Back Roads

Foodie’s Delight: Roadside Treasures and Unexpected Destinations

~ adriennecohen221 ~ Leave a comment

I am apt to brake quickly when driving along the byways of this country.

I’m always on the lookout for distinctive photo ops, and I can’t resist interesting signs (especially unique place names like Toad Suck and Smackover in Arkansas,) decaying fences, old churches and cemeteries, or American flags painted on the sides of old barns and brick buildings. As my husband notes, I am sometimes a pain in the neck, but I try not to be too demanding about those stops.

Most of the time, at least.

However, I also have been known to request, if not demand, a “slow down and turn around” when I spy a roadside vegetable stand or come upon a weekend farmers market. There’s something appealing about buying produce direct from the source. It’s gratifying to meet the people who grow our food. That food, whether just-ripened berries, plump tomatoes, or recently-picked apples and pears, always tastes better somehow.

At times, as I willingly admit, I can be insistent.

What’s better than cutting into a fresh peach and tasting it as its proud grower looks on approvingly? Typically, I don’t mind when the juice drips down my chin and onto my shirt! It’s all about the flavor, the freshness, and the fun.

Seasonal specialties like fresh melons and sweet corn, pumpkins and apples or the products made from a fresh harvest — pickles, preserves and jams, sauces, or homemade breads — often seem irresistible. In states where it’s possible to buy fresh pecans and freshly roasted peanuts, we brake for those too. And, occasionally, for just-picked bouquets of daffodils, tulips, or chrysanthemums.

On an impromptu weekend excursion with friends the last weekend of July — destination: the 41st Annual Grape Festival in Altus, Arkansas — we happened upon a farmstand, and it was the prospect of fresh peaches that clinched our decision to stop.

Farm Stands and Festivals

Luckily, everyone was willing, even though this became one of those turn-around-and-go-back moments. It didn’t take long. Nor did it take long to fill several plastic bags with juicy peaches, plump red tomatoes, and vine-ripened sweet grapes. We chatted a bit with the owners of the farm stand. Then, satisfied that we had made a good decision, we loaded our treasures into the back of the SUV and hastened on down the road, eager to get to the festival.

Truth be told, I’m a huge fan of quirky local festivals all across America. It helps to have a willing partner, and my husband and I have made special efforts to visit more than a few of them, including The Goat Festival in Perryville, AR, held annually on the first Saturday of October. We plan to be there again this year and have already ordered our t-shirts. Who can resist the prospect of a fashion show that features young kids in pajamas? The second weekend, on October 12, we plan to attend the 15th annual Sorghum Festival in nearby Mt. Ida, AR, sponsored by Heritage House Museum.

In Arkansas, it seems there are enough festivals and small town celebrations to keep me on the road all year long.

Following the grape festival, we planned to stop for a picnic on the way home. We opted for Paris.

Arkansas, not France.

Small Town Discoveries

The Olympic Games were slated to begin that very day in the “real” Paris across the pond. We had heard that the townspeople of Paris, Arkansas had decorated the 25-foot-tall replica Eiffel Tower that stands in the town square with iconic colored rings, symbol of the Games. It seemed only fitting that we stop there.

We had packed a picnic basket with bread, crackers and cheese, chicken salad, sliced ham, olives and pickles, cookies, fudge, and lemonade. And we had peaches from the farmstand, a bonus. Leaving Altus, we made a brief stop at Wiederkehr Village, which now also includes a tasting room and restaurant. Johann Andreas Wiederkehr, who arrived in the area in late 1880 from Switzerland, founded the family winery that is now the oldest continually operated winery in the state.

We planned to drink a small toast to the start of the Games. By the time we reached Paris, the air had cooled a bit and we found a picnic table in a city park. Large trees offered shade as we unpacked our picnic basket.

Small Town Delights

Traveling the back roads to Paris took us across rolling hills and along picturesque fields and pastures in this Ozark Mountain valley. It is rural, to be sure. Although I acknowledge that there are valid reasons to travel Interstate routes across the United States, country roads just seem more interesting.

That was the certainly the case for our drive to Paris, and I now have a full handful of reasons to return. In addition to finding the Eiffel Tower, we were intrigued by the adjacent Love Lock Fence, and spent a fair amount of time reading the names and dates on the locks.

There are well-maintained public buildings, stately old homes, towering shade trees, and flowers seemingly everywhere in Paris. I savored the sight of vintage automobiles resting aside old buildings as much as the flower-filled baskets hanging from the light posts.

I longed to visit the charming shops in the downtown area, and to walk through gardens filled with colorful flowers. I vowed I would return to visit the “Old Jail” Museum, the Coal Miners Museum, a wine museum, and Subiaco Abbey, a “working” Benedictine monastery founded in 1878. The monks there produce a hot sauce known as Monk Sauce, made from Habanero Peppers grown in the Abbey gardens.

And the murals! The street art and murals in this small town are exceptionally varied and striking, as unexpected as they are enchanting.

Paris is a small town with a population just slightly over 3,200 and a distinctive history. The city was incorporated in 1879, but a settlement had been established there five years earlier. Once the heart of an agricultural area, it has also been a railroad town and a coal mining center. We had too little time to explore fully, but I would like to learn more about life there, for it seems to “live larger” and have a more intriguing story than one would expect.

Old Salts, Salt Licks and Pretzels . . .

~ adriennecohen221 ~ Leave a comment

They may not actually have much in common, but there is a common thread — Salt constitutes a ribbon of continuity from ancient times to the present, and beyond. It is essential for life. Luckily, salt in its various forms is abundant on earth. Processing techniques have been employed for millennia, and salt as a commodity was once prized as much by nations as by individuals.

Today, the love of salt extends to specialty varieties, including Himalayan sea salt, black salt, Celtic salt, smoked salt,  and rare, expensive Fleur de Sel from Brittany, among others. Every type of salt has its dedicated advocates. 100_2120

But who knew that pretzel salt comes from a small East Texas town?

It’s true. Every pretzel consumed all across the United States has salt crystals extracted from the massive salt dome situated deep below the Texas prairie about 75 miles east of Dallas.

Salty Travels and Tales

I had heard of Grand Saline, but I never — ever — gave its name much thought until I learned last year that it has been the home of a Morton Salt mine for nearly a century.

In the mid-1990s, I had the privilege of visiting the planned nuclear waste repository (WIPP Site) near Carlsbad, N.M., prior to the time it received its first shipment of  radioactive waste. I treasure a large chunk of salt that I brought up from that salt cavern almost half a mile underground. Now I also have two small rock salt crystals extracted from below the earth’s crust in Texas. They are much harder; and they are clear.

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I also remember sailing around Salt Island, in the British Virgin Islands. My companions and I didn’t dive the wreck of the Rhone, nor did we step ashore on the island, but we were enthralled to learn that current inhabitants still pay an annual rent to the Queen — a one-pound bag of salt.  Traditions die hard!

Then, just a year or so ago, I visited Ston, a small town in Croatia, where salt has been harvested from the shore of the Adriatic for centuries. Of course, I brought home a bag of Croatian salt. I regularly buy unusual salts at the grocery store. We enjoy cooking with them, and sampling the various textures and flavors.

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In addition, my husband and I were recently gifted with a beautiful book, “Salt,” by Mark Bitterman, along with a Himalayan salt slab, designed for grilling; it is supposed to embue meats and vegetables with natural salty flavor. We are eager to test it!

So, it was with a sense of expectation that we took a day trip recently to Grand Saline. Its history extends back in time to about 800 BC, when the local Caddo Indians collected salt from surface marshes. Those same drying flats supplied Confederate soldiers with salt during the Civil War.

The salt flats still exist on the mine property, but are no longer publicly accessible. But evaporative salt is still processed in much the same way, although on a much larger scale than formerly.

To my disappointment, tours of the mine itself were discontinued, because of federal (OSHA) safety regulations, in the 1960s, but visitors to Grand Saline can learn the history of the mine through exhibits and a 14-minute video at the Salt Palace, a funky little building right in the heart of town. It actually boasts salt block siding, but licking it is not really encouraged!

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About that Pretzel Salt

The underground salt dome, said to extend downward at least 20,000 feet from the surface, is vast. It is said that this single salt deposit could supply this country’s needs for many thousands of years. At a level 750 feet below the surface, where mining 100_2124operations take place today, the salt dome measures approximately 1.5 miles in diameter. The “mother bed” of salt is said to be a remnant of an ancient sea. Underground temperature is a constant 75 degrees.

Each underground salt “room” is about 75 feet wide and 25 feet high, with solid salt pillars for support that measure 130 feet square. Future expansion will enlarge existing rooms to 75 feet in height from floor to roof. Trucks and all mining equipment are brought from the surface in pieces and reassembled in the mine. Approximately 100 miles of roadway wind through the caverns, and mining operations continue underground 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

The salt deposits are 98.5% pure NaCl. Grand Saline is one of only two Morton Salt plants to produce both rock salt and evaporated salt; it produces all major grades of evaporated salt, including dendritic (flaked) salt, and is the company’s sole producer of shaker products and salt substitute potassium chloride.

Salt, of course, is not just for eating. Because of its purity, the salt extracted from the Grand Saline mine is also earmarked for pharmaceutical use. Salt is, after all, salt — but what is taken from the earth at Grand Saline mine is deemed unsuitable for most industrial uses because it is too pure. Although it could be used to melt snow, that would, in effect, seem wasteful! 

Our visit to the Salt Palace was enlightening. Poking around Grand Saline on a beautiful early spring day was pleasant, although there’s not much there other than the Salt Palace. But it’s an easy day trip from Dallas or Fort Worth, and it’s always fun to get out on the back roads; you never know what you might find!

I will never again take salt for granted, but will instead savor the many varieties that are available. And, for sure, I’ll continue to collect salty stories.