Knives and Pots and Good Country Cooking

Knives and Pots and Good Country Cooking
Dedicated to Lenny

There are two outlet stores you sure don’t want to pass by without stopping: the Sabatier Factory Outlet in Yemassee, South Carolina, and the LeCreuset Outlet in Burlington, North Carolina. Both products are made in France and both will grace any kitchen. Both outlet stores are small and both have only one employee on duty at a time. Both have annual sales and both sales are at a time of the year when I’m hundreds of miles from either one.

On a recent trip from Virginia Beach, I stopped in North Carolina. I was in the market for some LeCreuset for my son-in-law in Little Rock. Lenny, we call him, has to have everything I’ve got, so in an effort to save him a little money, I said to the clerk as I entered the store, “What bargains you got going?”

“Oh, everything we’ve got is a bargain,” she responded.

“Yeah, I usually stop in about twice a year on my way back west, and I always find something I can’t do without,” I said.

“Oh, you’re a repeat customer,” she said.

“You could say that. I’ve got a kitchen full of LeCreuset. Wouldn’t cook without it. You might say that I’m a ‘preferred customer',” I said, hoping to set the stage for some serious negotiations.

“Glad to hear that,” she said. “Can I help you find anything or do you just want to look?”

“Well, maybe you can help me. I want to buy a few pieces for my son-in-law in Little Rock. Of course he can’t afford LeCreuset. Been out of a job almost from the day he and my daughter got married. Had a motorcycle accident that left him wheel-chair bound.” I said.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.

“Yeah, it’s real sad. Tried to get my daughter not to marry him, but she never had much judgment when it came to men,” I said. “Now she works to support him and the two boys. Poor little fellows don’t have much of a chance because there sure won’t be any money for college—not that either one of them could likely get in.”

“Really?” she said.

“That’s right. The little one is cross-eyed. The family never had enough money for surgery, so there he is looking at you, and you can’t really be sure which eye to look at. It's a little embarrassing to keep switching your look from one eye to the other. The other boy was born with one leg shorter than the other. Kids laugh at him, but he doesn’t let that hold him back. Heck, he joined the track team. You should see him run. Looks like a yo-yo on a short string.” Never wins a race, but he sure does try.

“Ah, that’s sad,” she said.

“Sad’s the right word. It breaks my heart. If I didn’t help out, I don’t know what the family would do. My daughter tried taking a second job, but Lenny wasn’t able to pick up the slack with the boys, so she had to give it up. I do give Lenny credit though. He loves to cook, not that he’s very good. The only pots he has are some old Wareever antiques with the handles burned off. He can’t cook without burning everything, including the pot and their handles. No telling how much char this family has eaten over the years. Enough, I imagine, to cripple every chromosome in their bodies. And you know that char stuff causes cancer.”

“Oh my,” she said.

“All Lenny wants to do is cook and listen to country music. Tries to play the guitar, but two fingers on his left hand never recovered from the accident, so he has trouble hitting the cords. And if he could play, it wouldn’t redeem his singing. You wouldn’t want to hear him sing. Every time he belts out a song, the dog starts howling. If you heard him, you’d know why,” I said.

“That bad, huh?” she said.

“Yeah, it’s really worse than I’ve letting on. I can’t tell you everything. To painful. I’m thinking that a good set of LeCreuset would help this family get back on its feet. It’s the least I can do. I’ve cut back on my heart medicine—cut the pills in two—to free up a little cash. Wish I could do more, but all I’ve got is my Social Security and most of that goes for medicine. I’m thinking about trying to get on at Wal-Mart when I get to Little Rock. You know, one of those greeters as you go in the store. I could do that.”

“You must really want to help,” she said.

“Well sure. This poor little family is all I’ve got. I’d like to do more. If I had the money, I’d pay for the operation so that my little fellow could look you straight in the eye instead of looking off in all directions. Who knows, the doctors might even be able to do something for the big boy's leg. It breaks my heart to see him bouncing up and down the track. So you see why I’m looking for some bargains. Sure you don’t have a sale going on?” I said.

“No, I’m sorry. Our next sale isn’t until June,” she said.

“That’s almost two months from now. Sure you won’t let me shop early?” I said.

“Well, I have begun to mark things down for the sale. I guess I could let you look over what we have in the back,” she said. I could see that she was holding back tears.

“Oh, bless you. You renew my faith in the goodness of people. Bless you. Bless you,” I said.
I spent the next half hour picking and choosing from items marked down 30%. All together I picked out six pots with lids. One by one I carried them to the register. When I returned with the last one, I said, “Oh, I forgot to ask, do I get a discount for quantity?”

“Usually not,” she said, “but I phoned the store manager while you were in the back. Told her your story, and she said that I could give you another 30% off. She thinks she remembers you. Did you give her a chicken enchilada recipe the last time you were in?” she said.

“Yes I did. I remember we talked a good long time about Mexican food,” I said.

“Well, she said to tell you the enchaladas were great,” she said.

“I’m so glad. They are my signature dish and much loved by my family. Lenny tried to cook them a couple of times, and finally the family begged him not to try again. But with this new LeCreuset casserole dish, who knows, he may succeed. I’d like to think so anyway,” I said.

“Here,” she said, “let me help you to the car with all of this,” she said.

"Oh, that's not necessary," I said.

"It's the least I can do," she said.

When we got to the car, she said, “Hey, is this your Cadillac?”

“No, it’s rented. My jalopy would never make the trip from Virginia Beach to Little Rock. This baby is rented. Reserved a mid-sized car—all I could afford—but when I got to the car rental, they didn't have one, so I got upgraded. I can barley afford gas for this guzzler,” I said.

She waved me goodbye, and as I drove away, I could see in my rearview mirror that her eyes were glued to my vanity “Guybo” license plates. “Guitars and Cadillacs and Good Country Music,” by Dwight Yoakum, was playing on the radio by the time I hit I-40 and steered my way toward Little Rock. "Hum," I thought, "that song sounds a lot like this story."