In the Booth, we submit work for evaluation and critique by our classmates, as well as the instructor. The classmates' comments appear before the instructor's comments below, and are uncredited to protect their identities. Here's the first of two - eagle-eyed readers may note that it's a version of Ears, Smokes, and the Ghosts of Farish Street.
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Salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs, I’m frustratedly enduring olfactory hallucinations as I begin the short drive to the promised land. I know that I cannot smell my bounty from five blocks away, but my mind is playing tricks on my nose, and the memory of the smell is beguiling. It’s 1:28pm on an oppressively humid Saturday afternoon in Jackson,^1 Mississippi, and I pull up to the curb outside of a small, awning-shaded doorway marked conspicuously with the address number, 509. Around me are the crumbling shells of buildings in what was once the city’s African-American business and cultural hub, the Farish Street District. What remains are empty storefronts, a couple of churches and restaurants, and a jazz club. We call them “juke joints” around here, but they’re jazz clubs nonetheless. The symptoms of crippling poverty and urban blight take on a human aspect, as homeless men try to avoid the blistering sun. Once known as “Little Harlem,” Farish Street was Jackson’s own Beale Street.^2 It is now slated to be the next gentrification project^3 in a city not exactly known for healthy race relations.
Less than a quarter-mile away, thousands of mostly affluent, mostly white Mississippians gather under the stately oaks of the capitol for the annual Mississippi Book Festival, a celebration of Mississippi’s literary heritage. And while I must admit that what^4 brought me, a relatively affluent white man, to Jackson on this day is the Book Festival, what has kept me here is a $1.50 pig ear sandwich.^5
This ain’t my first rodeo. I know the deal. I keep my head down, trying not to appear giddy with anticipation, and carefully push through the narrow door into the Big Apple Inn. There’s a line formed, three men along the wall to my left. I make my way to the back and stand between the unplugged jukebox filled with Teddy Pendergrast and Barry White records and the Pepsi machine (from which all beverages must be purchased),^6 while my eyes adjust to the relative darkness. The old stereo sitting against the back wall in what constitutes the kitchen is playing Aretha Franklin’s “I Never Loved A Man (The Way I Love You)” and the ladies slinging chow are talking to each other about how somebody had better wrap up Patti Labelle in bubble-wrap because this Angel of Death ain’t playing with nobody, and they can’t handle losing another diva for a little bit. If you squint, you can almost see Sonny Boy Williamson sitting in a molded-plastic-and-formica booth in the corner; he lived in an apartment on the second floor. You can almost hear Medgar Evers holding court; his office while serving as the NAACP’s Jackson field secretary was upstairs, as was Fannie Lou Hamer’s, and they often held NAACP meetings in the restaurant.^7
I turn to the menu sign: $1.50 Menu^8 Smoked Sausage Pig Ear Chips Hamburger Hot Dog Delta Tamales Bologna Half $6 Doz $10 I take it in, front-lit by a dusty bulb in a fixture made to look like a cowboy hat^9, as though I hadn’t already decided what I’m getting before I got into my car. People have legacy orders here, which they rattle off like their address or social security number. Deviation therefrom is
inconceivable once the magic combination has been discovered. The crowd has winnowed, and I step past the ancient coin-operated, weight-scale-shaped machine advertising “Character Readings - Your Future?” into the small space reserved for the head of the line. It’s my turn to engage the lady behind the plexiglass, who greets me with the coded invitation to order (“Good afternoon baby, whatchoo want?”), to which I give my well-rehearsed countersign: “Hi – I’d like a half dozen, three smokes hot, and three ears hot, please ma’am.” That’s six hot tamales - the tamale’s Mississippi Delta cousin^10, braised in a spicy broth instead of steamed, and commonly featuring^11 ground beef instead of pork or chicken. A smoke, for the neophytes among us^12, is a sandwich of smoked ground pork sausage. They come in hot, mild, and “no hot” options, but hot is the only way to go. An ear is exactly what you think it is.
The man who opened the Big Apple, Big John Mara, famously never turned away free food, and when grocers gave him boxes of pig ears because they were unable to sell them, he was determined to find a way to make them tender enough to eat. He found, after a great deal of experimentation, that merely boiling them for two days (!!)^13 would reduce them a soft, pliable, porky delicacy.^14 Nowadays, they use a pressure cooker.
This is a vestige of a food culture grounded fundamentally in hardscrabble economics. Waste not, want not writ large. Income inequality has become a cause celebre of late, but it has always been a part of life in Mississippi. In the poorest state in the union, the laws are often written to ensure that the relatively rich get richer, and the poor get babies. With more mouths to feed and fewer dollars with which^15 to do so, the vulnerable embraced the unpondered. The hungry poor survived by finding fiscal responsibility in the efficient elimination of waste.^16 This is the source of such delights as souse^17, trotters, oxtails, and indeed, the venerated star of our story, the lowly pig ear. By filling growling bellies with tasty victuals for pennies on the lower-class dollar, the people often targeted by the economic realities of living in Mississippi have been able to scratch out a way of life.^18 But what’s more, they have created a truly wonderful cuisine, akin in philosophy to the fighter with a chip on his shoulder.^19 Another man’s refuse is the backbone of a culinary viewpoint with dignified simplicity.
Each sandwich made to order, it takes about forty-five seconds total.^20 Miss Lily, the lady working the griddle today, has it down to an art: inverted top bun, offset spatula smear of sausage or fork stab of pig ear onto bun, swipe of mustard, spoon of slaw, spoon of sauce^21, bottom bun on top, slide spatula under inverted top bun, scoop onto wax paper, ninja-quick fold. Nine bucks, for three sausage sandwiches with mustard, slaw, and hot sauce, and three pig ear sandwiches with the same. Nine bucks.^22 Nine freakin’ bucks. (The hot tamales are for lunch tomorrow.) I paid the lady and proceeded to grab my loot and head out the door, with a nondescript paper bag, a clamshell full of tamales, and a lunatic grin.^23 I jump in my car and drive a few blocks to a shaded parking spot in sight of the capitol grounds, and get out to ogle my bounty, spread out like contents of a treasure chest^24 on the trunk of my convertible.
The wax paper is inadequate to control the liquid love, some of which has leached into the structure of the brown paper bag and leaves an imprint on the trunk of the car. No matter – I’m a man on a mission. The ears come first, obviously.
I tear into the slightly-greasy-in-the-best-possible-way square bun overflowing with oinking, oozing, porky^25 goodness. The ear, having been cooked down, has the texture of strips of braised lengua – soft but not completely without resistance – and the flavor of pure pork fat. Its mouthfeel is similar to the best oxtails you’ve ever tasted, fatty and rich.^26 The slaw, mustard, and hot sauce combine to cut the richness with bright acidity and a creamy sweetness that brings to mind Memphis-style barbecue’s use of similar elements. The bread soaks up what the rest leave behind. The smokes are spicy and sharp. Ground small and cooked loose on a griddle top, it looks like a sloppy joe, but hits like Joe Frazier.^27 The slaw and sauces do their jobs well, evening out an otherwise super-strong sausage punch. Perhaps best of all, some of the sausage is almost crispy, giving some texture to a sandwich which otherwise is soft on soft with slaw.
I reach for the last one, only to realize that it was a crumpled-up ball of wax paper. My heart sinks. My fingers, sticky with slaw residue and pork fat, sadly clean up my mess as I consider driving back over to the Big Apple for another go-round.
Instead, I get in my car and look at the capitol, a building in which bill after bill after bill have become law after law after law which have served to perpetuate the conditions^28 which gave rise to the Big Apple Inn and its delicious food. Of course, I will forever be glad that the Big Apple stood its ground in the midst of chronic underfunding of urban infrastructure and economic development in the Farish Street District. Generations of Jacksonians are, and will continue to be^29 indebted to owner Geno Lee and his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather for believing in the vision of Farish Street and remaining invested in the African-American communities of Jackson. The conditions in spite of which they have achieved success and notoriety (sufficient to open additional Big Apple outposts) are striking, and in the poorest state in the union^30, the question remains: why should the Big Apple’s resiliency have been so necessary, for so long, in the first place?^31 The Big Apple Inn 509 N. Farish St. Jackson, Mississippi 601-354-9371
End Notes:
1 I'd let this begin your second paragraph. The two previous sentences work well as your lede, setting up this scenario in which you're clearly so obsessed about something tasty, but we don't know what yet. The reason it makes sense to make a break here is that what follows is more contextual - it's the backstory (and a fascinating one) about where you are exactly, and how this neighborhood is in the midst of dramatic transition.
2 You could probably leave this out, as both "Little Harlem" and you're description of Farish Street as Jackson's former African-American business and cultural hub have already gotten this point across.
3 Can you explain what kind of project is planned in a bit more detail? Is there an effort underway to raze and redevelopment parts of the neighborhood? Is it more that the city is favoring programs and providing incentives that are encouraging outsiders to buy out locals? Is it a combination of initiatives?
4 sugg: ...that this event brought me...
5 A great line. Just one thought: by kept you, you mean kept you even after the festival ended? Or that the festival turned out not to be very compelling, and you'd have left were it not for the draw of this sandwich?
6 Great details - even in this relatively dark room, I'm starting to feel as though I can picture where you are thanks to these precise observations.
7 I'm completely immersed in this rich history. Had no knowledge of this restaurant on my last visit a few years ago, when I did walk around Medgar Evers' former home (before it had become a national monument). Can't wait to check this out on a future visit.
8 Great idea to share the exact menu
9 I had to read this three times to make sense of it, only because it sounds so interesting but strange - I can't really picture it. Is the bulb below, with a hat-shaped fixture above it? It is possible to simplify? ...beneath a dusty bulb in an overhead light fixture shaped like a cowboy hat... ?
10 sugg: ...the cousin of Mississippi Delta tamales, braised...
11 If you're saying they're beef at this restaurant, as is the custom in Jackson, then sug: ...and featuring ground beef instead of pork or chicken, as is typical in these parts...
12 "among us" sounds slightly odd since you're address your readers. You could just leave it out - readers who don't know this term will appreciate the explanation.
13 Ha - it's great that you added this little parenthetical. It actually forced me to pause for a moment and consider how long a time that is for something to boil.
14 My pig ear experiences (always in Asian or Latin American restaurants) have always been with deep-fried ears - curious how they're prepared/seasoned here. You explain much of this below, but I wondered what the sauce is (is it the same for sausage and pig's ear sandwiches), and if the time on the griddle gives the ear's a crunch exterior? Mostly, I think I'm just now very hungry...!
15 You could delete this - the word "to" basically translates to "in order to", rendering "with which" redundant.
16 Again, a bit redundant - you've done a great job already explaining the factors that contributed to what's essentially a version of "necessity being the mother of invention." I think you could tighten this up a bit and leave out this sentence entirely.
17 Had to Google souse, as I'd only known it by other names. This is such an interesting food history.
18 Again, this seems to me another way of summarizing what you've already stated.
19 I'm not sure I understand this analogy - I associate having a chip on one's shoulder as being angry for having been mistreated, which I understand in the context of racial mistreatment in Mississippi, but I'm not completely sure how this idea ties in with this cuisine being wonderful. I like it as a theory, but I'm just not sure what evidence there is. In other words, don't a lot of cultures develop wonderful cuisines with very limited resources without a "chip on the shoulder" being a part of the success?
20 meaning, for all six sandwiches you ordered? Or per sandwich?
21 I alluded to this above, but anymore you can tell us about the sauce - what provides the kick?
22 Which includes the tamales?
23 A nice touch, reminding us just how wildly happy you are about this meal.
24 This is such a great way to describe how one spreads out the contents of an amazing takeout meal on the trunk of a car.
25 Nice...
26 Ok, disregard my earlier entreaties for more details about the texture - you capture it lyrically here.
27 Nice one!
28 This is very effective.
29 ...to be,
30 maybe another way to touch on this, since you used almost the same phrase earlier.
31 I get where you're going with this, but the question as phrased seems a little odd to me, as one could argue that resiliency is a necessity for all commercial undertakings - and yes, absolutely more so for a minority-owned business in a poor state with a history of discrimination. But entrepreneurs need to be resilient even when they're not having to face systematic racism and inequality (for example, to survive in the face of competition from mega franchises, or to whether a pandemic, or whatever else the world throws at you). The question (I think) is more, why have conditions been so terrible for so long for African-American businesses owners in Jackson (and countless other places like Jackson), and not so much why do businesses here (or anywhere) need to be resilient.
Classmate Comments:
Wow, Brennan, what a journey! I was totally into your story, could imagine the inside of the Apple Inn, the woman who served you the pig ears, the food itself, how you ate it on the parking lot. Many of your descriptions were very rich and conveyed exactly the scene you were into. I loved the little details: the accent of the woman at the counter, what music played, the hand reading sign, how the fat leaked through the paper bag – to name just a few. It is personal yet tells the reader something. You also managed to weave some history of the place and politics very seamlessly into the story. From a technical point of view I have learned that one point/thought should be one paragraph, but I have to admit that I like long paragraphs and long sentences so there was no problem for me. I have a suggestion for your ending: What if you would move your last paragraph after this sentence: Perhaps best of all, some of the sausage is almost crispy, giving some texture to a sandwich which otherwise is soft on soft with slaw. Then: I look at the capitol, a building in which bill after bill…. etc. Then: I reach for the last one… In this order there is still some excitement at the end and the kicker links to your lead: from the excitement to get the food to the last bit of it eaten… and people will wonder if you went for another round or not. In my opinion that would make the ending stronger. Right now, the end feels like an afterthought. But if you embed it into your eating it will get more attention. Thank you so much for sharing!
Wow. You so masterfully blend history, politics, and delightful food writing in this piece. I'm left mesmerized by the whirlwind of sensory impressions that you present, challenged by the ideas that you discuss, and hungry for a pig's ear. I know I'm supposed to come up with a suggestion for improvement, but I don't have one. I feel pretty sure I'll see this piece in print someday.
Hi Brennan, As I went from paragraph to paragraph, I began to feel the “southern cadence” and the local color that you skillfully developed by amalgamation of history and politics, axed on food. The opening sentence is a killer! A very good hook and certainly related to the theme of food! It really made me want to read on. The structure of the text is mostly linear with a beginning, a middle, and an end, which makes it very easy for me to follow your experience. In other words, the way the story unfolds, without hitches, gives the reader the chance “to walk alongside you.” Well done. Have you thought of publishing this in a local paper? The owner of The Big Apple Inn would love to read it. I find there are too many generalizations and sweeping observations in the form of discursive sentences that sound lecture-like or as part of a report or a local council speech rather than a memoir. For example: 1) “Generations of Jacksonians are, and will continue to be indebted to owner Geno Lee…for believing in the vision of…” 2) Income inequality has become… 3) In the poorest state in the union, the laws are often written… How about snippets of dialogue or some sort of interaction between you and the local people to show the reality of the place and the nature of the Mississippians? Contrast is best shown through dialogue. Not only will dialogue engage readers, but it will also immerse them in your experience. Also, dialogue would work better if it were separate from the narrative (yours is embedded in the text); purposeful conversation will give the reader a break from the string of declarative sentences. What is the aim of the whole paragraph starting “The wax paper is inadequate…”? Do you think the text can do without it? It seems to be a “lull” in the development of the plot… As regards the last paragraph, the open-ended final question leads to an open discussion, which would fit mostly in an essay type of writing, instead of bringing your experience to a close in a more personal way. Do you think someone from another country, unaware of Mississippi’s political life and history would come to the end of the text feeling “satisfied” with that question?
Hi Brennan, reading your piece brought me with you in the Apple Inn and it definitely made me want to go there and live this experience. While I was reading your article I started to listen to Aretha Franklin songs. So, I really love it! I had the possibility to learn things about Mississippi that I was complete ignoring, however as foreign, I found it difficult to relate to the “critics”, if you let define them in this way, related to the politics of the state. Apart from this, published tomorrow. Thank you for sharing!
Brennan: You have an excellent grasp of the components of writing, weaving together food, culture, economic hardship, and political failure. Your familiarity with the place shows more than a casual or even researched stance, and if that isn't so, you've covered it very well. I could see this published in a local, state, or national venue. Like, [classmate], I wonder about the efficacy of the ending. What is a reader supposed to do with that question? Perhaps turn it into a subordinate clause attached to a statement about the longevity of the Apple Inn.
Beautifully done! I was instantly taken back to growing up in Mississippi (just outside of Jackson), attempting to acknowledge and absorb the area's unique culture and difficult history at every turn. Truly an excellent piece.
Wow. I think you have captured the world in a pig ear. I enjoyed your piece tremendously. I felt like the Mississippi you showed us was more like a foreign country. I felt like I was reading about Thailand, Turkey, Vietnam, Philippines, etc. The world you presented was that foreign to me. And perhaps that is the beauty of your experience and depiction. I also liked how you tied the socio economics and politics of racism into the article. To be able to show institutional racism in a sandwich is incredible. I think you could draw the reader in quicker by creating a structure in your writing where you start with the micro (the pig ear) and then the kitchen, restaurant, and then the whole of society. I think you are already doing it, but i think if you punch the reader immediately with... a) $1.50 pig ear sandwich b) Famously never turned away food … pig ear … two days …you will have us captivated with this piece of food in our hands, mouth, and hearts from the beginning. Once you have the reader hooked on the food, then you bring them along the journey of the whole world captured in a pig ear. thanks.
I think it's a solid piece of writing, I'm not sure you need to be told that. In this instance, I found the rich details and descriptions of the food to be indulgent although I would edit out "liquid love" I had a slight visceral reaction to that. Though I do agree that dialogue with people from the community would have made it a stronger piece than reading only your knowledge and research on the area and its economic dynamics. I think a bit of self-awareness of your part within this dynamic could help people connect with the piece. The question at the end over-simplifies the multilayered piece you created.
I never thought I'd want to try a pig ear sandwich but after reading your piece I can definitively say that has changed. Your use of descriptive words fully immersed me in your story. I like many others felt you did a really great job of interweaving discussions about race and income inequality into your piece.
Wow. That was better than most of the food writing I read in the NYT on a regular basis. Probably one of the best things I've read recently, and this is coming from a vegetarian. I like the way you incorporate income inequality, history and politics, into your story. I feel like I learned a lot from it about a place I've never been super curious about. What I admire from this writing is that you have an opinion about everything, and I mean that in a good way. Every sentence seems not only deliberate and well-researched but also like it is the conclusion of a lengthy debate you've already had with yourself. This is especially clear to me in the paragraph that begins with "This is the vestige of a food culture grounded fundamentally in hardscrabble economics...". This is what I've liked about Bourdain's travel writing. I don't really have much to add that would strengthen the piece - as you know it is already very good. As others have said, more local voices and perspectives from the people you encounter would make it stronger. Other than that, I look forward to reading your book!
The story is beautiful and well written. I learned a great deal about the history of the state, the race relations. I like your perspective and the way you analyze things. You wrote the piece as a journey and you describe it so beautifully. Great job
Needless to say, the imagery and the story telling are both fantastic. I especially enjoyed the description of the sandwich! It really makes me want to taste it! I would add that I also didn't particularly enjoy the use of "liquid love", not sure why... With regards to the last paragraph, maybe it would be interesting to think about the following: If the government did pour money into this neighborhood or if the neighborhood were to be gentrified, then the Big Apple Inn wouldn't be able to survive? Does this point to the irony of many cities? and the survival of food spots like this? Great job again Brennan!
Instructor Comments:
Brennan,
This is terrific, and deeply compelling. I'd have been thrilled just to read such a vivid account of your thrill over returning to this restaurant and eating these amazing foods. You describe the Big Apple Inn (and its vibrant heritage) with such joy and precision that I now almost feel as though I've been there. Even more so, I feel like I've actually watched you eat these sandwiches on the trunk of your car. This is great storytelling. That you found a way to discuss the racial and economic politics that make it so difficult, and remarkable, for a place like the Big Apple Inn to thrive is yet another reason I'm impressed. You could have gotten away without mentioning any of this, but we'd merely have learned about this restaurant in a vacuum, and thus without a complete picture. You made it easy for me to get a sense of what the Big Apple Inn is in the context of Jackson as a whole. I do sense from parts of this story that you're eager to dig in more deeply and shine a light on the conditions that have led to the Farish Street District struggling to survive. I think this is a pretty ambitious undertaking. I'm convinced by the point you've made about how the white Mississippi political establishment has and continues to neglect neighborhoods and businesses like these. But I found in places, especially the paragraph starting with "This is a vestige...", that you were resorting to a lot of generalized telling rather than vivid showing. It's not that I took issue with your core argument, but rather that I found a lot of redundancies (see the bluemark notes for specifics). It's an important point you're raising, but once you've stated the premise - that the great food at the Big Apple Inn (and many restaurants like it) is a byproduct of having to innovate in the face of economic oppression - you either need to get back to talking about your your visit, or you need to shift the focus of this story and turn it into one that's more about what the Farish Street District is facing. And that's a story that you'd want to buttress with data, and stories about and quotes from the people who live and work in this neighborhood. If this is something you're interested in doing, I think it could make a fantastic story, and you could potentially still place the Big Apple Inn at the center of this story, as an example of a great success story. And if you wished to keep the focus on food, you could even include some other restaurants and food-related businesses, and discuss how they are faring under the threat of gentrification of this neighborhood. Ironically, though, because the Big Apple has succeeded, I'm not sure it's the best example of a business to focus on in a story about how Farish Street is struggling. To tell that story, I think you need to include some examples of businesses that haven't been able to thrive as well. If, understandably, you'd rather tell a story that's mostly about the joy you experience eating at this wonderful restaurant, I still think it's great that you allude to how this restaurant has thrived despite severe and unfair institutional oppression, but I'd suggest streamlining much of this broader discussion. The passages I found most compelling, in that regard, were the early part of the story, where you provided a history of the neighborhood and mentioned what it's facing today, and the line about getting into your car and looking at the capitol building (which, I assume, is very close?). None of this is to take away from how much I enjoyed this story. And as you'll also notice from the bluemark comments, I have very few recommendations related to grammar or style - this is exceptionally well written. I can't wait to visit this restaurant the next time I'm in Jackson.
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