Vic Socotra

03 July 2008

Big Pink Tater Salad

Mom’s Tater Salad by Death Junior

I was going to tell you about the sinking of the Normandie this morning, but that happened a long time ago, and it will keep till tomorrow. The news out of Colombia about the big rescue of the people the FARC has been holding hostage galvanized me, since you will find some Delta guys at the bottom of it, when the real story leaks out, and if you take that along with the improving news about Iraq, this is a pretty good Independence Day Eve.

Except for the recession, of course. The slump and slowdown means I am way in the hole, real estate-wise, and shackled to Big Pink for the foreseeable future. That led naturally to some home improvement on the poolside unit in case I have to downsize abruptly.

We were sitting at Tony’s poolside bar. He has things set up perfectly now. He got rid of the marginally legal hot-tub and bought a patio table with a big umbrella that is shaped like a kidney. He sits in the indentation in the back and has stools arranged around the front. It is pretty slick.

Death Junior, her boyfriend Chris, Jiggs and myself were sitting there enjoying the break from the heat. The sun was going down over the pool, and Jakob the Czech lifeguard was dozing in his chair.

Death Junior gave me an down-home recipe for Alabama country potato salad. I had tasted it at the Mud Bug Party that Mary Margaret threw, and asked for the recipe.

She said it was her Momma’s, and I asked for it. Authentic, that is the key to a side for the slow-cooked ribs I have been working on. It is summer. Time to eat outside, or at least talk about it while drinking at Tony’s place.

It was thoughtful and touching of her to write it down. DJ does not cook. There is too much work to do at the mortuary, and by the time she gets home at night there is just enough energy to walk to the recliner and sit down. There are a lot of dead, and they do a steady trade with the kids coming back from the war, since they are one of the Receiving Homes that handle the Arlington internments.

Naturally I am interested, and not just from morbid curiosity. My plan is to be laid to rest over there, and make Arlington County my home for eternity. I think I am guaranteed a spot, though things do change. She said she would take care of me, if the time came soon, and mentioned that they have had issues with some of the corpses. They are arriving after the autopsies without tongues, which is the strangest damn thing when you think about it.

Death Junior said it made it hard to make the departed look natural, since the contours of the face hollow without it in place.

I thought they ought to put it back in, but maybe they are saving them for something weird.

Tony went inside to get another bottle of wine, and Jiggs took the opportunity to ask how often they had intimate relations, since her companion Chris was puffing a Marlboro at the seat next to her.

It explained a lot. Chris is a pugnacious guy, a burly worker of the breed who have mostly been pushed out to the exurbs in Chantilly or beyond. He works with his hands as a mechanic, and Tony highly recommends him for his side business as an auto detailer.

I asked him about doing the World’s Fastest Production Pick-up Truck over the holiday, and he said gruffly that he might be able to fit it in. Tony said I ought to concentrate on the Hubrismobile, like he does on the sleek black Vette he drives.

I demurred. I am going to have to replace the stupid thing, but with the recession this is a better time to pick up toys than get rid of them. Buyers market. I looked down at the fuel computer rolling home and saw that the robust German V-8 was delivering 11.7 miles per gallon.

Stupid thing can get 25 mpg on the highway, but I only use it to get a mile or so to the office. I would walk if I had time. Can’t remember the last time I paid any attention to that menu on the computer in the car.

Time to move on, once it is paid for. The mileage on the truck is worse, but with the restoration complete, it is all sunk cost.

We were enjoying a festival of labor, not independence, since we are not. We all still have to work to support somebody, except Tony. He is completely single, and has no Ex. He would like to retire, lately he has been counting the service years all the time to determine his eligibility. He is a senior official in the International union, so as you might imagine, they have great contacts in the Local.

That led to his latest scheme to enhance the Porch experience. Two sturdy Union guys named Eddie and Mick were finishing the brick edging on my patio, twenty feet away. They do stuff like this after the day job. It was a unified front thing; Joe had become tired of the rotting wood verge on his concrete slab, and Tony came up with the concept of putting in red brick edging.

The mulch that the Big Pink Condo Association dumps in the beds around the dying ornamental shrubs in the Spring had spilled over.

Actually, it had been spilling over for years. The Lawn service that does the landscaping has always had a cavalier attitude toward the shrubs and the mulch, but this year they were spectacular. They had lopped the bushes off in a buzz cut, and at Jiggs place they sawed right through his ornamental lights. There is going to be hell to pay for that, if he gets around to it.

At Joe’s place, the ornamental tree had grown up to the extent that a root draped itself right over the concrete. You can imagine how happy Eddie and Mick were about that development, since it had to be excised with saws and mallets.

There is nothing better than watching other people work. When they finished, we went over and oohed and ahhed over the quality of the work, and Jiggs embarrassed me into giving them a big tip.

They live way down south in Maryland, almost all the way to Pax River, so the tip might have been enough to fill up the truck half way. We wound up back at Tony’s to get them some cold beer, and I took a look at Death Junior’s recipe. It was printed neatly on a blue rectangular note with the header: “I don’t do Mornings:”

Ingredients:

Two-and-a-half to three pounds of russet or Yukon Gold taters.
Seven hard-cooked eggs, peeled and coarse-chopped
One small onion, diced
Two cups Miracle Whip salad dressing
One small jar Heinz Premium Sweet Relish (or Vlasic, Mt. Olive, etc)
Two tablespoons (color and taste to suite) Classic yellow mustard
One teaspoon vinegar
Three stalks celery, coarse chopped
Paprika garnish
Pepper and salt to taste; sea-salt or Kosher OK

Boil potatoes in salted water until cooked but firm. Do not overcook. Cube the puppies and place in large bowl with onion and egg.

Mix Miracle Whip, mustard and white vinegar in separate bowl. Stir to consistent color and blend. Add salad dressing to consistency and mustard to bright color. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Gently fold dressing into potato and vegetable mix. Mix all together.

Chill

Garnish with paprika and tote to table.

It looks like it is going to be delicious, and I hope you have some as good with your barbeque on the 4th of July.

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