Categories
At Large Opinion

Animal Instincts

I’ve been sitting on this story for a bit, just waiting for a chance to work it into a column. That time has come, my friends. It’s the tale of one Reginald Cook, 26, who allegedly attempted to rob a Shell convenience store on Elvis Presley Boulevard — three times — on the night of April 14th.

The official Memphis Police Department report states that Cook went into the station around 2 a.m. and demanded money from the clerk. The clerk told police that Cook kept reaching into his clothing, indicating that he had a weapon. The clerk didn’t buy the ruse and told Cook to scram.

A few minutes later, Cook returned, again demanding money and again reaching into his clothes as though he might have a weapon. And again, the clerk was having none of it and told Cook to leave the store. This is where the story takes a turn.

At 3:05 a.m., Cook returned once again to the scene of his Kabuki Krimes. Only this time he had a live, five-foot-long snake wrapped around his neck. Emboldened, he shouted, “Gimme all your money or I’ll unleash my attack snake, you bastard!!!” Or words to that effect, one presumes.

By this time, the clerk was getting boa-ed by the whole thing and pulled out a handgun, taking Cook and his slithery sidekick into custody.

Only in Memphis (or maybe Florida). Seriously, Cook has to be one of the dumbest crooks of all time. Who did he think he was going to fool? Anyone could see that snake was unarmed. Heh.

The cops soon arrived and hauled Cook off to jail, charging him with attempted robbery and a reptile dysfunction. After letting the snake make one phone coil, the police let him slide on his own recognizance, mainly because they were unable to get cuffs on him.

Speaking of dumb crooks and animals … How about South Dakota Governor Kristi Noem, the evil creep who outed herself in her own book last week as a puppy killer. And a goat killer. And god knows what else, at this point.

Noem’s book — No Going Back: The Truth on What’s Wrong with Politics and How We Move America Forward — will be published next month, but Guardian.com obtained an advance copy and revealed the literal money shot: Noem shot and killed her 14-month-old dog, Cricket, because she was “untrainable.”

In her book, Noem describes taking Cricket, a wirehaired pointer, on a pheasant hunt with older dogs, hoping they would calm the young dog down. It didn’t work. Noem writes that Cricket was “going out of her mind with excitement, chasing all those birds and having the time of her life” and “ruining the hunt.” Little did Cricket know it would be the last “time of her life.”

On the way home, Noem writes that she stopped at a farm and Cricket got out of her truck and killed some of the farmer’s chickens. Noem writes that Cricket was “the picture of pure joy” during her spree. “I hated that dog,” Noem says, adding that Cricket had proved herself “untrainable” and “less than worthless … as a hunting dog.” So, when Noem got home, she led the unsuspecting (and probably still joyful) Cricket to a gravel pit and shot her. As one does, apparently, when one is a “farmer” from South Dakota. Or Hell.

Then, since Kristi was already in a killin’ state of mind, she went and got a goat that “smelled of urine” and had “knocked her kids down and ruined their clothes,” and executed it, as well. She had to go back to her truck and get another shell, she writes, since she only wounded the goat with the first shot.

Noem is angling to be Donald Trump’s running mate. She’s fond of posting pictures of herself with dead animals: bears, elk, deer, pheasant. I doubt that she posed with her dead pup but I wouldn’t be shocked. Noem says that she included the animal assassination story in her book to show her willingness to do “anything difficult, messy, and ugly” if it needs to be done. So far, she’s had plastic surgery, dental implants, and an affair with former Trump operative Corey Lewandowski, so she’s three-for-three. Kristi Noem is scum.

Categories
News The Fly-By

MEMernet: Fourth Bluff, Da G.O.A.T.s, and Tweet of the Week

Memphis on the internet.

Fourth Bluff

Fourth Bluff Park hosted a Grizzlies watch party last Saturday. The Grizz lost but Reddit user u/Imallvol7 said the party was “a ton of fun. They have drinks, food trucks, entertainment, and two great TVs. It’s an awesome place to watch the away games!”

Da G.O.A.T.s

Posted to Facebook by Overton Park Shell

Goat yoga should’ve become normalized by now. But this photo posted from last weekend’s practice at Overton Park Shell shows that somehow it still has not.

Tweet of the Week

Posted to Twitter by Jared “Jay B.” Boyd

“I did a thought exercise the other day about which landmark is the most ubiquitously Memphis. What site would any Memphian have visited, regardless of background, income, interests, or neighborhood affiliation?

“Some place unique? I landed on the Exxon at Poplar & Highland.”

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (October 8, 2014)

Reinhardt1981 | Dreamstime.com

I am revolting. Not any more so than usual, but I am revolting. I just got back from my first overseas trip in a couple of years, and I am revolting because I’d wiped from my memory the grueling things you have to go through to be a broad … er, abroad. Getting out of the country is not so bad, but getting back in? You are immediately a suspect in a major crime ring or terrorist organization, even though you’re a 55-year-old man who has never shot a gun. I had to fly through Chicago on the way back to Memphis and it went something like this:

Plane lands — remarkably, almost on time. Then you go about 100 miles to go through immigration. There is one — count him, one — person to check every single passenger coming through immigration. But even before that, you have to deal with the checked bag vs. non-checked bag issue. There are separate lines for each, and the woman “greeting” everyone at that checkpoint was like a loud, obnoxious robot. One poor guy who couldn’t understand her kept saying he had no checked baggage, but he wasn’t toting a carry-on of any kind so she kept telling him he had checked baggage. This went on and on and on, until finally the man realized that checked didn’t mean “plaid.” So they got that worked out.

The entire time, another robotic voice was booming over the intercom system about “foot and mouth disease.” The voice was telling us that we needed to report it to authorities if we had been around livestock, visited the countryside, or “stayed at a bed and breakfast.”

I didn’t know staying at a bed and breakfast was so potentially fatal. Annoying, yes, because you are trapped at breakfast with strangers who are usually very chipper about being on holiday, and to me there is almost nothing worse than being around chipper people early in the morning before I’ve had a pot of coffee and taken my crazy medicine. The airport voice was talking about hoof and mouth disease, which I wasn’t sure about since I don’t have cloven feet, so I looked it up. I didn’t have time to research it thoroughly, but as best I can figure, you contract it, not from animals, but from other people who have the virus.

Maybe they get it from being around animals or staying in a bed and breakfast? I don’t know. But what I do know is that you can also contract the pesky illness from touching “the stools or the fluid from blisters of an infected person.” So why did the airport robot not warn travelers about this possibility. I would have given my autographed Bettye LaVette photo to have heard the airport robot voice boom, “IF YOU HAVE TOUCHED THE STOOL OF A PERSON INFECTED WITH FOOT AND MOUTH DISEASE, PLEASE NOTIFY THE AUTHORITIES!” But who the hell would do that and how would he or she explain that?

Which brings me back to the immigration checkpoint. The man at this particular checkpoint — the one person checking everyone who was flying into that terminal in Chicago’s O’Hare Airport — was a stereotypical, comically punctilious, pasty little government worker-bee with just enough power to make everyone completely miserable. Each time a person walked up to his little domain, he stared at the person’s passport photo, then back at the person, then back at the passport, then back at the person, with his brows furrowed and a very serious look on his face, like he was deciding whether to sentence each person to death. One poor British guy on his way to Memphis for a business conference had to stand there and talk with him for 10 minutes and was finally escorted away by some kind of security guard. So by the time I got up there I was a) about to wet my pants and b) not in the mood for his antics. So he did the staring at the passport and back at me several times and finally asked why I had been to England. It went something like this:

My spoken answer: “I was on business.”

Answer going through my mind: “It’s really none of your business, you troll.”

Next question: “What kind of business?”

My spoken answer: “I work at a music museum and music school for inner-city, high-school students. Some of them performed at a concert in London after the premiere of a movie about Memphis music.” (It was the ultra-fabulous new documentary Take Me to the River.)

Answer going through my mind: “You probably wouldn’t understand it, so please let me out of here before I urinate on the floor.”

Then he actually asked me this with a smirk: “You didn’t ‘babysit’ any of them did you?” He was actually implying that I might have done something inappropriate with them.

My spoken answer: “No, they were graduates of the Stax Music Academy and they are adults now.”

Answer going through my mind: “No, I didn’t babysit any of them. And have you, sir, by any chance, been fondling the feces of a person infected with foot and mouth disease? Because it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if you were into scat, you lowlife, creepy, miserable excuse for a human being.”

But I held my tongue to keep from being hauled away by the security guards. It might have made me miss my flight that was five hours late leaving Chicago.

Categories
Food & Wine Food & Drink

Say Cheese

In 1999, Gayle and Jim Tanner left their farmhouse on six acres of land north of Sacramento, California, for 110 acres of pastures, woods, dirt roads, and a babbling creek in a secluded hollow in Waynesboro, Tennessee. Traveling the 2,200 miles in an RV — the couple’s home for the first year — they brought along 11 goats and two Great Pyrenees named Sugar and Belle.

“We came here to retire,” Gayle says. “Our six acres in California seemed to get smaller and smaller because of urban sprawl, and we knew we had to get out eventually.”

One look around the Tanners’ farm, now 330 acres, and you’ll see that retirement wasn’t the only thing that brought them to this remote spot. For almost two years, the Tanners have run Bonnie Blue Farm as a goat dairy and farmstead cheese business with more than two dozen goats in the permanent herd.

The couple built the farm from the ground up after buying the land in 1995. For the first four years, the Tanners took an occasional trip from California to Waynesboro to tame the land, which had no structures beyond a pre-Civil War chimney. The green-roofed barn, built for those first 11 goats, was the first building to go up.

“We couldn’t move here without a place for the goats,” Gayle says. Although the barn has since been expanded to make room for a growing herd, it’s still in its original location. The couple eventually finished a cabin, which visitors can rent, and they’ve added a milk parlor, a herd-keeper apartment above the barn (where the Tanners live), and a cheese studio where Gayle spends many hours crafting goat cheese, called chèvre, and feta.

Getting to the farm from Memphis is an easy three-hour drive east on Highway 64 plus a few miles on gravel and chert roads. Crossing beneath the farm’s towering sign, it’s hard to remember bustling city life. Goats, wildlife, the Tanners, and Sugar, the remaining herd dog, are the only company for miles around.

These days, Bonnie Blue Farm’s herd consists of Sannen (of Swiss origin) and Nubian (of Middle Eastern and North African origin) dairy goats. The goats are milked twice a day, at 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. If Gayle is making cheese, her work might continue until midnight. The milk parlor, adjacent to the barn, allows six goats to be milked at the same time. The brightly lit room is spotlessly clean.

While the goats dig their heads into buckets of grain, Gayle starts milking. To minimize bacteria contamination, she cleans the goats’ teats and milks the first few ounces by hand into a small bucket. Then she attaches the automatic pumps, which are connected to portable five-gallon tanks. She pays attention to every goat’s needs. Some milk from one teat faster than others, and Gayle makes sure the goats get enough time to empty their udders.

The milk is only pumped once — from the goats into portable tanks. “After that, we carry the tanks next door and transfer the milk into our 100-gallon bulk tank, where it can stay for up to 72 hours, cooled to between 33 and 44 degrees,” explains Gayle. “When we transfer the milk to the cheese studio to be pasteurized, we don’t pump it out of the tank. It can flow down into the portable tanks, and we take those to the studio.”

Although the process is laborious, Gayle knows that too much agitation can break down the components of the milk and make the cheese taste “goaty.”

“You want to be gentle with goat’s milk,” she emphasizes.

But Gayle’s not just careful with the milk. The petite California native takes great pride in caring for her herd as well. Although there’s not a trace of farming in her family, goats have always fascinated Gayle. Her first goat was a present from her mom. She got it for her 21st birthday.

“They are very sweet animals and very productive animals too. That’s what I’ve always liked about them. You can make great things from goat’s milk, and you don’t have to kill the animal,” Gayle says, as if still somewhat amazed at the thought. Jim Tanner, originally from Kentucky and a former building contractor, got his first goat when he was 12 years old. He remembers farm animals as a part of growing up. The two met when Jim was hired to fix Gayle’s California farmhouse. “He never left,” she says with a chuckle.

Gayle was initially a hobby cheese-maker. It wasn’t until she was in her mid-40s that she felt she had a talent for making cheese beyond her home kitchen.

“I’d always made cheese from the milk of my goats, just never for sale,” she says. Her perspective changed when she donated some of her homemade feta for a benefit dinner.

Lars Kronmark, one of the chefs at the dinner and an instructor at the Culinary Institute of America in St. Helena, California, tasted Gayle’s feta. He demanded to meet her.

Eric Wilson

Gayle and Jim Tanner of Bonnie Blue Farm

“He invited me to the Culinary Institute to teach a demonstration class in feta making, and I got to take a few classes at the institute in exchange,” she says.

It took a few more years before the Tanners decided that farm life was the life they wanted.

Lucky, Coco, and Manners are the only goats left from the original herd. After their morning milking, the goats eat a breakfast of alfalfa hay.

“This smells so good,” Gayle says as she digs her nose into a bushel of pale-green hay. While the goats enjoy their breakfast, Gayle cleans out their den.

Gayle makes cheese every other day, after four or five milkings. In her cheese studio, she turns into a different person. She exchanges her farm clothing for a chef’s jacket and tucks her shoulder-length hair under a soft, black cap. She seems a little more serious.

The studio smells of brine and plain yogurt, a slightly sour aroma, normal for a place in which chèvre and feta cheese are made year-around. The 52-gallon pasteurizer sits in one corner; tub sinks, refrigerators, and counters line the wall. Most dairy farms use pasteurizers that can hold several hundred gallons of milk, and it took the couple a long time to find equipment that would work for their small farm. They finally found what they were looking for from a manufacturer in Holland.

Gayle pasteurizes the milk gently at 145 to 147 degrees for 30 minutes. Once it cools to 86 degrees, cultures and rennet are added. Curds start to form and cheese making begins. About 12 hours later, the curds are cut and scooped into mesh bags or molds to drain. Once drained, salted, and dried, about 24 hours later, the cheese is ready to be packaged for sale. Gayle has a record sheet for every batch she’s made since the farm started producing cheese for sale in April 2006. It’s a way of maintaining quality control and a tool to replicate the conditions that turned out an exceptionally tasty batch.

Bonnie Blue Farm’s goat cheese doesn’t taste like goat cheese available at grocery stores, not even the pricy brands. A tangy acidity and various degrees of creaminess are what most people associate with goat cheese. Gayle’s cheese is remarkably mild, and, at first, not tangy at all. If the acidity of mainstream brands is startling, Bonnie Blue Farm’s chèvre surprises with its smoothness and a finish that doesn’t choke the personality of the milk.

The cheese reflects the locally grown alfalfa hay, the goats’ daily walks with ample time to graze the pastures, the gentle pasteurizing, and the Tanners’ great care with the animals and the milk. Gayle hopes that by next spring she will have cheese caves for products such as Gouda and cheddar, which need to age in a cool and consistent environment.

For the Tanners, however, it’s not just about good cheese. It’s about the animals and their farm life. This year, Bonnie Blue Farm won the Tennessee State University extension program’s Tennessee Small Farmer of the Year award in two categories: alternative enterprise and innovative marketing.

“All this seems very idyllic for people who come to visit. But they don’t realize that this is nothing but farm, goats, milk, cheese — every day, all year long,” Gayle says. “For us, there’s nothing we’d rather do.”

Bonnie Blue Farm cheese is available at the downtown Memphis Farmers Market this Saturday or through the farm’s Web Site, www.bonniebluefarm.com.

Categories
We Recommend We Recommend

Got Goat?

Flip the calendar pages to September and I think of goat — this weekend’s International Goat Days, to be exact. It’s the only festival I know of where I can eat goat, pet a goat, and watch a goat chariot race all at the same time.

The brainchild of W.S. “Babe” Howard, whose idea of a wild party involves re-creating the pivotal Ben-Hur scene with noble Capra aegagrus hircus (what we know as the domestic goat) standing in for Messala’s frothing and plunging equines, International Goat Days has grown into a mammoth three-day event that includes Best Dressed Goat contests, goat milking races, a petting zoo, a rodeo, and plenty of live music. Where else can you learn more about the mysterious Tennessee fainting goat, a breed cursed with a hereditary genetic disorder called myotonia congenita, chow down on cabrito (a Mexican delicacy built around slow-roasted kid), attend Cowboy Church, or watch guys like David “Gator Bait” Blackwell and Jerry “Hit Man” Hinton risk life and limb as they participate in a death-defying anvil shoot?

The 2007 International Goat Days Festival kicks off with a children’s parade on Friday at 6 p.m. and concludes with a catfish cooking contest on Sunday afternoon.

International Goat Days, Friday-Sunday, September 7th-9th, at the USA Stadium in Millington. For more information,

go to www.InternationalGoatDays.com.