One's Kitchen is his Kingdom.

 

Source + recipes

In the backwaters of Louisiana, the place to eat was at  Kalper's Kitchen, where unique and delicious fare could be found. Good food was prepared by the man, Kalper himself.  He was always the force blowing full bore around his kitchen, letting no one and nothing get in his way.

Not an easy person to approach, his manic brilliance gave new definitions to Southern fried catfish and smoked ribs.  AND all who knew Kalper also understood to stay out of Kalper's kitchen during these hours of inspired creation.

Sadly, a short new sous chef, Whittier, was ignorant, and stumbled into the kitchen whereupon Kalper promptly skewered Whittier with his newest blade, a nine-inch Miyabi Birchwood.

A squelched scream gurgled. Hearing the thud,  Kalper's three brothers,rushed in to grab Whittier by his Nike sneakers, and drag him to the freezer. 

One muttered, “Damn! That’s the fourth one this month."

They tossed Whittier onto the heap of Alvin, Sanders, and Simon. “Damn shame.”

The italicized underline letters are from Wednesday Words. This collection is from River, Drifting through Life, posted back in 2015. We had some excellent BBQ two days ago, and this came up in my brain.  

           

Potluck in Old Walderren

Potluck dinner in  some church, some where.

A moratorium  now outlawed church potlucks in Old Walderren. The last one caused a flash fire when the Barbeque Pit exploded, sending miscellaneous pork bits and ribs, along with Bob’s Secret Ingredient (lots of whiskey) flaming sauce, flying over to Ol' Miz Guthrie’s tiny old house.

Ol' Miz Guthrie heard screaming coming her way, and then smelled the barbeque fire on her roof.  “Oh, Lordy, Lordy!  My house ‘s afire!”  As fast as a squirrel on a live wire, she scampered out the door, wringing her hands while the fire department extinguished the barbeque flickers of flame.

No damage done,  Ol' Miz Guthrie thanked everyone, shushing them away, and hurried back inside.  Looking around at her immaculate, nicely decorated home, she raced down the steps to her basement, which was packed with a fireproof chest of jewelry (oh, how she love nice expensive jewelry), and packs of one-hundred bills. 

Unbeknownst to the community, Ol' Miz Guthrie was quite a spendthrift made possible by her late husband’s last bank robbery in 1955 in Chicago.  I gotta out of this town.

The next day her brother Ralf showed up at night with a big van and they moved everything from the basement during the big school dance.  Just before she closed the front door, Old Miz Guthrie turned the old gas cooker on high, and tossed a burning dish towel through the door.

The town mourned for her. Damned BBQ sauce.

This is a repost from March 2015, Wednesday Words. Oh, Lordy, they are fun.