The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel (26 page)

The best part of this deal was that they wanted the Sweet Potato Queens to be the judges. We both squealed in delight and did a major happy dance, causing the float to pitch and roll alarmingly—getting the attention of the other Queens, who then, of course, joined in the squealing happy dance so that we were nearly thrown from the float by the force of our own exuberance. Perfect.

“Gerald, hunny, go get Clyde—we need all our sistahs with us on this float today,” I said.

“Really?” Gerald said, eyes lighting up.

“Hey, y'all!” Mary Bennett hollered. “We need to practice our routine!”

“Go get Clyde and join the others,” I told him. “I have a little sumpen to take care of.”

I motioned over a Spud Stud named Steve and whispered in his ear.

“I'm not sure if there's enough time for that,” he said. “The parade's going to start in a few minutes, and—”

I pulled him closer and whispered a little something else.

Steve's face took on an almost ethereal glow.

“Right away,” he said, taking off to do my bidding, leaving Ked marks in his wake.

I took my place in the center of the float as Boss Queen and my court flanked me on either side. It felt grand to have all the Queens back together again. We were bebopping around like a bunch of June bugs from the sheer thrill of it.

A few minutes later, a winded Steve appeared at the float. He handed me a cassette tape and a cold bottle of Dom Perignon. “I hope I got what you wanted. I flew to the record store so fast it felt like my Chevy was on fire. I nearly ran over a guy in the liquor store parking lot. Is there anything else I can do? You can just name it and claim it, baby!”

“Thank you, sweetie,” I said, tossing him a wink. “But I think everything's under control now.”

Mary Bennett, who'd been observing the whole interaction, sidled over to me. “What's up with the slave boy?”

“I had an errand for him to run. He dragged his feet at first, but then I made him a little
promise
.”

Mary Bennett hooted. “The Promise! I had forgotten about it. I don't think I've used it since high school.”

“Me either,” I said with a wicked grin. “Figured it was high time to dust it off. Turns out it's as potent as ever—I guess blow jobs never go out of style.”

“Time to roll,” yelled out the driver of our truck.

“I made a little last-minute change in the music,” I announced to the Queens, slipping the cassette into the player. “Hope you don't mind.”

“No ‘Tiny Bubbles'?” Tammy said with a pout.

“It'll come later. This is a little somethin' special for this occasion. First, a quick toast—this is truly OUR day, Queens,” I said as they all put a hand on the bottle and joined me. “HERE'S to US!” we shouted with unbridled joy. “And FUCK
everybody else
!” And we really did mean it as we passed the Dom bottle around the float.

The unmistakable whiskey voice of Delbert McClinton boomed out of the speakers: “GIVIN' IT UP FO' YO' LOVE—EVERY DAY—I'M GIVIN' IT UP FO' YO' LOVE RIGHT NOW!”

Mary Bennett grabbed Brian around the waist and said, “Hunny, they're playing our song!”

“It's for ALL of us!” I shouted as the float once again rocked and rolled with ecstatically dancing Queens.

“Perfect choice,” Tammy whispered, and then she added her own clear, strong voice to Delbert's, and I thought, “Uh-huh—and that's our NEXT Queenly project: getting your happy ass back on a stage with a microphone, little Missy.”

I looked out into the mass of spectators, who seemed positively stupefied by our newly enhanced costumes. Was it possible that somewhere among all those worshipful onlookers there was a man for me?

My entire life I'd been looking for Prince Charming and taking home toads.

Obviously, I'd been setting my sights too low. Toads—and even Princes—just weren't going to cut the mustard anymore. They were too weak-willed and wet behind the ears. I needed a MAN. One strong enough to appreciate and celebrate the Queen I'd finally grown up to be. Until that man came, I was going to keep on living and loving my own life and I wasn't going to settle for anyone else, no matter how scared, tired, or needy I happened to be.

Some day my king will come,
I thought to myself. For the very first time, I thought I might be willing to let it happen.

I
simply cannot offer you a book from which you cannot expect to gain ten or fifteen pounds—it just wouldn't be right. So here you go, Queenies!

If me and the Queens were to open our ideal restaurant, we would call it the REST IN PEACE, and we would only serve food that you might (and would certainly hope to) find at the home visitation after any decent Southern funeral. I know that you (like us) get tired of sitting around WAITING for somebody to die just so you can get something wonderful to eat. At the Rest in Peace, our customers will be able, at any time, to drop by for some Southern comfort whether anybody's died or not.

The Queens occasionally like to gather 'round with this kind of food and contemplate all the folks we sometimes WISH would die—I expect you will enjoy this innocent pastime as well. COME AND GIT IT! (That's y'allbonics for
bon appétit.
)

WHO CROAKED? CROCK-POT PORK

If you've got a big enough Crock-Pot, you can double up on this, and if there's a morsel left, it freezes great. It's yummy over rice (especially if you cook the rice in chicken broth instead of water), and it's supposedly got only about 8 grams of fat per serving, not that we give a shit.

 

Into the Crock-Pot dump: one 16-ounce can whole-berry cranberry sauce; 1 medium onion, chopped; one 5.5-ounce can apricot nectar; ½ cup Splenda; ½ cup chopped dried apricots; 2 teaspoons white vinegar; 1 teaspoon dry mustard; 1 teaspoon salt; and ¼ to ½ teaspoon crushed red pepper (I like it spicy, but that's just me). Stir all that up pretty good and then put about a 2½-pound boneless pork loin roast in there and spoon the sauce over it. It's even better if you put it all in the fridge overnight to marinate, but it's sufficiently wonderful without that step. Cover and cook on low for 6 to 8 hours. It will be literally falling apart and you will be bathing in the sauce. It is so gratifying to put this on to cook in the morning and then to come in and see what the Crock-Pot hath wrought in your absence.

PROMISED LAND PASTA SALAD

Okay—me and my precious neighbors, Laura and Angie, made this up. Well, we didn't make up the WHOLE thing, but the part we did make up sure does make it even MORE fabulous than it is in its original state and we are taking total credit for the transformation and that's just that.

 

The basic foundation for the Promised Land is this: 4 cups (or so) cooked pasta—rotini or something else fairly substantial—we like to CHEW; one 4-ounce jar pimientos, drained; one 2-ounce can sliced black olives (also drained); ½ cup (or so) chopped onion; ¾ cup Splenda; ½ cup white vinegar; ¼ cup Enova oil (you can use canola, but this is so much healthier, so why not?); and ½ teaspoon crushed red pepper. So, you just stir all that stuff up together—the good thing about Splenda is that it dissolves instantly in cold stuff, so you don't have to fool with heating it—and then stir it all into the pasta. It needs to sit a spell in the fridge and then you'll need to stir it all up again real good before you eat it. I know it sounds awful, but trust me—it ain't. BUT THEN, what WE do is this: same thing pretty much except omit the chopped raw onion. Now, chop up a bunch of asparagus and 1 or 2 Vidalia onions and the best tomatoes you can find (cherry or grape will do if tomatoes aren't in season) and toss 'em with a little oil and throw 'em in a grill basket and grill 'em up. Obviously, the asparagus and onion will need a little while, so hold off on putting the tomatoes in there till the last few minutes. When you add the tomatoes, also add some pre-grilled chicken breasts, chopped up in bite-size chunks. You just need the tomatoes and chicken to get hot—they won't take long. Then sling all that into the bowl of pasta with the other stuff and stir it up. This is TOO GOOD to serve to most people you know, so be VERY particular about who's invited over.

TINY BUT POWERFUL GRIEF-RELIEVING MEAT LOAVES

Not only is this the best meat loaf EVER—and by the way, as far as I'm concerned, the ONLY reason to make meat loaf is for meat loaf SAMMICHES, which will make me feel better no matter what—but you can also have these meat loaves IN YOUR BELLY in a little over 30 minutes. Now, I call that downright miraculous and a boon to all mankind.

 

Mix an egg with a little bit of milk. Chop up about 1½ stalks celery, half a bell pepper, and an onion. Mix all that with 1 cup bread crumbs, the egg and milk, and about 1½ pounds ground sirloin. I like to put some salt in it, too, but that's just me—I'm a salter.

In another bowl, stir up 1 cup barbecue sauce, ½ cup salsa, 1½ tablespoons Worcestershire sauce, and ¼ teaspoon ground red pepper (and a leetle bit of salt). Take half of that mixture and stir it into your meat stuff.

Put about ½ cup meat mixture per hole in a big muffin pan (mini meat loaves!) and paint the tops with the rest of the sauce. Bake 'em at 450°F for, like, 18 to 20 minutes. How great is THAT?! Meat loaf usually takes forfuckingEVER. These little buggers will freeze great, too, given the opportunity.

BOYS 'R' US BEANS

We call 'em that 'cause a friend of ours who's got a husband and about a hundred little boy-type chirren gave us the recipe. Everybody—even little boys—will gobble up these beans, and you can use canned ones, which is so easy and who cares if they're not as good FOR you—we're only interested in taking care of our DISPOSITIONS here.

 

Melt together 1 stick butter (always a good start), ¾ cup dark brown sugar (you can use the brown Splenda—can you tell I just LOOOOVE Splenda?), 1 tablespoon soy sauce, and about a teaspoon or so of chopped garlic. Mix all that up and stir in 2 drained cans green beans. Put a whole bunch of nice crispy crumbled-up bacon on top and cover the dish with foil and bake it at 300°F for about 45 minutes. You won't even care that this actually IS a green vegetable.

JEWISH BARBECUE

Queen Susan got this recipe from a wonderful woman named Phyllis, who, during Susan's particularly rancorous divorce proceedings, declared herself to be Susan's much-needed Jewish Mother and brought her this “barbecue” to soothe her ravaged soul. Blessings on the House of Phyllis.

 

You just need one slab of brisket—NOT corned beef! And you put it in the Crock-Pot with a jar of Heinz chili sauce and a can of whole-berry cranberry sauce and let it sweat on low for 6 to 8 hours. We would follow Phyllis in the desert for close to forty years for this.

CHICKEN SHIT

Queen Jeanne of Pascagoula, Mississippi, shared this with me with her profuse apologies for the name. It seems that Jeanne had a girlfriend who would occasionally, after an evening of plentiful libations, crash on Jeanne's couch and, before taking her leave the following morning, scarf down whatever happened to be in Jeanne's refrigerator. Upon sampling it, she was quite taken with one of the fridge's occupants and left a note demanding the recipe for “that chicken shit.” And the name just stuck—as is wont to happen. I told her I wouldn't DREAM of changing the name.

 

Mix together 3 or so cups cooked chicken, 1 can condensed cream of chicken soup (what is funeral food without Cream of Something?), ¾ cup sour cream, ½ teaspoon black pepper, and ¼ cup milk. Dump it all into a greased casserole dish and top with a couple of cups Ritz cracker crumbs and dab on some little hunks of butter. Bake for 30 minutes at 350°F. We find that Chicken Shit goes real nice with rice.

CAN'T DIE WITHOUT DEVILED EGGS

Can't live without 'em, either, in my opinion. Queen Nancy told me that once when they had a death in her family, her mom's best friend, Lucy, came over to field the phone calls from far-flung family and friends regarding the services and all. When Nancy's mom came in that afternoon, Lucy reported on who all had called and that, when asked, she had advised them all to bring deviled eggs to the visitation—
all
of them—she told ALL of them to bring deviled eggs—because Lucy, like myownself, JUST LOOOOVES deviled eggs and she wanted to make sure they got some. They got about fifty dozen, which, in my opinion, is just about enough. I want Lucy on the job for the next funeral I'm involved with—unless it's my own, in which case I don't reckon I'll care too much what y'all have to eat.

These are your basic deviled eggs and I don't care what you do to 'em, I'll EAT 'em—but I don't think they'll be any BETTER.

 

Hard-boil a dozen eggs. When they cool off enough, get the yolks out and mash up the yolks with 2 tablespoons sweet pickle relish, 2 to 3 tablespoons of Hellmann's mayo, and 2 teaspoons yellow mustard. Fill the whites with this goo and git outta my way.

MAKETH ME TO LIE DOWN IN MAC 'N' CHEESE

Queen Cherie H. just knows that nothing is more comforting than cheese…and pasta…and potatoes. It's just all too rare that we find all these elements in combination, and while we are perfectly capable of procuring and consuming them all separately, it's just so danged convenient to have 'em all corralled in one easy, yummy pile.

 

Cook a 12-ounce package of some kind of pasta—shells or rotini—something that will hold sauce well. And about that sauce—melt 1 stick butter and add ¼ cup flour, stirring briskly. Add 2 cups hot milk and 1 teaspoon seasoned salt and ½ teaspoon black pepper, stirring all the while, until it starts to thicken. Then add 1 cup (a great, big, overflowing one) shredded Cheddar and heat until the cheese is melted.

Fry at least 12 strips of bacon until crispy, then crumble. In at least some of the bacon grease, fry a chopped onion and 1 cup sliced mushrooms.

In a greased 13 by 9 by 2-inch pan, mix the pasta, the onion and mushrooms, the cheese sauce, and the bacon, and to that, add about a pound of shredded Cheddar or Monterey Jack and stir that up. And on top of ALL THAT, put as many frozen Tater Tots as will fit on there in a single layer! And sprinkle THAT with a fair amount of grated Parmesan cheese and then bake it at 375°F for around an hour or until it's bubbly and the Tots are crispy. Or, in a panic situation, you can bake it for about 40 minutes and then run it under the broiler for a bit to brown the Tots faster. This will serve about as many people as you can bring yourself to share it with—mine's a pretty short list.

 

Damon Lee's Divine Intervention

If we could hope to attain heaven on this earth, one of our key personnel would be chef Damon Lee Fowler. Damon Lee has an assortment of gorgeous cookbooks available all over the place and I hope you will avail yourself of them all—Damon Lee has his own plastic surgery fund to contend with, after all. But because of his great love for me and all Queens, Damon Lee has bestowed upon me some of his MOST Queenly recipes and is allowing me to share them here with you now. He has further agreed that, at such time in the future, we should actually OPEN the Rest in Peace Funeral Food Restaurant, he will come and be THE Chief Cook—we'll all be his Bottle Washers. Heaven truly sent him from above.

PASSION FOR PIMIENTO

Damon Lee believes, as do I, that pimiento cheese is PERFECT just the way it is, and we don't neither one of us take kindly to folks messing with it, in the name of “gourmet” or anything else. Damon Lee exhorts us to use the sharpest Cheddar we can find—and if we live outside of Wisconsin, we're pretty much screwed, but do the best you can. (You can add a little bit of REAL Parmesan—which will NOT come in a green container.) He says we should use orange Cheddar because it looks better. It's a natural vegetable dye and it's been in cheese for about two hundred years, so just get over it. Use real mayo. And don't put anything else in there—no matter what—except for maybe a little cayenne.

 

You'll need about 2 cups grated extra-sharp Cheddar, ½ cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, 5 to 6 heaping tablespoons mayonnaise, cayenne pepper to taste, and one 4-ounce jar diced pimientos, drained—but save the juice. Now, Damon wants us to mix this by hand—and by that he means WITH YOUR ACTUAL HANDS—a food processor will make paste, and a spoon won't moosh it together good enough—so wash up and dive in (think of the glorious licking to follow). Moosh away and add pimiento juice if needed for consistency—this is a personal judgment call.

BLESSED BACON BISCUITS

Damon Lee knows of our deep and abiding love for all things bacon and he concocted these morsels in tribute to Sweet Potato Queens everywhere. We love him almost as much as we love bacon.

 

Preheat your oven to 450°F and sift together 2 cups of soft-wheat flour (like White Lily, if you're in the South; perhaps cake flour will work if you're not—good luck is all we can say), 1 teaspoon baking powder, and 1 teaspoon salt. Cut in 6 tablespoons chilled bacon drippings (yum) until you've got pea-size lumps of dough. Make a well in the middle and pour in ½ cup milk. Mix it as LITTLE as possible—just until the dough pulls away from the sides of the bowl and is no longer crumbly. Use a tad more milk if needed.