Deborah Lee Walker
Food For Thought
Food for Thought 5/17/2013
As Boardwalk awakes and sun warms, barbecue comes to mind
Mixture’s base determined by type of meat you choose
DEBORAH LEE WALKER
■ Contributing Writer
(May 17, 2013) The sun is unwinding as it prepares for its daily nap. The warmth of the sand is comforting for my tired feet. Gentle waves kiss the shore and return to sea of motherland. A young Labrador puppy is frolicking in the waves and my thoughts of present day tip-toe to a time when youth was on my side. A moment in time is endless; memories from the heart never slip away.
The tempting aromas from the Boardwalk know no boundaries. Mouth-watering barbecue plays havoc on my senses and in an instant, Uncle Bill crosses my path. He was and still is the master of the grill; no one dared to disrupt his domain at family gatherings. I must confess, my fascination for the sweet, spicy meat was twofold: my titanic appetite and my curiosity for this national craze highlighted my inquisitiveness.
Culinary historians are not really sure where the term barbecue originated. The conventional wisdom is that the Spanish, upon landing in the Caribbean, used the Spanish word, barbacoa, to refer to the method of slow cooking meat over a wooden…
Food For Thought 5/10/2013
Mother’s Day brings back memories of daughter’s treasured gift
Writer will never forget meeting with president
DEBORAH LEE WALKER
■ Contributing Writer
(May 10, 2013) Let us wind back the hands of time. I must warn you this might be quite a workout. The year is 1988 and a summation of events helps refresh one’s memory. The summer Olympics are being held in Seoul, South Korea. Australia celebrates its bicentennial. A Libyan terrorist bomb explodes on Pan Am flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland, killing all 259 on board and 11 on the ground. Finally, the United States shuttle program resumes 2 1/2 years after the Challenger disaster.
The year of 1988 was also the last full year President Ronald Reagan was in office. I admired him tremendously and hoped someday to meet him. At that time, I was living with my parents in Washington, D.C. Life was good and was about to get better. Mother was taking me to the White House for a glorious Christmas party, where I would meet and have my picture taken with the President and First Lady.
Mother prepped me for the legendary meeting — an appointee whispers your name into the president’s ear so he can address you by name; you will only…
