could come back and watch. He is tired of hearing about that, but he can skip that part.
Some years later, I had a colleague who always had a game supper at his house once a year. That's where I was exposed to chitlins and prairie oysters. For those uninitiated, chitlins are a southern delicacy of boiled hog intestines that are battered and deep fried. Prairie oysters are the gonads of hogs or sheep (maybe other animals too) that are cut up, battered, and deep fried. They taste much like chicken nuggets and are yummy. This same game supper used to feature tomato gravy with venison heart in it. Wonderful over a biscuit.
In South Georgia, hunting rattlesnakes is a sport. One of the ladies in our office had a boyfriend who did this. Dressed and frozen, she would bring some to me. I have had it fried, but it tends to be dry. If the snake is boiled (it is VERY odifirous), the meat comes off easily and combined with sour cream and some black pepper, it makes a great dip. I have seen folks who wouldn't eat snake on a bet, scarf this stuff down and ask for the recipe.
After arriving in CH, I tried horse. It is a healthy red meat with almost no fat in it. My Godson's uncle used to be a horse butcher, so we had a ready source. It used to be that horse was not sold except in special markets. Nowadays, one can buy it in any meat or grocery market. It comes in several cuts. You can also buy foal, which is a bit more expensive and like veal would be. Horse is a dish for celebrations. Thinly sliced, it makes a great meat fondue, and a nice inch and one half fillet, cooked on the grill, and topped with some garlic butter will make a bulldog break its chain. My son enjoys horse (Pferd in German), but his wife is horrified when he neighs between bites.
Many years ago, I wanted to see how tripe tasted. Tripe is the lining of beef stomach. In the USA, it isn't commonly sold, or at least I could never find it. I did learn that a Campbell's soup called Philadelphia Pepper Pot contained tripe. I bought some and tried it. It was like eating pure gristle and did not seem to be pleasing on the tongue. I ate no more. Then, some time ago, I was with a friend at a mountain restaurant, when he noted with pleasure that Kuttlen (tripe) was on the menu. He said he did not get that at home because his wife thought that it contained too much cholesterol. He ordered it. The dish looked really good. Strips of tripe, cooked soft, and in a tomato sauce. I asked for, and received a taste. It was delicious! Since then, I have cooked it Napoli style in a pressure cooker. It has a tomato sauce, and I believe there is a recipe for it in The Joy of Cooking. One of Barbara's friends had me over for a Kuttlen lunch, and hers was like mine but with a bit of onion and melted cheese on top.
One of the things that I also enjoy is smoked tongue. While looking for it in the cold cuts section of our grocery, I came onto something called Euter. It looked a bit like tongue, so I bought it. I learned that Euter is German for udder. It must not be a big seller because I have never seen it again. It was nice on a cracker with a little mustard.
Eating is a learned event guided by what we see as we grow and experiment. Each group of people have built in likes and dislikes governed in large part, by our social mores.
The one thing that I cannot abide is boiled okra. My dad and mother ate it, but most of mine ended up in the toilet. I later learned to like it fried, pickled, and (the best), in an African curry.
I have always been somewhat of an adventurer in culinary pursuits. At about age two, I became known as junebug because I ate one (I do not, thankfully, remember this). My nanny at the time confirmed this. One of my first adventures were raw oysters. I had seen my dad eat these but never asked for one. When I was about to become an intern, a hospital threw a bunch of us a beer fest. They had a guy opening oysters like a magician, and after a few glasses of beer, I tried one. Wonderful! Later on, I lived in a place where a guy who owned a seafood market and restaurant used to bring oysters back from New Orleans each week. One could get them in the shell to take home and shuck. Both my children were quite young and would stand with me at the sink, while I shucked away. My son loves them to this day. I think my daughter merely ate them to please me. A few years later, we were in a hotel coffee shop in Atlanta, and my son (he was about 8 years old) ordered a dozen on the half shell. The waitress asked if he would eat them, and when I said that he did at home, she asked if she could come back and watch. He is tired of hearing about that, but he can skip that part.
Some years later, I had a colleague who always had a game supper at his house once a year. That's where I was exposed to chitlins and prairie oysters. For those uninitiated, chitlins are a southern delicacy of boiled hog intestines that are battered and deep fried. Prairie oysters are the gonads of hogs or sheep (maybe other animals too) that are cut up, battered, and deep fried. They taste much like chicken nuggets and are yummy. This same game supper used to feature tomato gravy with venison heart in it. Wonderful over a biscuit.
In South Georgia, hunting rattlesnakes is a sport. One of the ladies in our office had a boyfriend who did this. Dressed and frozen, she would bring some to me. I have had it fried, but it tends to be dry. If the snake is boiled (it is VERY odifirous), the meat comes off easily and combined with sour cream and some black pepper, it makes a great dip. I have seen folks who wouldn't eat snake on a bet, scarf this stuff down and ask for the recipe.
After arriving in CH, I tried horse. It is a healthy red meat with almost no fat in it. My Godson's uncle used to be a horse butcher, so we had a ready source. It used to be that horse was not sold except in special markets. Nowadays, one can buy it in any meat or grocery market. It comes in several cuts. You can also buy foal, which is a bit more expensive and like veal would be. Horse is a dish for celebrations. Thinly sliced, it makes a great meat fondue, and a nice inch and one half fillet, cooked on the grill, and topped with some garlic butter will make a bulldog break its chain. My son enjoys horse (Pferd in German), but his wife is horrified when he neighs between bites.
Many years ago, I wanted to see how tripe tasted. Tripe is the lining of beef stomach. In the USA, it isn't commonly sold, or at least I could never find it. I did learn that a Campbell's soup called Philadelphia Pepper Pot contained tripe. I bought some and tried it. It was like eating pure gristle and did not seem to be pleasing on the tongue. I ate no more. Then, some time ago, I was with a friend at a mountain restaurant, when he noted with pleasure that Kuttlen (tripe) was on the menu. He said he did not get that at home because his wife thought that it contained too much cholesterol. He ordered it. The dish looked really good. Strips of tripe, cooked soft, and in a tomato sauce. I asked for, and received a taste. It was delicious! Since then, I have cooked it Napoli style in a pressure cooker. It has a tomato sauce, and I believe there is a recipe for it in The Joy of Cooking. One of Barbara's friends had me over for a Kuttlen lunch, and hers was like mine but with a bit of onion and melted cheese on top.
One of the things that I also enjoy is smoked tongue. While looking for it in the cold cuts section of our grocery, I came onto something called Euter. It looked a bit like tongue, so I bought it. I learned that Euter is German for udder. It must not be a big seller because I have never seen it again. It was nice on a cracker with a little mustard.
Eating is a learned event guided by what we see as we grow and experiment. Each group of people have built in likes and dislikes governed in large part, by our social mores.
The one thing that I cannot abide is boiled okra. My dad and mother ate it, but most of mine ended up in the toilet. I later learned to like it fried, pickled, and (the best), in an African curry.
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