About Dawson County news. (Dawsonville, Georgia) 2015-current | View Entire Issue (Sept. 14, 2022)
PAGE 7 A Send a letter to the editor to P.O. Box 1600, Dawsonville, GA 30534; fax (706) 265-3276; or email to editor@dawsonnews.com. DawsonOpinion WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 14,2022 This is a page of opinion — ours, yours and others. Signed columns and cartoons are the opinions of the writers and artists, and they may not reflect our views. What would life be without a cheeseburger? I suggest you read this in a hurry because I am writing it in a hurry and hoping you and I can get to the finish at the same time before one of us kicks the bucket. It seems life is short and getting shorter. I recently read a piece in the New York Times (Yes, I do occasionally sneak a peek to see what they are up to. But I don’t inhale.) that says Americans aren’t living as long as we used to. Compared to other wealthy countries, the report says 1 in 2 deaths under age 65 years would have been avoided if the U.S. had the mortality rates of other wealthy nations. In comparison to the other countries, the report says that not only has the life expec tancy in the U.S. been dropping since 1980, and has declined to the lowest level since 1996. You see why I want us to hurry through this column? Time’s a-wastin’! The 18 wealthy nations to which we are compared are your usual suspects. They include, among others: Canada, France, Germany, Japan, Sweden, Switzerland, the United Kingdom and Iceland. Iceland? I didn’t know they were a wealthy nation because I didn’t know anybody lived there, let alone rich people, I need to get out more often. Anyway, I was hoping to dig deeper into the Times’ report on why you and I are not living as long as the good folks of Kopavogur and Mosfellsbaer but it contains a lot of big words and a lot of numbers and a bunch of footnotes. I felt like I couldn’t spare the time to try and decipher the results because I think what it is saying is there is no time to spare. Just as I was about to give up on the idea of why we are not living longer and instead write about how to properly organize a sock drawer, what to my wondering eyes should appear: The answer! And it didn’t come from the New York Times, either. It came from a group called DrugGenius.com, who says they are a provider of “reliable, evi dence-based information about prescription medications.” I’m not sure what all of that means, either, but at least their report didn’t have a lot of big words and footnotes. But what it did have was an answer so obvious I won der how I could have missed it. It’s our cui sine. Fast foods. And we are willing to die for it. DmgGenius.com said they surveyed 3,222 Americans and asked the respondents hypothetically how many years of their lives they would be willing to forgo if it meant they could continue to eat unhealthi ly. The answer was - a bunch, as long as they can keep eating burritos. When asked what kind of fast food they believe has the greatest health benefits, 45% of those surveyed said a foot-long sandwich had the most health benefits (probably because of the lettuce); 20% thought it was tacos or burritos. Eleven per cent said cheesy, meat-topped pizza. Eight percent thought a bucket of fried chicken wings and the same number believed it to be burgers and fries. I’m hungry already. The survey also revealed that we Georgians would give up 5 years of our life in order to be able to continue eating fast food. Why is that a surprise? Would you want to add years to your life eating broc coli and asparagus? By the way, 51 % of Georgians said they totally ignore all those studies that warn of the health risks of eating too much fast- food. Take that, New York Times and pass the fried pies. The DmgGenius.com survey indicates that a majority of respondents (60%) said if they had to choose between quitting alcohol or giving up fast foods for the rest of their life, they would rather give up alcohol. What we won’t do for a hot dog. Despite the dire prediction from the New York Times report on longevity (or lack thereof), the good news is that I made it all the way to the bottom of the column and I am still here. I presume you are, as well. As for giving up 5 years of our lives for a double cheeseburger with fries and a choc olate shake, let’s keep it in perspective. We may not live as long as Icelanders, but at least we don’t have to sit down to a meal of singed sheep heads, black pudding and broiled Puffin. God Bless the USA. You can reach Dick Yarbrough atdick@dick- yarbrough.com; at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, GA 31139; online at dickyarbrough.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/dickyarb. DICKYARBROUGH Columnist The Light of Liberty Still Shines Bright... NEVER FORGET 09.11.2001 © 2022 CREATORS.COM WWW.TOMSTIGLICH.COM The kitchen confidential Like most Southern cooks. Granny took great pride in what came out of her kitchen. There were certain unspo ken mles that pertained to what happened in the biggest room of the house. For one, if she was cook ing, you stayed clear unless she invited you to help. Her idea of help ing was usually limited to washing dishes and that was it - the old gal hated to wash dishes. The other mle was, when she called you to come eat, you better get to the table with lightning speed and proceed to tell her how amazing everything was. Growing up, we all knew the mles and we all upheld them with respect and honor. Well, Mama wasn’t big on eating much back then, sustaining on Virginia Slims, coffee, and Diet Coke for the most part. But even she knew to stay clear of Granny’s imminent domain. I was invited to stand in a chair and help when I was small, something that made me feel extra special as Granny taught me how to sift flour, which ingredients to measure, and which ones to eyeball or go by taste. Biscuits and cakes were my favorites to help with, and nothing seemed to make the Redhead Prime happier than to be in the kitchen, showcasing her trade secrets and skills. Granny would often brag about how I was able to make up the dough, telling her friends and anyone who’d listen about how I was a natural. “She gets that from me,” she’d say whenever someone would compliment my abilities. Being humble was not one of her finer qualities. Wherever Granny giveth, she always taketh away, too. Just as easy as she could heap the praise and collect accolades, she was the first one to be critical of any culinary sin she found. Like the time she, Mama, and Bobby came to spend the night with me when the Ex was out of town on a work trip. The minute they came in, Bobby headed for the living room where a TV with cable awaited him. He’d happily stay there with Pepper, the evil beagle, tucked in beside him until time to eat. Mama went outside to smoke and have herself a Diet Coke. Granny immediately start ed looking around my kitch en. Not just looking, but rather performing some sort of culi nary forensic investigation into everything I had in the pantry, cabi nets. and refrigerator. “Where’s your buttermilk?” she asked, poking around the shelves of the fridge, “I don’t have any.” “You what?” “I don’t have any.” “Then how did you make anything that needed buttermilk? You ain’t cooking like I taught you.” “You can add vinegar to regular milk to make buttermilk.” She retreated from the fridge long enough to give me a glare that would stop a buffalo in its tracks. “That ain’t buttermilk,” she declared. “It’s a good substitute.” I stated. “It ain’t no such of a thing.” She surveyed the pots and pans on top of the stove, lifting the lids, taking a spoon out of the drawer to sample a few. “Where’s your salt?” “It’s got plenty,” I said. She looked at me. “If you like bland, it does.” Her eyes came to rest on the cake plate on the counter, with the cake - a lovely homemade strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting - waiting to be cut. The cake was a masterpiece, one that I found in a Southern Living cookbook and have never found again. Granny eyed it as she started opening cabinets. “You made that from scratch?” “Of course,” I said, feeling slightly offended at her question. “Where’s your cake flour?” “The recipe didn’t call for cake flour,” I answered. “What?” she slammed the cabinet door shut. “If you are making a cake, you use cake flour.” Mama came in from the patio, wanting to know what she’d missed. “I’ll tell you what you missed,” Granny said. “I evidently didn’t teach your youn- gin’ a cussed thing.” SUDIE CROUCH Columnist As we sat down to dinner. Granny pro ceeded to warn Bobby the meal would probably need salt and she was pretty sure my cake wouldn’t be fit to eat. “It sure looks good,” my uncle said, always looking for the positives. “She didn’t use cake flour. It’s probably as hard as a dang brick.” “It tastes good,” he said, as took another bite. “Tastes real good.” Granny shook her head. “He’s just being nice.” The next morning, I made biscuits - the same way Granny taught me all those decades before - only I made mine a bit bigger. A cathead biscuit, they call them. Granny was not happy, not one bit. “Why did you make them so dang big? This is twice the size of my sausage.” “You can have some biscuit left over,” I said. “And you can always just eat the sau sage separately, you know.” “I don’t want to. I want my dang sau sage in my dang biscuit, and I don’t want a mile of biscuit left over.” I sighed. Mama said they were big, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t in a sausage mood. Granny, looking for an ally, steeled her gaze on her son. “She don’t make her bis cuits like I do, does she, Bobby?” Bobby sipped his coffee slowly before he answered. “No, Mama, she doesn't. She doesn’t bum hers.” The old gal was so incensed her jaw could’ve carved granite. “I’m getting my things and waiting in the car until you’ens are ready to go.” She did, too. She waited about fifteen minutes while Mama and Bobby finished their breakfast and collected their things. On the way out, Bobby paused in the kitchen. I thought for sure he was going to apologize and say how that was just Granny’s way and for me to get my feel ings hurt. Instead, he looked at the cake plate on the counter and turned to me. “You think I can get some of that to go with me?” “Of course,” I said, smiling broadly. He nodded as he took it from me. “We just won’t tell Granny.” Sudie Crouch is an award winning humor columnist and author of "The Dahlman Files: ATony Dahlman Paranormal Mystery." DR. ANDERSON Get your flu By Dr. Larry Anderson Anderson Family Medicine We can start with some good news. The 2021-22 Flu season is over. We only had 28 deaths across the state and metro Atlanta had about 550 hospitalizations. By using the knowledge that we have of how virus are spread, we can keep the Flu numbers for 2022-23 season at an even lower rate. Get your flu shots now. Do not wait for what you think is the optimum time to get the vaccine shots now unless your calendar shows 1955. We see flu year round. You can always get a second shot if you feel the need. Polio is back in the news. Rotary International and your local Rotary club have helped to almost eliminate Polio in the world. There are always folks who will not get the vaccine and those are the ones who get Polio and help put the rest of us at risk. Fortunately our children are immu nized. If you are not sure about their immunizations, then you can get your pedi atrician or family doc to check with GRITS. No, not “girls raised in the south” but the Georgia Registry of Immunizations and Transaction Services. The lookup is free. Not sure about you as an adult? Check in the same place. If in doubt then start over or get caught up. If you think you may be at high risk you can always get a once in a lifetime booster. Call the Health Department. Where did all this come from? There was one case in New York that started all this. An unvaccinated per son contracted Polio. This led to searching for a source. The sewer system helped provide the answer. Long Island was a source. Polio is spread by the oral- fecal route. That is how you get it. That is how you spread it. Not pretty but viruses never are. Ukraine seems to be fighting back and recaptur ing some of their cities. They need and deserve our support. Welcome those who had to flee, and help those who stayed. I end all my prayers with the phrase, “give peace to Ukraine and send the Russians home”. Thanks for reading. Letter policy The Dawson County News wel comes your opinions on issues of public concern. Letters must be signed and include full address and a daytime and evening phone number for verification. Names and hometowns of letter writers will be included for publication without exception.Telephone num bers will not be published. Letters should be limited to 350 words and may be edited or con densed.The same writer or group may only submit one letter per month for consideration. We do not publish poetry or blanket letters and generally do not publish letters concerning con sumer complaints. Unsigned or incorrectly identified letters will be withheld. Mail letters to the Dawson County News, RO. Box 1600, Dawsonville, GA 30534, hand deliver to 30 Shoal Creek Road, fax to (706) 265-3276 or e-mail to edi tor® dawsonnews.com.
