Alligator at Green Cay Wetlands, June 2011 /photo by Jim Furci

Thanks to a drought, alligators are coming out all around South Florida, seemingly. They prefer to be in marshy areas, but the marshes are dry, and they’re seeking watering holes wherever they can. Canals, ponds, golf courses – they’re all over the place.

Friend Jim Furci was recently at Green Cay Wetlands – a super spot for relaxing and shooting wildlife and flora. He shot the bad boy above. Its pose reminds me of dozens of ashtrays and souvenirs from the ’50s, way before Disney had his eye on Orlando.

You can see them swimming in or near Lake Okeechobee, too. They sun on the banks and rocks, and usually slither into the water if they hear you. At night, it’s eerie – their red eyes reflect just above the waterline around the water’s edge from flashlights; that scene never fails to give me goosebumps.

You’ll hear them, too: The bulls bellow during mating season – it sounds otherworldly.

At Green Cay Wetlands, Boynton Beach, FL - photo by Jim Furci

Alligator wrestling a popular sport

Alligator exhibits and attractions were all over the place in Florida back in the day. US Highway 27 running through the middle of the state before the Turnpike had every Florida attraction known to man, including many gator places.

Kitsch alligator souvenirs popular in the '50s

And if they didn’t have live gators on site, they had dead ones you could buy. Little preserved alligator heads that served as ashtrays, or ugh! back-scratchers on a stick made from alligator feet. Gator-skin purses were all the rage; some had the real head as a closure on the flap – my Aunt Armeta had one.

As a girl, we’d take field trips once a year to the Seminole reservation in Hollywood, where colorfully-dressed young Seminole men would shed their jackets and shoes and get in a pit with a gator, and wrestle it. The goals of the wrestler? Subdue and rope the gator’s mouth shut, or pry open the mouth and put his head inside. Scars were evident on the arms of most of these guys and a few had a digit or two missing.

It remains a popular spectator sport at the still-thriving alligator attractions, though the parks have modernized the other attractions there to appeal to a 21st century audience.

At Gatorland near Orlando they’ve  added a zipline so you can fly across the gator pits and marshes attached to a thin cable. (It opens June 16.) You can see their exhibit of a white alligator (an albino version) like the one at the Palm Beach Zoo. At the St. Augustine Alligator Farm, it’s part zoo, and wild bird rookery, though alligators and crocodiles and everything you want to know about the reptiles are the focus of this attraction. It’s one of the oldest in the state (it opened in 1893), and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Alligator etiquette – and common sense

Like all wildlife, alligators (Alligator mississippiensis) don’t really want to mess with you. These huge reptiles (distinguished from their cousins, the crocodile, by a flat, rounded nose) want to eat, sleep and breed in peace. Once an endangered species, they’re now enjoying a comeback of great proliferation – they don’t have all that many enemies other than man once they grow big enough to make a difference.

Common sense prevails around areas where there are gators:

• Don’t feed them! They’re not pets and never will be domesticated. You’re as much dinner as what you’re feeding them – they can’t distinguish between the marshmallows and the wiggling hand that’s holding them. They have 70 or so teeth with which to make a toothful impression on you or tear off a limb or bite you in half. Their jaw pressure is impressive – they can bite through car doors and canoe hulls.
• Keep small dogs and kids well out of the way of gators or areas where gators live. They look like prey to them and gators will attack for food.
• Don’t dangle your legs and arms overboard in canoes or kayaks in lakes and canals. They can lunge out of the water up to five feet. They have an acute sense of vibration and hearing – they’ll come to what they believe is prey. They also have night vision, and hunt at night.
• Don’t get up close enough to “tickle” or torment one with a stick, or think you can outrun one. They are remarkably fast and can snap off an arm without you having a chance to move. They can run at speeds up to 30 mph on land, though only briefly and in a straight line. But they will attack on land, contrary to what some believe.

Bottom line: Take a camera with a long lens and appreciate them for what they are: Wild and unpredictable creatures.

Florida alligator attractions

See plenty of gators in the wild at Everglades National Park

Here are places to see alligators in captive and wild settings; at the Indian villages, you also can see them in the wild via airboat rides.

Alligator Farm and Zoological Park

• 999 Anastasia Blvd., St. Augustine
• 904-824-3337; www.alligatorfarm.us

Miccosukee Indian Village

• Mile Marker 70, US Highway 41 (Tamiami Trail), Miami
• 305-382-3920; www.miccosukeeresort.com

Gatorland

• 14501 S. Orange Blossom Trail, Orlando
• 800-393-5297; gatorland.com

Everglades National Park

• 40001 S.R. 9336, Homestead
• 305-242-7700; nps.gov/everglades

Lake Okeechobee Scenic Trail

Gators at Nubbins Slough, Lake Okeechobee /photo by Ken Steinhoff

All along the top of the dike built around Lake Okeechobee, you have a high vantage point overlooking either the lake or rim canals that harbor gators. Some are sizeable and can be found in large groups hanging out at the many locks or along the banks. They’re not ambitious enough to get up on the trail proper, but it’s so flat and without vegetation, you’ll see them readily if they do make the climb.

Get on the trail (cycle-and walker-friendly) at:

• Port Mayacca, junction of S.R. 76 and U.S. 441
• Pahokee, U.S. Hgys 441 and 98 at S.R. 76
• Belle Glade, at S.Rs. 880 and 715
• South Bay, at the boat ramps, S.R. 80 and U.S. 27
• Lake Harbor, at the locks at S. R. 80/U.S. 27 at Miami Canal Road
• Clewiston, at the locks off S.R. 80 and San Francisco Street
• Moorehaven, at the locks off Riverside Drive
• Lakeport, junction of S.R. 721 and S.R. 78
• Buckhead Ridge at the Okeetantie recreation area/campground, S.R. 78
• Okeechobee, at the public marina and pier, U.S. 441-North and S.R. 700
• Chancy Bay locks, on U.S. 441

“Red touch yellow, kill the fellow. Red touch black, he’s OK, Jack.”

There are several variations: “Red touch yellow, death says hello; red touch black, he’s a friend of Jack.” “Red touch yellow, he’s a dangerous fellow; red touch black, venom he lacks.”

Eastern Coral snake - 'Red touch yellow, kill the fellow.'

The rhyme is the simple way to help distinguish the poisonous coral snake, with bands of red, yellow, black, yellow, red – in that order – from the benign scarlet king snake that turns up in the same general areas.

If you get close enough to one or the other to see the snake clearly, the head of a king snake is red – and a creamier white-yellow on the king snake is readily apparent – the coral snake’s yellow bands are much more golden yellow and its nose is black.

Another version of the rhyme that tells this:

“If the head is red, you’re not dead.”

Scarlet king snake: 'Red touch black - he's OK, Jack.'

It’s tough not to get excited and go for the ax when you see a coral snake, but reptile experts say the coral snake isn’t aggressive and prefers to be under a rock or leaves, or even underground – and be left alone.

They will bite if stepped on, but instead of a mere strike, such as from the more aggressive rattlesnake, they must chomp down on their victim and grip a long while to inflict the poison. Ergo: You’d know if you’ve been bitten. Antivenins are readily available; no deaths from a coral snake bite have been reported in the U.S. in more than 40 years. Snake bite deaths overall are minimal in the U.S., no more than 20 a year throughout the country.

Pets, however, are more susceptible to being bit. A dog’s curiosity for digging and chasing may result in a tangle between them, and the snake will win if it can get the grip. Get the dog to the vet immediately, and take the dead snake along for a positive ID.

The king snake is a gardener’s buddy – he’ll eat venemous snakes and rats. Its constrictor method of killing isn’t dangerous for a human – and like most other snakes, they fear humans unless they’re cornered.

Play it safe — be smart

Snakes aren’t totally unpredicatable. They stick to certain comfortable areas. They like to go unnoticed. Give a snake plenty of room to get out of your way, and generally, that’s what they’ll do.

The exceptions: The rattlesnake, common in Florida, down to the Keys – will often stay put and defend itself if it’s threatened. First you’ll hear its loud rattle warning, then see it, likely curled up and ready to strike. It can strike from a significant distance – so back away quickly if you encounter one, and get help immediately if you are bitten. The water moccasin, another bad boy common around lakes, springs and in the Glades, hiss a lot and emit a smell that’s akin to goat musk  – if you smell goat-stink, then back off. They aren’t as quick to bite – you generally have time to get beat feet.

If you have been bitten by a snake, get help (preferably at a hospital) as soon as possible. Taking the snake in for identification is helpful, but don’t waste too much time looking – getting antivenin is a priority. If you’re going to be hiking or camping in areas known to have snakes, read up on them and how to avoid being bitten – your smartest defense.

Common sense tips: Wear heavy boots when you’re walking in snake-friendly areas. Shake out camping bedding and shoes. Take care gardening in brush-filled areas or those covered in rocks and leaves, and watch out around woodpiles. Snakes like to nest under rocks, but do come out after big rains, or during breeding season. Don’t harass snakes – or any other wildlife – they were here first. Observe from a distance – and don’t try to make pets of them.

(Originally published July 2009.)

Nellie Harrelson’s Fresh Orange Cake Recipe

So many of you requested the recipe for the cake that I baked for the Palm Beach County Mental Health Celebrity Baking Contest, I decided to share what I could of it.

Credit where credit is due: This is my mother’s cake – and I daresay it’s as old as our fair state, though I can’t find it in any of my very old Florida cookbooks. Not that Nellie Harrelson would have gotten it from a cookbook, however. She rarely even wrote down a recipe — I have only a few in her hand and they’re quite vague.

I half expected to it though, or a variation of it in Cross Creek Cookery by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings. This author’s sour orange pie recipe is legendary, a recipe served today at the Yearling restaurant near her old homestead. But the cake’s not there.  (I recommend it highly anyway for its other Old Florida recipes.)

Always a showpiece at Christmas

This orange cake was one of seven my mother put out at her very famous Christmas Eve Open House feasts. She cooked for two weeks in preparation for this party, to which my father invited everyone from bank presidents,  judges and golf stars to roofers, plasterers and plumbers to come for a plate and a drink in the grandest of Southern hospitality traditions.

They put on this party for two decades — and long after they stopped, people still showed up at the house on Christmas Eve, hopeful for her food. (My mother would always graciously come up with something or other.)

They were after one of three things: Her fresh ham (not a cured one) and dressing, a slice of orange cake, or a wedge of Lane cake with cherry-bourbon-pecan-coconut frosting (that cake is a story to itself — for another day).

Simple, but time-consuming

As for the orange cake, I’m giving you a “best guess” recipe. Use any yellow sponge cake recipe you like; I use the same tender cake batter I use with my coconut cake. Make 3 or 4 layers. Soak it with the orange zest syrup. That’s it — simplicity, or so it sounds.

With all the grating, juicing and soaking, however, it’s somewhat labor intensive – and you need room in the fridge for it so plan far enough ahead to do this. (Jan’s Rule: Don’t waste your time on this homemade beauty for unappreciative guests who’ll eat anything – bake them a fast box cake or just go buy something.)

Here’s a written recipe; but know that y0u must make a few to get the sugar/orange zest/juice ratio just right.

Nellie’s Orange Cake

For the cake:

• 3 cups all-purpose flour, sifted
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1 cup milk
• 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
• 2 cups sugar
• 4 eggs, separated

For the orange syrup:

• juice of 8 Florida juice oranges (see note), strained
• grated rind of 8 oranges
• 1 small can frozen orange juice concentrate, thawed
• 1-1/2 to 3 cups granulated sugar, or more (see note)

Note: Thin-skinned backyard juice oranges are key to this cake. You can buy them at fruit stands and occasionally supermarkets. Do not use thick-skinned varieties or those from California. Sugar: I can’t tell you how much to use; this will depend on amount of juice from the oranges.

Make cake layers. Prep: Grease and flour 3 or four 9-inch round cake pans. In a medium bowl, combine flour, baking powder and salt. Measure the milk into a glass measuring cup and add the vanilla. Beat egg whites until soft peaks form in clean medium bowl. Set all aside.

In a large bowl, cream the butter and add the sugar to continue creaming on medium speed. Scrape sides and beat again. Add the egg yolks one at a time, beating well after each is added. Add dry ingredients alternately with milk and vanilla, beating well after each to incorporate. Scrape bowl well. Remove bowl from mixer stand and with a rubber spatula, fold in the egg whites until no whites show; batter should be light and foamy.

Divide batter evenly among pans; bake at 350 degrees until tops are lightly browned and cakes spring back slightly to touch in center of cake, approximately 25 minutes. Cool on racks; set aside.

While cakes bake, make orange zest syrup: Wash oranges very well. Grate rinds on fine grate of box grater or with Microplane zester into a medium mixing bowl. Juice and strain oranges into bowl with zest. Add thawed orange juice concentrate; stir well.

Begin adding sugar and whisking to dissolve sugar. This may take some time – be patient. Add enough sugar so that mixture is very sticky and runs slowly off the tip of a spoon.

Assemble cake: On a cake stand with a lip (essential), layer first cake layer, and poke surface well with thin round skewer. Use a large spoon to spoon syrup over cake. Repeat with each layer. Use several spoonsful per layer, giving time between applications to allow syrup to soak into cake – this will take about 1 hour.

Allow syrup to run down sides and onto plate. As needed, spoon up syrup off the plate edge and spoon over cake again. Use as much syrup as possible. (Reserve remainder in refrigerator and use on cupcakes or orange quick bread.)

Add orange zest curls to top of cake as garnish, if desired.

Serves 16-20 (cake is very rich).

Keep cake refrigerated; cake freezes very well.

Flora and Ella's /photo by Ken Steinhoff

It finally happened: Flora and Ella’s, a homespun cafe in LaBelle, has closed. It’s weathered a number of recessions, a couple of moves and diet swings away from its signature country cooking.

But the financial wolves finally won.

Photo by Ken Steinhoff

The restaurant on State Road 80 at a bend in the road in La Belle closed March 26 after being in business of some form since 1933. It was the landlord who had the final say.

In a story from the Fort Myers News Press, representatives from the Bonita Bay Group, said it was a tough call to make. Vice President Gary Dumas said, “With this economic downturn, we can’t continue to subsidize the restaurant’s operation.”

Debbie Burchard Klemmer, manager of Flora and Ella’s, and granddaughter of co-founder Ella Burchard, told reporters it was a very hard weekend – but inevitable without a savior. She wasn’t complaining, she said, because Bonita Bay Group had been “good to me.”

Economic times what they are, few are dining out and once the snowbirds from neighboring communities go home, what business they have slows to a crawl.

The place with handmade wooden counters and glass display cases was known for its famous pies – coconut meringue, to be exact. It was a best-seller. Collards, catfish, fried chicken, fried green tomatoes and other Southern comfort foods also were beloved, but it was the pies everyone will miss.

“If there’s better pie made in the universe, I haven’t found it,” said former Palm Beach Post photo chief Ken Steinhoff.

“Flo and Ella’s, which became Flora and Ella’s, was a place I always stopped if I was anywhere near LaBelle,” he said.

It became well known in recent years as foodies discovered its pies and got coverage in national magazines, as well as on the Travel Channel. Young adults who ate here in its early years later brought their grandkids in to try the pie. Many bought gifts or preserves or country decor from the adjacent gift shop. Or they sat on the porch and rocked, and chatted with neighbors, catching up on news of the day.

“In the early days of the ’70s, when I was dispatched to cover the Swamp Cabbage festivals, Flo and Ella’s was the hub of downtown activity. It may have served as the bus stop, Post Office, coffee shop and Western Union office for all I know.

“Long before Twitter and Facebook, the small (hometown) place was the social media of the day. It didn’t happen in LaBelle if it didn’t get talked about at Flo and Ella’s,” Steinhoff said.

These days, he taps it and other eateries nearby  while cycling around Lake Okeechobee. Now there’s one less cafe to rely on.

Echoing sentiments of others who’ve had their fair share of pie, he said, “I’m going to miss that place.”

A&W Root Beer Mug for sale on Etsy

Somewhere in my stash of collectibles from my former antique mall booth, I have a giant A&W Root Beer mug from the ’60s. I had found it at a yard sale for a buck. It was the old design, the one with the arrow through the target.

It’s the kind I remember my dad drinking from, getting a foamy mustache and grinning for us kids with it. The foamy, always ice-cold root beer, with licorice and cherry undertones, are forever etched onto my taste buds. I can’t remember a single food that thrilled me at A&W – the root beer alone did it.

We had a big A&W drive-in (so it seemed then) that took up all of one of the points of 5-Points – the intersection of Dixie Highway, Wilton Drive and 26th Street in Wilton Manors. We lived only a few blocks away, so it was a last-minute thing to go get a burger and a frosty cold mug of root beer if we had come back from a day of fishing or some other activity where mom didn’t cook.

Back in those days, you could order a big, frosty pitcher of root beer for your table. To take home, which we did, you could buy a gallon glass jug of it, keep the jug and have it refilled. I bet you only paid a quarter for the jug deposit. Doubt they’d do it today, or even have glass jugs.

A ’50s era drive-in

It was a teen hang-out, a true drive-in, with car-hops to bring out the trays that attached to the car windows. Sonic carries on this tradition with skating car-hops, though it just isn’t the same.

1963 Ford Galaxie 500

The teen guys with souped up cars were forever warning the hops about the tips of the trays touching their paint jobs. My dad’s eye-hurting-shiny black 427 Ford Galaxie 500, with Revlon-lipstick-red leatherette interior and AC so cold it froze to ice on the chrome vents, was his pride and joy.

He’d take the tray from the car-hop and place it himself so as to avoid any chance of a scratch. He called all females “doll,” so it was always, “Thanks, doll.” And he left them a decent tip,  so he was always getting extra mugs of root beer or an extra order of fries slipped on our tray with a wink.

There was a giant jukebox on the outdoor patio area under the fluorescent lights, maybe a Seeburg or a Wurlitzer – I’m not sure. All I know is that it towered over me, with big fat buttons I could barely reach to choose the 45s that would click and whir like a black round deck of cards as they they spun by and finally stopped to allow your choice to be plucked for the turntable.

I remember Bobby Vinton’s “She Wore Blue Velvet,” “Hey Paula” from Paul and Paula, and “Sugar Shack” from Jimmy Gilmer and the Fireballs playing on it. I hated it when I pushed a wrong button and it played some dippy song about cars.

A&W was the only drive-in around for a few miles, so it got a lot of business. There was Jerry’s, a national chain, in Fort Lauderdale on Sunrise Boulevard near U.S. 1. But it didn’t have root beer like this. I think they both closed in the ’70s, giving way to drive-thru spots.

Royal Castle – burgers and a birch

A Royal Castle in the Keys

Down the street on Wilton Drive, next to the “mullet hole” where my neighbor and my cousins walked to fish whenever they were around, was the Royal Castle. It was our version of White Castle. It had a gleaming white and orange tile interior with stainless steel and chrome fixtures, with a bunch of spinning stools at the counter. There was a walk-up window, if I’m not mistaken. More than any other feature, however, was air-conditioning. In those days if you had AC, it was cranked up to “snow” level to impress your guests. On a hot summer day in South Florida, the place was mobbed and there was condensation on the windows; it always looked like it had rained outside.

An ad for them indicated they were open 24 hours, but I honestly don’t recall that.

Here, you could get a whole meal for 50 cents. A mug of birch beer – different in flavor from root beer – was a nickel. It, too, was frosty and if truth be told, I preferred it to A&W root beer, though I can’t say why. I think it had more of a citrus, bright finish – maybe not quite as sweet. It’s been years since I’ve tasted one, but I remember the flavor as distinctly different.

Burgers palm-sized

Their little burgers were perfect for us kids. I could eat one and be done. My cousins Mike and Doug Ward could put away sackfuls – a cheap proposition at 15 cents each. 50 cents each would buy us three burgers and a mug of birch beer; they got my extras. The boys tried to see who could out-burp one another afterward while fishing in the shade of cypress trees in the river nearby.

The burgers were little patties, flattened within an inch of their lives, on a flat griddle that also grilled the onions  – so you got an oniony flavor throughout. A smear of mustard and a pickle were slid into the golden brown buns the size of dinner rolls. The tops of the rolls gleamed with a brush of butter. (No cholesterol police in those days.) I don’t think they came with cheese – that was an option, however.

The guy cooking wore a paper hat, and a white uniform with an apron – no gloves. He’d grab a stack of patties, with waxed paper in between, and slap them on the grill with precision and speed. He had a rhythm going with the spatula, flipping and pressing, then turning the onions, using the edge of the tool to chop them up: Flip, press, turn, chop.

If there was anything else at all on the menu, I have no idea. Maybe milkshakes – I do seem to recall you could get a birch beer float. And coffee – the cups were diner-iconic.

There was a resurgence of fondness for these burgers back in the ’80s and White Castle began distributing them in the freezer case. Krystal Burgers, more popular in the South, were reborn and live today. Still, they aren’t quite the same.

Instead of the burgers, I wish they’d have brought back the original root beer and birch beer – not the modern versions made with corn syrup and who knows what flavoring.

(Ed. note: The story that spurred mine is from former Palm Beach Post colleague Ken Steinhoff, who writes a blog about coming of age in Cape Girardeau, Mo. He wrote today about an A&W stand in his childhood city.)

By Larry Carrino, Guest Columnist

Kon-Tiki Resort

Though growing up in Miami Shores I had a family of my own, as a teenager I was blessed to be “adopted” by my friend Steve’s mother and father.  He has an amazing, tight-knit Southern family – full of great cooks and outdoorsmen.

Those two specialties merged beautifully each summer when his entire clan practically rented out the Kon-Tiki Resort in Islamorada, Fla. 

Fishing in the Keys

I had never been to the Keys and was thrilled to be invited along. In the morning I’d wake and climb on Uncle Glenn’s boat and hit the water, fishing for snapper. Even as a novice fisherman I did okay, but was more successful cutting bait fish, I think, than hauling in fish. 

After a full day in the sun and with coolers brimming with our fresh catch, we’d head back to the resort for showers, ice cold drinks and the tastiest fish fry I’ve ever experienced. 

 Fish and hush puppies -nothing better

The snappers were filleted, rolled in a glorious mix of flour and cornmeal and dropped into vats of bubbling oil.  Steve’s mother and grandmother would dish up the delights – scooped out of the oil onto plates lined with paper towels – along with homemade hush puppies, tartar sauce, fresh veggies, mac n’ cheese and coleslaw. 

Dessert was usually a buttery pound cake served with homemade vanilla ice cream. 

Back then and probably to this day, it doesn’t get any better. 

 Larry Carrino is vice president of Brustman Carrino Public Relations in Miami.  The company specializes in culinary and hospitality public relations and marketing.  www.brustmancarrinopr.com  

Hukilau, a weekend-long event in Fort Lauderdale, will celebrate all things tiki culture and Polynesia. The hub is at the Bahia Cabana hotel across from the Yankee Clipper on the beach where there’s an art display and several events poolside.  But food events and drink seminars will take place appropriately at the still-thumping Mai-Kai. (Get info and tickets here.)

Mai-Kai a landmark that’s aging well

Since 1956, the Mai-Kai has been a fixture on U.S. 1 — tiki torches blazing, lights illuminating the palm-frond and bamboo pole-bedecked restaurant. For its 50th anniversary, it got a makeover and saw improvements to the structure that has weathered more hurricanes than most residents down here.

I well remember this restaurant as a girl — I grew up in Wilton Manors, a little burg of a town then when everyone knew everyone — and their business. The Mai-Kai was an exotic landmark nearby – there was little else along U.S. 1 except for a string of motels that all had huge pools and a steady stream of winter guests.

Duck, the first

I had my first taste of duck at the Mai-Kai. My best friend Lisa Black (now, Cory) got a lovely night out on her birthdays with her parents. For her 14th birthday, I was invited. She chose the Mai-Kai. Her birthday is in December, so my mother suggested a red velvet blouse with a winter-white wool skirt as an appropriate choice of attire. (Funny that I remember that outfit, as I’m not anywhere close to fashion-forward.)

Lisa’s dad was a jazz pianist and her step-mom was a surgical nurse. Both often worked nights or odd hours — so different  from my much more traditional family, so being out with them was always a new experience. They ordered exotic foods and drinks, which Lisa would have no part of (still doesn’t), but that I loved. Even then, I was intrigued by foods.

Polynesian menu exotic

Alaska and Hawaii hadn’t been states so long when the Mai-Kai opened. The country was enthralled by all things Polynesian and tiki-oriented; the surf culture was soon to be on its heels.

But my exposure  to it was limited to watching Hawaiian Eye on TV, and driving past the Mai-Kai at night. So the menu I was offered that night could easily have been written in Urdu – I had no idea what a pu-pu platter was or even fried rice.  We didn’t eat Oriental food at our Southern house — though the “fried” part I had down pat.

There was duck on the menu, and Mrs. Black asked if I would like to try it. We had ducks in the neighborhood that I fed; they all had names. This was akin to eating my cat. I politely declined and ordered the one thing I knew on the menu: steak. I did end up tasting a bite of the duck, but wasn’t impressed enough to order it again for some time.

Oh, those drinks

The adults had intriguing drinks — in huge bowl-like glasses with not only umbrellas but flowers and fruits and all kinds of colorful garnishes. They are definitely a Mai-Kai signature. You’ll learn more about the Mai-Tai that’s poured there when I report back from the seminar about its origin, courtesy Hukilau.

We girls got virgin copies that had a ton of cherries in them and tasted like fruit punch on steriods. Knock-out beautiful servers wore sarongs and leis. The whole thing was pretty wild – then came the show.

Grass-skirted dancers with fire, huge bamboo poles clacking against the floor and drums thumping — it’s quite the production, and one of the oldest in our area still running and open to the public. Disney’s got nothing on them.

Every restaurant like this is kitschy and over-the-top in many ways. Maybe we outgrow our need for kitsch. Or maybe not — can you remember every meal you’ve eaten at the nondescript places — even ones you like? Dubious. But you never forget event meals like these, so you owe it to yourself to go once for the experience.

Mai-Kai Polynesian Restaurant

• 3599 N. Federal Highway (US 1), Fort Lauderdale 33308
• 954-563-32.72; www.maikai.com
• Open daily, 5 to 11 p.m.; two dinner shows daily. Reservations required for shows.

An email about a mere orange caused me to stop in my tracks. I had to put down my fried egg sandwich and espresso. It had been more than five years that I had such a strong flood of memories at the mention of a food.

The email had a video attached starring a new buddy of mine — and a Florida Cracker like me, Cliff Burg. Anybody who knows the Southeast area knows the names Burg and DiVosta – homebuilders with a solid reputation.

Burg, now semi-retired, dabbles in a few other things — a new polo field, a ranch in Jackson Hole, and his orange juice company here, Indian River Select. (It’s all my son drinks, so I knew of it before I heard about Burg’s involvement – and I can say with all honesty, it’s a terrific “boutique” fresh juice. I think with fresh OJ, you do get what you pay for.)

So this morning, my friend who works with Burg sent me a preview of an impromptu commercial they shot of him with something she called a “juiceball.” Had I heard of it?

I couldn’t fathom what she was talking about, but duly clicked on the link.

This is what I saw:

Is it a Florida trick?

I watched this unfold, and heard Cliff’s genial account of how he fixed these oranges for his kids. I teared up immediately and started leaking onto my keyboard — snatched instantly in my mind’s eye back to the front yard of our Wilton Manors home. There, in the front yard, I watched my dad among a gaggle of little kids, doing exactly the same thing with the same motions as Burg — down to wiping the blade of his knife on his pants.

I immediately messaged my friend, to let her know she had unleashed a film fest of old head-movies for me.

“I thought this was just Cliff being Cliff,” she said. “But this must be a Southern thing,” she said. (She’s from Michigan and is still learning a lot about Florida and its natives.)

I have no idea if that’s so, but I can’t remember eating an orange any other way when I was a tot.

Sharp knife needed

Truly, my earliest food memories are linked to being handed an orange just like this – by every adult I came in contact with in every grove and backyard around the state.

I can clearly see my dad’s pocketknife, pulled from his pants pocket – it didn’t matter which pants he had on, that slim, dangerously sharp Case knife with the brown handle was in them. He expertly twirled around the top of the orange, peeling it in one long spiral strand that we girls would hang behind our ears to make “Shirley Temple curls.”

Then he’d cut out the “plug” at the top – a tiny cone of orange pulp, which we’d be handed to eat. Once the orange was peeled down to its pith a third of the way or so down, we’d get the fruit. This was just as Burg says — to prevent the acid orange oil from burning our mouths.

It would take a few minutes for our small hands to squeeze as much juice as we could, but we weren’t done yet. We’d stick our grimy thumbs into the hole and tear the orange in half. We’d use two hands to turn the rind inside-out, and then use our teeth to pull the segments off to eat. Seed spitting contests and fights ensued.

Naturally, we’d be sticky messes from the orange juice — so this was always done outdoors and usually within reach of the garden hose. We could lick our lips for an hour, though, and still taste oranges.

Why the orange is on our car tags

Before Disney, practically every yard south of Gainesville had orange or grapefruit trees growing on or near them – seedy Parson Browns, Harts or Hamlins were the oranges; great big Duncans were the grapefruit. In the case of several of my relatives, their farms all had groves on the property.

Pat Pennington picks oranges. Photo courtesy the Florida Historic Photographic Collection

On our frequent trips to Pensacola, we’d visit the Goolsby Dairy here in West Palm Beach, where there were oranges on trees out back. Grandaddy (Jeff) Goolsby would hand me an orange this way. We’d go to Lake Okeechobee to fish at the full moon of February, where oranges were hanging on trees all around the edges of US 441, and of course, lining US 27 — all the way from Okeechobee as far as you could see, to Ocala.

Uncle Bud

My dad’s favorite uncle lived in Auburndale, near Lake Wales, also on the way to Pensacola  We’d always stop and pick bushels from their backyard grove to take with us to the cousins in the Panhandle.

My Uncle Bud (John) Kilpatrick, would sit on his porch swing and at my Aunt Nina’s command, “Fix that youngun’ an orange,” he’d pick up one from a sackful. He was adept with his slender pocketknife with a marbelized green Bakelite handle, and still swinging, in under 45 seconds, was tossing the curly peel into the azalea bushes beside the porch.

He was a man of few words, but he smiled a lot. He’d peel it all without a word, hand me the orange, and point me to the porch steps to sit and eat – to avoid getting juice all over his swing. He was always conveniently watering the azaleas with a hose when I finished, and squirted off my hands and swathed down my face with his giant white handkerchief pulled from a back pocket.

Give it a try

Thinking back, it seems remarkable to me now that every adult I knew had a pocket knife on them to peel an orange – but this was so back then. Even my mother carried a little pearl-handled one for just such projects. They worked on pears, apples, and other fruits, but I just assumed everyone kept them on hand for the oranges.

Just as I assumed everyone had eaten oranges just this way. Those who haven’t have simply missed the tastiest way to eat one.

Now go find a pocketknife, a juice orange (thick-skinned California oranges are useless for this) and make some kid happy.

Here’s the gobble on it, from Slow Food writer, Diane Campion. (Slow Foods is the international organization that’s helping preserve food heritages and traditions around the world. If you want to join the newly formed Glades-to-Coast local chapter, click here. Several interesting events, including a dinner at Cafe Boulud in Palm Beach, are upcoming.)

 The Osceola Turkey

The Osceola turkey is the smallest and one of the most challenging subspecies of turkey to hunt. A mature tom turkey will only weigh 16 – 18 pounds in his peak breeding state but makes up for the lower weight with longer spurs and beards on average than the other subspecies. The Osceola subspecies is similar in feather markings to the Eastern except that black predominates in the wing barring of the primary wing feathers. Feathers of the Florida turkey show more iridescent green and red colors, with less bronze than the eastern. The dark color of the tail coverts and the large tail feathers tipped in brown are similar to the eastern, but unlike the lighter colors of the three western subspecies. Its colorations and behavior are ideal for the flat pine woods, oak and palmetto hammocks and swamp habitats of Florida. Adult females, or hens, are similar to the males but duller and lighter colored throughout, except wing feathers, which are darker.

Turkey gobble: their sweet nothings

The reproductive cycle for the Florida wild turkey begins only slightly earlier than for the eastern wild turkey in other southern states. However, in southern Florida, turkeys gobble during warm spells in January, several weeks before actual mating. Egg laying is mainly in April with the cycle complete with peak hatching occurring in May.

Limited range

The National Wild Turkey Federation (NWTF) only recognizes birds as Osceolas if they are taken south of a line drawn between Taylor and Dixie counties on the Gulf to a line running between Nassau and Duval counties on the Atlantic coast.

Duck

A recent post talks about a big (expensive) piece of history now up on the block: Parcels of the estate formerly attached to the oldest house on the island (Island is Palm Beach to us across the bridges), the Duck’s Nest, are for sale. Expect to pay more than the price of foie gras for them.

You can read about it, and see other photos around our area on Keefer’s blog.