Growers in the nation's southernmost commercial apple-producing region are fighting a change in crop insurance law, which they claim could wipe out a 200-year-old industry.
Henderson County, N.C. -- a stretch of Southern Appalachia where the first apple trees were planted by a Loyalist on the run from the Revolutionary Army -- today generates about $24 million in annual apple revenue, representing 85 percent of the state's apple crop. But the region's 150-plus growers have been hard hit in recent years by calamities including frost, wind and hail.
Owings credits the Federal Crop Insurance Program, which reimburses growers for lost apples at a rate of $9.25 a bushel, with keeping area orchards solvent. He's worried a new proposal to significantly lower disaster payouts for lesser-grade apples could prove devastating.
The nation's only Giant Omelette Celebration will mark its 25th anniversary this weekend by adding one more egg to its 12-foot skillet.
The town of Abbeville, La., in 1984, joined the confederation of seven cities from Argentina to Belgium that annually commemorates Napoleon's order for a tiny town in southern France to produce an army-sized omelette. Bessieres upheld the tradition long after Napoleon's troops had gone, cooking oversized omelettes at Easter to feed the poor. The practice has thrived in places where locals fret about losing touch with their Francophone heritage.
But that doesn't mean the Abbeville cooks are entirely faithful to the recipe favored by Monsieur Bonaparte: Festival president Gordy Landry reports, "we add a Cajun flair."
"Most of the other giant omelettes are a little bit plainer and not quite so tasty," he continues. "In France, they just stick to the eggs. In Canada, they add some ham. But the only place that puts crawfish in is us."
Years after the nation's last Kenny Rogers' Roasters served its final bird, country music stars are again making a play for their fans' food dollars.
Perhaps because so many of them hail from the South, where good cooking is considered sacred, country celebs have long been inordinately fond of the eponymous restaurant ventures. Once as critical to an Opry member's cred as a Nudie suit, signature restaurants have lately been on the wane, with once-proud institutions such as Twitty Burger and Minnie Pearl Fried Chicken going the way of the cassette tape. But a series of openings set for this fall suggests country musicians may still harbor culinary ambitions.
White-hatted crooner Alan Jackson doesn't have an endeavor of his own, but showed up this week at a Nashville area Cracker Barrel to introduce a new line of spices, clothing and home goods, including an Alan Jackson rocking chair. According to Jackson's spokeswoman Nicole Dona, the singer likes to take his daughters to the homestyle chain.
"The family will still stop now and then when they are on their way back from the lake," she writes in a e-mail to Slashfood. "He loves the breakfast and also the meatloaf sandwich."
After spending more than two decades in development, a mandarin hybrid that some fruit experts are calling "the best thing they've ever eaten in the world of citrus" is now on the market, albeit in limited quantities.
When Gmitter joined the Florida faculty in 1985, he discovered his predecessor's experimental citrus groves had been destroyed. Only a block's worth of trees remained, and most of those were "ugly to look at and horrible to eat." But among the duds, he found a tree growing superb orange fruit. He and his colleagues used that tree to create the university's first-ever cultivar.
Since citrus breeding is slow going, the introduction of new varieties is relatively rare. But Peter Chaires, executive director of the company that holds licensing rights to the Sugar Belle, says the fruit could mark the start of a citrus golden age.
"This is the first one out of a long pipeline," Chaires says. "We have some interesting things coming, including an easy-peel mandarin. We'll see varieties for fresh consumption, varieties for the juice market and a lemon-lime hybrid."
Recipe writer Debbie Moose laments not having linguica on hand for a proper caldo verde, a soup she swears is perfectly suited for fall in the Southeast.
Triangle-area foodies go gaga for a Puerto Rican eatery nestled in the rear room of a suburban tchotchke shop selling scented candles and Raggedy Ann dolls.
Ever want to tell Food Network star and TGIFriday's pitchman Guy Fieri where to go? The Observer reader who submits the best essay on which three area restos Fieri should patronize during his visit later this month will win two tickets to his show.
The state of Louisiana, which produces one-third of the nation's oysters, has mustered the first quasi-official response to new FDA guidelines banning the sale of unprocessed Gulf oysters from April through October.
The strict new rules, designed to combat the deadly Vibrio vulnificus bacteria that swarms in warm water, require Texas, Florida and Louisiana oyster processors to freeze, heat, radiate or pressurize their oysters. But oyster connoisseurs worry their favored bivalves won't be the only casualty of post-harvest processing; Insiders suspect the law will also kill the Gulf coast's oyster industry.
There are statues of Colonel Harland Sanders standing sentry at KFC outlets across Asia, but the town where the legendary restaurateur opened his first café has long resisted memorializing the man many locals consider a fast-talking, two-timing scoundrel.
"There are a lot of people here who knew him from way back," sighs Suzie Razmus, newly appointed chair of the Corbin (Ky.) Tourism Commission. "How can I say this? He wasn't exactly ..."
Universally beloved?
"Yes, exactly," Razmus says, with the obvious relief of a publicity pro saved from uttering something more damning. "You hear stories about women and his colorful language that didn't sit well with a small conservative town. There are still people here that say he owes their great-aunt money, or he fired their grandfather."
A pair of Cajun seasoning companies whose names allude to domestic rough-housing are now preparing to scuffle in court.
The makers of "Slap Ya Mama" last week sued the entrepreneur behind "Punch Ya Daddy," claiming the upstart brand infringes upon their trademark. William Stagg, attorney for the plaintiff, says it's not what's in the cartons of Kirby Falcon's proprietary South Louisiana spice blend that concerns his client: It's the name and logo emblazoned on their labels.
"We don't really know what the recipe is, but we believe the packaging and image my customer has created for Slap Ya Mama is unique," Stagg says. "We believe this brand is calculated to capture our market."
Falcon's attorney did not return calls seeking comment.
According to a June story in Houma Today, Falcon developed his seasoning mix in 2007 while working the grill at his strip-mall lunch counter. He found a name for his product after his 4-year-old son yelped, "I'm going to punch ya, daddy." Punch Ya Daddy is now sold in more than 100 stores across Louisiana.
Sweet potato pie is a Southern food superstar, immortalized in song, celebrated in literature and beloved by American food authority President Barack Obama, who confidently called the filling his favorite while on the campaign trail. And then there's sweet potato cake.
Sweet potato cake is so thoroughly obscure that René Simon, spokesman for the Louisiana Sweet Potato Commission, claims he's never tried it: "I've lived in South Louisiana all my life, and I don't think I've ever had sweet potato cake," Simon tells Slashfood.
According to him, the Pelican State's sweet potato scene is all pie, all the time. "Here, America means mom and sweet potato pie," Simon says.
A new documentary chronicling Arkansans' infatuation with cheese dip has inspired a surge of statewide pride in what might be the region's signature dish.
Since Nick Rogers' short film "In Queso Fever" was featured on the Oxford American's Web site this fall, he's been making the local talk show rounds, reminding fellow Arkansans that their beloved Velveeta and Ro-Tel delicacy isn't widely available beyond the state's borders.
"Everyone's just shocked that if they were to travel extensively throughout the U.S., they wouldn't be able to get cheese dip," says Rogers, who works as an attorney in Little Rock. "The reaction I get from everybody is we had no idea cheese dip wasn't such a big deal everywhere."
Cheese dip is such a big deal in Arkansas that the Arkansas Times includes a cheese dip category in its "best of" readers' poll – and regularly receives more votes in that category than any other. When Conway native Kris Allen was named as an "American Idol" finalist, his hometown Stoby's Restaurant awarded him free cheese dip for life -- a prize many Arkansans likely considered better than a record contract.
Gulf Coast oyster harvesters say a food safety plan introduced by the Food and Drug Administration this weekend could doom the domestic oyster industry by subjecting sellers to regulations they call needless and cost-prohibitive.
The FDA's Michael Taylor cited the deadly threat posed by the bacterium vibrio vulnificus in explaining the agency's decision to ban the sale of fresh, live, unprocessed oysters from Florida, Louisiana and Texas during the warm summer months. The law is set to take effect in 2011.
Oysters that have been quick-frozen, heated, pressurized or treated with gamma rays will be exempt from the ban, which mirrors a law adopted by California in 2003. According to Taylor, that law has winnowed the state's vibrio death rate to nearly zero, with just one fatality being investigated as a possible vibrio case. The nationwide vibrio death rate over the same period has approached 15 annually.
The hottest dispute at this weekend's Boudin Cookoff in Lafayette, La. may not be who makes the best boudin, but whether the signature Cajun sausage should be eaten with its casing.
"For some people, the way they eat boudin is to bite off the first bite and squeeze out the filling the rest of the way," explains event organizer Bob Carriker, who created the web site The Boudin Link to chronicle his ardor for the spicy, rice-y, pork-based snack. "And some people like to eat the casing as they go."
Carriker polled attendees at last year's cookoff, the first edition of the festival, and discovered the crowd was almost evenly split: Discarding the casing was favored by 117 voters, while 86 boudin fans claimed they liked their casing on.
"This is a raging debate in South Louisiana," Carriker says. "Health care, schmealth care."
As Carriker's lingo suggests, he's not a Louisiana native. He moved there from Washington for a job, and immediately set about acquainting himself with the state's cuisine.
Chicken bog is a seasoned chicken, rice and sausage dish that's not half as soupy as its name suggests. What chicken bog isn't -- at least according to the organizers behind the 30th annual Loris Bog-Off being held this weekend in Horry County, S.C. -- is pilau.
Samantha Norris, executive assistant to the Chamber of Commerce's board of directors, maintains that bog is distinct from the beloved African-tinged casserole served one county over, also known as pilau, perloo, pilaf and perlau.
"Some people tell me bog is wetter, some people tell me there's more chicken in bog," Norris says.
Food historians don't necessarily agree: In her book "The Carolina Rice Kitchen: The African Connection," Karen Hess posits that bog is really just pilau made on a massive scale. "It is difficult to make very large amounts of a proper pilau, so it ends up being 'boggy,'" she writes.
Acknowledging that even motivated eaters are struggling to complete their fried food checklists during a single visit to the fair, an increasing number of state fairs are now offering free lunch passes to stimulate more sampling.
Arkansas this week joined Missouri and Memphis's Mid-South Fair in pushing a program that re-imagines the midway as a vast office cafeteria, with chocolate-dipped fried bacon and hot beef sundaes standing in for grilled cheese sandwiches and Jello salad. Arkansas State Fair spokesman Ralph Eubanks said "Lunch at the Fair," featuring free parking and admission on weekdays from 11 a.m.- 1 p.m, was created in response to clamorous customer demand.
"We've had several requests and we decided to try it," Eubanks says. "We're making it logistically possible to provide workers with a quick corn dog."
Eubanks concedes most folks who punch out for a quick trip to the fair are unlikely to stick to what he calls "the old standbys": There are 30 new items available at the fair this year, including a taco in a bag and chicken parmesan on a stick. "We just kind of hit the jackpot," Eubanks marvels.
Alabama's struggling farmers, many of whom have converted their fields into miniature golf courses and petting zoos in hopes of boosting their revenue, are pressing the state to direct highway travelers to their entertainment complexes.
The Alabama Agri-Tourism Association will meet next month with the state's Department of Transportation to craft a plan for erecting interstate signs pointing drivers to agri-attractions, a category that encompasses everything from ice cream counters and produce stands to u-pick blueberry patches and Christmas-tree farms.
"Obviously, our attractions are way off the interstate," says Auburn University tourism specialist J. Thomas Chesnutt, emphasizing the need for signs.
Chesnutt concedes that signs are a rather old-fashioned solution to the newfangled problem of rural economic development. As he says, few tourists today load their family in a station wagon and head down the road in search of impromptu fun. Most modern vacations are plotted online.
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