Thursday, August 27, 2009 by Hodding.

Lisa took a swig of Hod’s Mead, Batch Number 2, and passed the bottle. Without saying a word.

“Well, whad’ya think?” I said.

“It was … fine,” Lisa answered noncommittally.

“What do you mean?” I persisted. “Is it strong enough? Do you like the ginger?”

“Yeah.”

“ ‘Yeah’ ” I repeated. “So it really isn’t good enough to give as Christmas presents? That’s okay. I’m not an expert yet.”

While the mead I made back in June is already drinkable—meaning it’s finished fermenting—most of the literature on the subject suggests waiting a while to improve the flavor. Given Lisa’s reaction, I’d say the literature is correct, although I liked my effort a lot. It tasted like a sweetish, alcoholic ginger beer with very few bubbles (I’m sure there’s a market for that somewhere). But then again, I wanted to like it a lot. Maybe I shouldn’t have used that honey from China that I got at Caswell’s, but at $1.60 a pound, it produced five gallons of mead for $16.40.

Mead-making has turned into a near obsession, and I’m not really sure why. I don’t drink that much, and while it will make nice, frugal presents, we can come up with other, more practical inexpensive presents. There’s simply something about making and perfecting mead that is unusually compelling. I think it’s because it’s such an ancient tradition; I’ve come to think it’s in our DNA. Some historians believe its production is one of the things that marks the advent of civilization—the proof being the discovery of mead-making in Mesopotamia.*

Which perhaps explains why I feel I should keep making mead. I’ve only gotten back in touch with it by happenstance—specifically, by being broke—but I’d recommend attempting your own batch no matter your financial circumstances, unless, of course, you have other things your spouse might want you to do in your free time—like clean out the chicken coop, fold the laundry, and make some money.

In that case, stay as far away from mead making as humanly possible.

* Check out Got Mead.

Frugal Tip of the Week
Remember those ubiquitous shampooing instructions: Wash, Rinse, Repeat? Well, drop the Repeat part, and watch your shampoo last twice as long.

Photograph by Anabel Carter

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Thursday, August 20, 2009 by Hodding.

After a 7 p.m. dip in nearby Lake Megunticook—necessitated by an almost-100-degree day that had all six of us squabbling like we were on an 24-hour car ride to see my mom in Mississippi—we were hard pressed for dinner ideas until Helen, our budding 11-year-old Julia Child, piped up, “Why don’t we make roasted veggies?” Minutes later, the entire family was off, like it was Christmas morning, to see what we could dig up.Quite a lot, it turns out: Bumpy, fist-sized potatoes (except for the perfect golf-ball-size reds), similarly proportioned beets, a smattering of miniature garlic heads, and a handful of thyme sprigs.

Forty-six minutes later (45 for roasting at 400 degrees—not the smartest move on the summer’s hottest day—and 1 for eating), I realized the moment of truth had arrived. The Z-Day Challenge, our personal anti-stimulus project. For the entire month of September, we’re spending ZERO dollars. We’re ready. Our garden’s ready.

It’s our civic duty.

As some of you may remember, I’ve theorized (read ranted) that spending our way out of this current mess is wrong. To me, it’s like putting an overweight person on a 1,000 calorie-a-day diet of ice cream. It may work in the short term, but it’s definitely not healthy in the long run. We need to remember—or in most cases, learn—how to save money, pay off our debts, and become one with reality: The party has now been over for quite a while.

So, on August 31, after topping off the cars and stocking up on groceries and a month’s worth of animal feed, we’re migrating to Unamerica—a land where misers are heroes and spendthrifts are scorned. A land of limited horizons and very little opportunity. A land where … well, you get the idea. I know this sounds like a gimmick since we have a fairly full pantry, nearly a quarter of a cow in our freezer, and we will still pay our monthly bills, but answer this: What’s the longest you’ve ever gone while living your normal daily life without buying something? Think about it. Be honest. A month? A week? A day? For me, during this frugal year, I’ve lasted around two to three days. But I want to do better. It’s time to shake off the shackles and see what it’s like without consuming.

And if nothing else, we’ll be well under our $550-a-month allowance.* So why am I writing about this? Because I want you! See how long you can go without popping into a store for some must-have item or without killing time by buying online. When you finally break down and buy something, let me know.

Good luck!

* After accounting for a month’s worth of the quarter cow that cost us $500 (it will last us eight months), the $100 in gas bought on the 31st, the $75 spent on groceries on the 31st as well, and a month’s use of the pantry, we’ll only spend $300.

Frugal Tip of the Week
This one’s for my fellow carnivores. Buy a local steer—anywhere from a quarter cow to a whole one. If you are as lucky as we are, it might even be grass-fed. You will get every cut imaginable (and then some) for a ridiculously low price. We paid $3.50 a pound, and it’s the best meat we’ve ever tasted.

Photograph by W. Hodding Carter

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Thursday, August 13, 2009 by Hodding.

I can remember sitting at that dining table as if it were yesterday. I’d already missed the beginning of Mannix, but there was no way I was going to miss the whole thing. I had to act. But it was a lose-lose proposition: I either had to eat it all in one ginormous mouthful or suffer the consequences, quite likely a painful spanking, for not finishing my meal. Actually, giving it “one more go” might elicit said punishment even quicker, given that I would most likely gag the second my taste buds kicked in. Actually, if it were any other food, I’d have a third option. Both my parents had left the table. I could call out to be excused, take a huge bite without swallowing, and then head to the bathroom, wherein I could easily dispose of my unwanted dinner. But not broccoli—a vegetable whose sole purpose was to make my life a living hell. I could no more take a bite of broccoli without going into convulsions than ride my banana-seat Schwinn with two hands all the way home from school. Some things were immutable. A fact of childhood … and beyond.

So imagine my surprise this past week when I found myself running around the house uttering—no, screaming—in regard to a small mound of broccoli I’d just seared in butter, “Taste it, Angus! Come on, Helen, give it a try. Taste it. Eliza! Anabel! Lisa! It’s the most amazing vegetable I’ve ever had in my entire life!” It was nutty flavored and unexpectedly satisfying. One bite convinced me that I’d found the true fruit of the gods—even if it is a vegetable. I simply couldn’t imagine a better tasting vegetable than a butter-seared stem of broccoli. If you need your own convincing, simply melt 2 tablespoons of butter on high heat and toss in a handful (about a cup) of fresh broccoli, including the leaves. Stir for 2 to 3 minutes. Add 1 tablespoon water and continue stirring for 2 more minutes. Sprinkle with salt and serve at your leisure, as it will taste delicious hot, warm, room temperature, or cold.

That is, if it’s fresh and, equally important, has never been refrigerated. I remember hearing Gordon Ramsay (yes, I get a wicked guilty pleasure out of watching Hell’s Kitchen), I think, extol the virtue of some ingredient, insisting it was much better if never chilled, and I laughed out loud at such utter nonsense. But that was obviously before my BSB (Butter-Seared Broccoli) epiphany. Now I finally understand why broccoli hasn’t gone the way of fried pine needles, boiled skunk cabbage, steamed horse-chestnut shells, and all other items crossed off the list for human consumption. Broccoli tastes fantastic. Perfect, even.

To make myself clear: Fresh broccoli is the best vegetable in the world, and I dare anyone to say otherwise.*

Don’t take this the wrong way. We’ve been eating from our garden every day now, and I’m delighted that our low-budget lifestyle has filled our dinner plates with cheap, extremely fresh homegrown foods. But I’m even happier that it has led me to this consummate vegetable.

Store-bought steamed broccoli is dead! Long live BSB!

* If you do so, you must provide a short defense and cooking instructions in the Comments section, but know that you will be wrong.

Frugal Tip of the Week
Think of something you frequently waste money on. Ask yourself if the thing is truly necessary and, if it isn’t, then don’t buy or do it for one month. Anything shorter than that probably won’t have a financial impact, and anything longer might prove too difficult, leading to failure. You obviously need to do this for your bank account’s sake (or else you probably wouldn’t be reading this), but you also owe it to yourself. I was amazed to learn how much a slave I was to my indulgences and how better and lighter I feel now that I’m no longer feeding them. Oh, yes, and wealthier.

Photograph by W. Hodding Carter

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Thursday, August 6, 2009 by Hodding.

I was busily removing seven layers of paint from one of six chairs yesterday afternoon, when my father-in-law suggested I might want to take them to a local restorer. While I love breathing in lungfuls of methylene chloride, he did have a point. The noxious paint stripper was making the paint bubble and peel off, as advertised, but when I tried to remove the accumulated blobs of paint, they just smeared across the wood. Half a day into the project, I was still working on the first chair.

“They’ve got large vats of this stuff,” he explained, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he motioned toward my can of stripper. “They’d just dip the entire chair in, hose it off, and be done.” Upon remembering we are financially challenged, he added, “It probably wouldn’t cost that much. Maybe ten bucks a chair.”

Even so, since that would be as much as I paid for each chair, it was way out of range.* I kept at it: painting with the stripper, scrubbing with steel wool, wiping with thinner—over and over again. Why was I making like Sisyphus and not giving up? Lisa had seen the chairs for sale by the side of the road more than a month ago, but, worried about the price, hadn’t bought them. I snatched them up a few weeks later, since no more than two of our current dining chairs are alike, and these had an attractive design on the backs.

“They may be Larkins,” the woman selling them confided. When I looked less than awestruck, she continued, “It worked like green stamps. If you bought enough detergent from the Larkin Soap Company, they gave you a free chair. These days, a single Larkin chair can be worth thousands.”

A quick Internet search revealed that they’re most likely not Larkin chairs (too plain), but no matter. They’re quarter-sawn, intact, and don’t wobble. Best of all, Lisa likes them, so I know they’ll make a decent anniversary present. Lisa has a thing for chairs—like some people have about diamonds or velvet—and we’re having an unstated contest to see who can give the best gift for the least amount of money. With that end in mind, I had thought about rearranging our compost pile with layers of chicken droppings, grass clippings, the current too-wet compost, and chicken-dropping-enriched wood shavings and present the new compost as my true expression of love to her, but that seemed a tad too cheap. It won’t matter who wins, though, because August is going to be a bust no matter how thin we stretch things: It’s not only the month of our anniversary but also Helen’s birthday, my stepmother’s, and mine. Even though we’re eating out of our garden, we’re going to go over budget.

Worst of all, I’m only on the second chair, and today’s our anniversary. Guess I should have painted over them, just like everyone before me.

*Becoming more interested in this paying-for-it idea, I called a local stripping company and, when I asked if dipping a chair would cost around ten dollars, the owner responded with a laugh, “Yeah, that’s right—about fifty years ago when I first got in the business. The very least it will be is around ninety dollars a chair, and that’s if it’s the simplest chair in the world.” Guess I’ll stick to the frugal path.

Frugal Tip of the Week
Two great books worth looking at have hit the bookstores, the Internet, and the public library recently: Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture, by Ellen Shell, and Free: The Future of a Radical Price, by Chris Anderson. Shell’s main thesis is that getting things at a bargain price at discount or big-box stores means dirt-poor wages in places like China, and that will eventually take a heavy economic toll on the world. She also points out that the prices are often higher; you just think they’re cheaper because they’re at a discount store. Anderson’s Free declares a new age is upon us because of the Internet and argues that more and more things will inevitably become free—from music to movies to software. To drive his point home, he’s offering Free for free at various locations, including his website, thelongtail.com.

Photograph by W. Hodding Carter

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