Food and Old Farm Equipment Go Together

Actually, the Iron Horse Restaurant in Chino Valley preceded the current, huge wave of family farm nostalgia. I'm told that it served more than a generation of CV movers and shakers -- not to mention just plain Good Old Boys. The Iron Horse is definitely a place for classic biscuits & gravy -- and lots of it.

Incidentally, that tractor looks a lot older than the ones I recall from my grandfather's orange "ranch" down on Baseline Road in Phoenix in the ought-30s.


OK, I'm ignorant, farm-wise. Don't have any idea of just what this machine did. What it does today is sit by the roadside to advertise fresh produce, come right in and pick it out.


That more streamlined piece of equipment at the left looks like it might have been used to sort oranges or grapefruit or melons by size. It's also alongside the same roadway down in Camp Verde, where the big draw this weekend was....


...fresh corn. And it was good! I discovered how to microwave corn in the husk last night.


Before heading on to Prescott to deliver me home, daughter and SIL eye yet another piece of machinery. He's an aggie -- so understands what all this equipment was used for in its day.


I have to admit that we're living in a strange world when farms near big cities find it necessary to become bucolic disneylands serving city folk to survive. And, yes, I am one of those slickers who got a kick out of the festivals at Young's Farm -- I will miss it.

Footnote: I received an email from a reader explaining the farm equipment.
He said, "If I am looking at the right ones, one is a road grader, and the other ia a corn picker. I believe both are horse drawn. I come from mid- western farm stock in Minnesota. I claim to know a lot about a little, and a little about a lot."

Thanks for the info, Greg!

B&G Is What's for Breakfast Today

Some years ago, while breakfasting at the Skull Valley Cafe, I heard a local young woman comment about her recent trip to a Big City -- Chicago or St. Louis or some such. "I didn't see any pick-up trucks," she said, querulously, wondering what the heck was wrong with city folk.

My experience with things country and western is similar, in the opposite direction: until I moved to these parts, I had never heard of biscuits and gravy. Honest.

This despite the fact that I was an editor/writer on the biggest of the restaurant trade magazines in the country. For over 30 years. In all those years, we never ran an article that involved--or even mentioned --biscuits and gravy.

As a kid, I learned about grits when the family moved to the South. "Aren't yuh gonna eat yer grits, honey?" was the standard question in the cafes back then. And, no, I wasn't. Grits struck me as a tasteless, unnecessary side dish. Like rice. I never did eat my grits, honey.

But once I landed up in the hills here, I quickly discovered that B&G is another matter. Tasty! Especially when it is cold and you are about to climb down a little canyon as the morning's exercise. Besides, I always did like breakfast sausage.

When we moved West, my late husband, another city sophisticate, drove some of our goods west, accompanied by his son and a couple of young stalwarts. Son, who had recently been in the army, not only was a connoisseur of B&G, but knew which parts of the country offered the best. He was looking forward to Missouri, in particular.

It turns out that in the Missouri countryside, a serving of biscuits & gravy is yeti-sized -- even bigger than the standard oval plate out at the Iron Horse in Chino Valley, where I always settled for a 1/4 size bowl. Today, my little walks in the city hardly exercise me enough for a hearty breakfast of B&G, but then we might have a real winter one of these days.

It's been 30 years since we moved West and times have changed. I suspect that with the emergence of down-home chic, you can get an upscale version of B&G in any Manhattan bistro that serves meat loaf made from premium Angus beef.