27 December 2010

No Gamble

(The famed Odawa Casino and Resort, Little Village on the Bay. It is nice inside, too, but I learned my lesson the hard way about taking pictures around casinos. Photo Socotra, 2010.)

Despite what my ex-brother in law might have told you, gambling is not one of my traditional vices. I have plenty of those, not saying I don’t. But games of chance are not one of them, if you exclude the one-year subscription to the Virginia Lottery I bought last month on a whim.

Might happen. I mean, people do get hit by lightning. There have been a couple times I enjoyed playing blackjack if there happened to be a casino handy- in Vegas, or in the little Nevada village of Fallon, near the wasteland of the Navy airfield. Not much else to do while you were drinking, now that Ruthie at the club has semi-retired.

Anyway, Fallon has something in common the little village by the bay, and that is Native American rights. I had to think of the Judge as I drove away from Potemkin Village after having happy hour with Raven and Big Momma and walking them down to dinner in the casual dining room.

The sun was just setting, brilliant gold flashes against the darkening blue sky. A new water town stood tall against the dying light, emblazoned with the logo of the Odawa Casino. I realized I had not set foot in the new location of the biggest single industry in town, Indian Gaming.

I had once visited the original Casino, which occupied the former Victory Lanes Bowling Alley at the crest of the big hill on US-31. The situation had turned around for the Little Traverse Band of the Odawa- or Ottawa, to give them a more common spelling in English.

The term Odawa is said to mean "traders," are they are a First Nation people. They are one of the Anishinaabeg peoples, and their history is fascinating and sad, as are all the people who ran into the Anglo-Irish-Scots-German-Polish buzzsaw.
They were lucky to have existing relations with the French who traded here, and were not packed off to Oklahoma with their unrelated kindred, and over the century of suppression, actually held on to several hundred acres of land in this and the adjoining county.

They got the right to conduct their sovereign affairs about the time I was leaving the state for other vistas, and it is incredible what has happened since.
The Traders own hotels and restaurants and a variety of tourism-related businesses, and are one of the largest employers of local residents of all ethnic flavors.

The Judge used to come up here when he was on the Indian Gaming Commission in Washington, and he had some caustic words about how the whole enterprise was run by greedy pricks like Casino Jack Abramoff, but I am of the opinion that what goes around, comes around.

I parked the Bluesmobile and walked in through the side door in the self-park lot. A man who could have been a Trader looked at me to ensure I had no evident weapons or camera gear, and I walked into a vast space filled with slots. Women and men was harnessed to the video machines, and I did a circuit of the gaming hall, past rows and rows of flashing machines.

The people looked neither happy nor unhappy, for the most part. Some obviously having fun, others looking positively morose. But most in some neutral space, distracted. 

There were tables for three card poker and blackjack, none of drew me to them, nor the fine restaurant separated from the gaming area by a chin-high way, nor the cocktail lounge that was curiously empty, nor the casual dining area where some couples were taking a break from the action, nor the gift shop where you could purchase Odawa logo items of clothing and turquoise and silver jewelry I would have associated more with the American Southwest.

Seemed like a class act, but a little sad. I saw that they had some local jarred honey and hot pepper jelly, which got me to thinking about dinner.

The little jars of Pepper Jelly are a favorite of mine when I wander into the Pond Hill Farms organic showroom north of town. It is no gamble there, the food is good, if a little expensive.

Not as expensive as throwing dollar chips into video machines, though. I really like the pepper jelly, and wondered if there was still a jar lurking in the reefer at the house.
I had been limited in imagination, through the years and mostly drizzled the spicy red pepper jelly over a block of Philadelphia-brand cream cheese and served with Carr’s Table Water cracked black-pepper  crackers.

That changed abruptly when I got a note from Annie, our Den Mother and Earth Goddess in the Office of Legislative Affairs at the Pentagon. She was sending out email as she waited on the arrival of the latest Storm of the Century at her retirement home near Winchester out in the Shenandoah Valley.

She opened up my eyes to some new possibilities, what with the Ice Age coming back and soups and stews being the stuff of gustatory comfort.  She points out you stir it well, warm gently and use as a dipping sauce for chicken or beef. Add it to pasta dishes (hot or cold), or stir a spoonful into any stir-fry, rice or couscous-based dish.

Or you could make Pond Hill Farms Cornbread with Hot Pepper Jelly recipe (shown below, adapted from the Stonewall Kitchen) and serve it with your favorite home-made chili or that dynamite chicken soup. A great dish to tuck into after shoveling out!

It is no gamble, unlike the Holiday Road I will have to take back to Virginia. Try it.
 

 
Ingredients

(Serves 6-8.) (Oh, hell, who am I kidding. Serves four with hearty appetites!)

         1/2 cup all purpose flour
         1 1/2 cups cornmeal
         1Tbsp baking powder
         1 Tsp salt
         1/2 cup shortening, melted
         3 eggs, beaten
         1/4 cup Stonewall Kitchen Hot Pepper Jelly
         1 can (7oz.) whole kernel corn, drained
         8 oz. sour cream
Directions
1.            Preheat the bejesus out of the stove - 400 degrees F.
2.            In a medium sized bowl, add all of the ingredients and stir vigorously.
3.            Grease a 10” cast-iron skillet well and pour mixed ingredients into it.

Bake for 15 to 20 minutes or until golden brown and toothpick comes out clean.
Serve warm or cut in half and toast or grill. Serve with a dollop of fresh salted creamery butter. Saran Wrap the leftovers (as if) to maintain moist texture.

Copyright 2010 Vic Socotra
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