photos > MARITA MEYER

This weekend, I received a musical injection from two master artists in the Blues and Rock world at Rock Island Live courtesy of Bad Bean Productions.

As music bellowed, Mike Potts painted Ray Charles and Marilyn Monroe on canvas opposite the stage. The patio was open to the concert room, the cool air flowing on both nights, and the sound of great music could be heard throughout the street and alleyway. This was a packed house, the crowd blended and ageless, as magic emanated from the stage. Drinking and dancing, we were all getting our groove on.

Mike Zito is a guitar God. He played Saturday night with effortless passion that put tears in my eyes – he’s that good. His style is a combo of New Orleans funk and gritty old school blues, with a rock-n-roll bad-ass feel.

A national artist nominated for best Blues/Rock album of the year award “Pearl River” by BMA, Mike’s a great guy with a passion for music and his family. Off stage, he’s quiet and calm.

His newest release, “Pearl River”, was also nominated for the best song of the year award by BMA, collaborating with famed artist Cyril Neville.

Jason Ricci, an international artist also nominated for best Blues/ Rock album of the year award with “Done with the Devil” by BMA and up for best harmonica player of the year. His performance and entertainment value rife with theatrical moves, and the crispiest harmonica playing I’ve ever witnessed. Aqua-Lung in my book. His musical style is an abstract version of gritty and contemporary blues, rock, and influences from almost any genre imaginable. Spell music with a “k”, and that’s Jason’s style. His newest release, “Done with the Devil”, is arguably his best work of art. To do his will, live and breathe music, writing, and animals are what he is passionate about. He’s extremely intelligent and different than most, with a lot of energy, he is blanketed in controversy on several levels.

During the second set, Mike Zito from the night before, dressed in drag, jumped on-stage with an electric guitar and began smoking the strings to Muddy Waters. This was an awesomely hilarious prank pulled on Jason. The crowd went wild!

I was mesmerized, held in musical bondage, both nights by these two artists presented by Don Bean of Bad Bean Productions. When either of these two great songwriters jammed a cover, they were all over it, playing better than the original, and that rocks.

These guys have played all over the world, collaborating with some of the best musicians and songwriters in the business. I’ve been to many concerts, but this weekend is etched in my memory.

Rock Island Live and Bad Bean Productions have made their mark, showcasing some of the best talent on the planet, at the most versatile music venue in the city of Wichita, KS.

Thanks for the injection guys.

photos > MARITA MEYER

Jake Euker’s mania for stickers—yes, those adhesive-backed, printed, paper doodads children love to affix to your delicate and expensive objets de l’élegance—came late in life. But like love and measles, that’s precisely when mania hits hardest. Though initially reluctant to publicly acknowledge this facet of his personal life, he was kind enough to answer a few questions.

When did all this sticker business get started?

Before I was 40, I didn’t really even like stickers, [because] if you got a cool one, you felt that you had to save it—or to stick it on something semi-permanent so as not to waste it. Nothing special happened when I turned forty, except that I did happen to have some cool stickers then, and I found that I liked them better because I stuck them on some people who helped me move. All this potential affection I had for stickers was released, because I had figured out that cool stickers are really wonderful things, provided you don’t try to save them.

What are your favorite subgenres of sticker? Puffy? Scratch-n-sniff? Animal-themed?

It depends on what I’m using them for. One thing I like to do is to alter postcards. You can take an innocuous motel postcard from the ‘60s or ‘70s and stick a friendly-looking dog sticker on it, and if the scale is off enough, the now-giant dog will give the whole scene a really sinister timbre. I stayed in a place called the Great Dismal Swamp in North Carolina, and the resulting postcard was awesomely creepy—there was a bride and groom out in the sticks and a barn covered with big, big ants. I just sent my niece a postcard of the world’s largest grain elevator in Hutchinson, and it says “World’s Largest” in bright red cursive across the front, except that I had a white cat sticker that fit very convincingly atop the elevator, so that the cat appeared to be—what, 300 feet long?

How do modern stickers compare with vintage stickers?

Vintage stickers don’t work, that’s how. The sticky comes off, and then they aren’t stickers anymore, are they? I have some cool old stickers, including a show-stopping cartoon rendering of a Czech hotel I stayed at. This was a Cold War-era sticker, and since I was there directly after the fall of the USSR, the owners were dying to get rid of that stuff—so I got a lot of them, too. But this only proves my point about using rather than saving stickers. They don’t last forever.

Is there a specific sticker you covet? What would you consider a Holy Grail among stickers?

I don’t really know about stickers until I see them, and then I usually just buy them rather than wish I had. The coolest sticker I have now is a red star on a dark, circular background that Jeff Eaton made for me. There are several, and they’re both beautiful and nicely made, in a way that I wouldn’t have noticed a few years ago. I have a sheet of Japanese stickers that I love. They’re teeth with little faces on them, mostly happy except for the ones with cavities. Then there are little devils with pitchforks that are actually attacking the cavity teeth, and toothpaste that attacks the devils, and so on. Some of the teeth are in pain—you can tell because they’re grimacing, and these little rays are radiating out from them, that in any language would say “pain, pain, pain…”

Do you ever come across stickers in unexpected places?

Businesses that use them [will] give them to you. Like my LICK HER WHERE SHE LIKES IT stickers from Ken-Mar Liquor. Or nutritional stickers from sandwich places. I have some of those serious-as-hell stickers that car dealers stick to the cars they sell; those don’t want to come off. And I love utility stickers, ones that say PUSH or whatever. And I still have a sheet of stickers that were intended to go on the vinyl release of The Embarrassment’s Death Travels West EP. They don’t stick very well anymore.

What technological advances do you predict for stickers in the future?

Stickers are perfect as they are, no advances needed. Technology can’t improve on some things. Saying it can is like admitting to the need for decaffeinated coffee. It’s bull$h!t.

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to New Races!
You’re off and away!

You have notes on your hand.
You have feet in your pumps.
The liberals can’t stop you,
Those socialist chumps.
You’re on your own, and you know what you know!
Which isn’t that much—you’ll need backers, and so…

You’ll look up and down K Street. Check lobbies with care.
Of some offers you’ll say, “I don’t choose to shill there.”
With those notes on your hand and those heels on your feet,
You’re too smart to get linked to that not-so-good street.

The voters hates lobbyists!
They’re leeches, you see.
So distance yourself
From those whores in D.C.

Real America’s there,
In the wide open air.

Out there things can happen,
And frequently do,
To people as pretty
And shameless as you.

And when pundits malign you,
Don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just spout folksy $h!t—
They won’t know what to do.

OH, THE PEOPLE YOU’LL SNOW!

And then Fox will call you!
You’ll go on each show.
They’ll all but fellate you.
Your fan base will grow.

Your Facebook will help bring reforms to a stop.
You’ll make sure that Black Hitler’s policies flop.
Whatever you say, they’ll believe it, I know.
The people will love you wherever you go.

Except when they don’t,
Because sometimes they won’t.

I’m sorry to say so,
But, sadly, it’s true
That Slip-ups
And Trip-ups
Can happen to you.

You can get all tripped up
By a laughable Gaffe,
And your friends will condemn you.
The pundits will laugh.

You’ll come down from the Gaffe
With an unpleasant bump.
And likely your numbers
Will be in a Slump.

You will come to an issue not easily spanned,
And the answer for it won’t be writ on your hand.
An issue that wears credibility thin.
Should you try to stay out? Do you dare to wade in?
Whose votes could you lose? Whose votes could you win?

And if you go in, on whose side should you stand?
Free-marketers with their invisible hand?
Or those who think Jesus will leave most behind?
Simple, it’s not, without handlers, you’ll find
For a mind-maker-upper to make up her mind.

You can get so confused that you’ll race in to find
You are stuck with an issue you can’t get behind.
And you can’t move it forward, despite all your fame.
You’ve no choice but to play that old Waiting Game.

No! That’s not for you!

You’ll escape that Red Tape.
You’ll duck out! You’ll resign!
You’ll find an inflated new scandal to mine.

With tour bus a-roarin’
Once more you’ll ride high
Ready the death-paneled Dems to decry.
Ready the warming of Earth to deny

Oh, the people you’ll snow! They will buy what you sell!
They pin their hopes on you, you Liberty Belle.
Politics is a game, and their lives are the stakes.
You’ll spend them to win it, whatever it takes.
Fame! You’ll be as famous as famous can be,
With the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

And after you do…
Well you must follow through.

And once you’re in office, there is a good chance
A crisis will scare you right out of your pants.
When China plays tough and Iran gets the bomb,
They will not be charmed by your shtick, Hockey Mom.

But on you will go,
Though attack ads befoul.
On you will go,
Though the Democrats scowl.
Onward through many a wearying week
Though your arms may get sore
And your staffers may leak.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
As you already know.
With many unsavory sorts as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact,
And remember—politics
Is a Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And NEVER mix up the right side with the left.

And will you succeed?
Good God, I hope not!

STOP HURTING AMERICA, LADY!

So…
Name your kids weird things like Bristol or Trig.
Remember you can’t put lipstick on a pig.
You’re off to New Races!
Start running today!
The brass ring is waiting.
So get on your way!

Mary Streepy, 23, says “I’ve been doing art for as long as I can remember.” “When I was in first grade I drew a picture of a monkey holding a banana. At parent teacher conferences I remember my teacher saying something about that drawing, and that’s when it clicked.” To Streepy, art isn’t just something that she creates in her down time because she’s good at it. It’s something that she feels she literally has to do. She is compelled to create.

Streepy went into the arts programs at WSU after high school, where she earned a BA of Fine Arts in drawing. Since her first art show in 2006, she has been refining her talents, but never settling down on just one style. She currently favors using oils and inks in her pieces.

“The ink thing was an accident. I spilled ink on a painting and tried to blow it off or something, and I just liked what it started to do. It’s spontaneous, but eventually you start to gain control over the process.”

She uses this blown ink technique on just about any medium she comes across, whether it’s canvas or a slab of wood. She listens to music as she creates, which helps her fall into a self-described meditative state.

“I’m just trying to be honest with what I value visually. It’s always interesting when somebody looks at it and likes a painting – I’m just doing it because I have to. I love to paint and I always will. So to find that connection with somebody is really awesome.”

You can view some of Mary’s work on her Flickr account at flickr.com/streepy/ or email her at marystreepy@hotmail.com.

I’m proud to live in Wichita. You could argue that we aren’t as socially progressive as other cities, but you could never convince me that we’re lacking in heart. Among friends and strangers, I regularly encounter kindness and generosity, but if you assume that bigotry and prejudice are problems of the past, take another look. Love and hate are frequent bedfellows.

This December I was shopping with a friend and her son—she was shopping for Christmas gifts for children whose parents were unable to afford them. We drove past a church, and their brightly lit nativity scene caught our attention. My friend’s son was the first to realize the manger was lacking a baby. Curious, he asked his mother who had taken the baby Jesus, and she promptly replied, “Muslims.” My jaw came unhinged. How could such an irrationally hostile statement come from the mouth of one of the sweetest women I know?

I wish I could say that conversation was the most offensive thing I’ve heard from local friends, family, and strangers, but it’s not. Racism, religious bigotry, political elitism, and prejudice towards the LGBT community or those of lower economic status can all be found within our city. Now that I have a child, I’ve begun to worry how to explain the moral blind spots of others. What if it’s someone your child loves or admires? Sure, everyone makes mistakes, but what happens when we don’t realize we’re making them?

Ever since Dr. Seuss appeared on the scene, parents have found his work an entertaining medium for moral instruction. Though Seuss never set out to write a story focused on a specific moral, the issues near and dear to his heart had a way of cropping up regardless.

The Lorax, my childhood favorite, plants the idea of environmental preservation. How the Grinch Stole Christmas is an ever-popular classic, which reminds us that things are not the source of happiness. Another personal favorite is the marvelous collection The Sneetches and Other Stories. The title story The Sneetches illustrates the stupidity and silliness of discrimination. Two of the other stories The Zax and What Was I Scared Of? emphasize the importance of compromise, lest the rigidity of our beliefs leave us standing still, while the world moves on around us, and the insight that knowledge conquers fear.

Dr. Seuss had a wonderful gift—he was able to convey moral truths with tricky tongue-twisters and playful rhymes. But even he had a moral blind spot.

Before his contributions to children’s literature became well known, Theodore Seuss Geisel penned political cartoons. During WWII, he used the same appealing sketches we adore in his books to demonstrate that racism towards American blacks and Jews was detrimental to the war effort overseas. And yet, Dr. Seuss approved of the internment of Japanese Americans and helped to create an incredibly harmful stereotype with his cartoons, that all people of Japanese descent were traitors.

Maybe Horton Hears a Who was his apology. It was dedicated to a friend in Japan and encourages the reader to speak out in defense of those unable to defend themselves.

Take some time to search your soul. If we don’t shine some light on our own moral blind spots, how can we identify them in others? If we can’t identify them in others, how can we help the next generation make the world a better place? We’ve got to teach our children that love and hate do not mix. Any amount of hate, no matter how small, has the potential to poison a lifetime of good.

The Lorax says it best: “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”

Bejeweled in balls—red, blue, yellow, and green. Empowerment, they hope you’ll glean.

Their upbeat sound has shades of punk, peppered with psychedelic funk.

While Kansas City they call their home, the larger world they aim to roam.

They once were in the ICT, their aura got the best of me.

When Kick Kick takes a sonic stroll, the masses unite—that is their goal.

And if your life is at a loss, their music might make you the boss!

That’s my Seussical summary of Kick Kick. This is a good month to profile them, because more than any other area ensemble, they unwittingly encompass the matchless spirit of the good Doctor.  They’re a colorful group, with a definite message. They never take themselves too seriously and are always up for a bit of ironic fun.

Last summer I was blown away by their First Friday performance at Rock Island Live. Jackets sporting colorful playpen balls caught my attention. Blaring ballads with a buoyant message kept me on the edge of my seat. To be at a Kick Kick show is to take a futuristic leap in time to a day when adversity has been transcended and you are the unassailable boss.

I could describe their style as a mixture of punk and psychedelic rock, but “boss” is the word the band might choose. “It’s like a state of mind. It’s an attitude of empowerment. Its music that makes you feel you can put a hole through the wall. It’s saying that you can do it,” says member J.B. Kick.

Kick Kick hopes their optimism will serve as a force for unifying the masses. Though their music was created in a suburban Kansas City cellar, they hope to engulf the world with their sound. “Boppers, hipsters, burnouts, valedictorians, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers—they’re all invited to the same party, all dancing, all free,” says J.B. “Our fans definitely have a sense of humor and understand irony.”

So far that party has been regional, but the band plans to expand their appeal in the near future. In the meantime, they have released, Powerplay, a 12-track album with their bossy style on full display. Having the audacity to be yourself and chase your dreams is one of life’s greatest challenges.  Through his writing, Dr. Seuss found jesting ways to reinforce the importance of those ambitions. That’s what Kick Kick does with their music. When they take to the stage, they take command of it. In doing so, they are telling all of us to take charge of our own stage—whatever that may be.

Kick Kick hopes to return to the ICT soon, so be on the lookout for bright colored balls attached to suit jackets!

You can visit kickkickmusic.com to learn more about the band. Their album is available for purchase on their website and for download on iTunes, Amazon, and Rhapsody.

Download: Standard Resolution Version

• 1 whole chicken, cleaned and patted dry
• 1 box Jiffy^® Cornbread Mix
• 3 slices hickory smoked bacon
• 1 stick salted butter
• 1/2 cup chicken stock
• 1/2 cup fresh-squeezed orange juice  (not from concentrate)
• 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
• 1/4 teaspoon orange zest
• 1 medium yellow onion, chopped fine
• 1 stalk of celery, chopped fine
• 3 medium garlic cloves, chopped fine
• 1/2 of a small green or red sweet pepper
• 2 eggs
• 1/4 cup evaporated milk, or heavy cream
• 1/3 cup milk
• 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
• Poultry seasonings
• Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Mix together Jiffy^® Cornbread Mix, 1 egg and 1/3 cup of milk and bake according to directions on the box. Cool, crumble, and set aside.

Reduce oven temperature to 375 degrees. In a black cast iron skillet, fry bacon until crispy and set aside. Add 1 stick of butter to the drippings, stirring until melted. Add vegetables and cook until clear.  Remove from heat. Add crumbled cornbread and crumbled bacon. In a small dish, beat together 1 egg and 1/4 cup evaporated milk, or heavy cream, then add to skillet as well. Salt and pepper to taste.

Drizzle chicken with oil, then season inside-and-out with salt, pepper, and poultry seasonings. Stuff chicken with the cornbread mixture. Tie the legs and wings with cotton twine. Sprinkle orange zest on top before baking.

Place chicken in deep baking dish. Add chicken stock, orange juice, and Worcestershire sauce. Cover and bake 1 hour, basting twice.

After 1 hour, reduce heat to 325 degrees. Remove cover and bake until golden brown and glazed (approximately 15-20 minutes.) Remove from oven and let rest 5 minutes. Carve and serve.

Serves 4 people, including the stuffing and a side salad and dessert. Note: a deep black iron skillet cooks it—nice. Ca c’est bon (Sa say Bohn)—that’s good!

photos > KEITH MCGRATH

What still gets you excited? The kind of thing that—from the first time you experienced it—gets you amped and makes you smile like a little kid every time? For me, it’s when a band can be raw, sincere—maybe even a little rough around the edges—and still get their feelings and message across. The kind of band that can get up on stage and really kick out the jams. Unbridled, unpretentious, and aggressive as all get out. When I’ve seen them, Omaha hardcore band Hercules embodied those things and got those youthful feelings coming back. I expect them to do it again this month.

The first time I heard about Hercules coming to town, they were playing a garage down south. I judged them by the name, thought about Eddie Murphy, and decided to pass. I was informed the next day that it was my loss for not coming out, and I made a concerted effort to see them the next time. I was not disappointed. When the term hardcore is used so loosely it’s almost meaningless, Hercules stands as the genuine article.

They’re one of those bands you watch and know—“These guys get it.” That being a band is what you make of it, and a DIY work ethic with a middle-finger attitude can serve you better at times than grooming yourself to be the easily digestible next big thing. They seem more interested in touring, recording, and actually doing what most bands only talk about.

Hercules is a loud, buzzing, scream-filled donut of aggression that powers down your throat. It’s hard to find bands in their early 20s who make aggressive music that has creativity to it. This is not everyone’s favorite sound, and isn’t trying to be. Punk and hardcore have never spoken to the masses, so much as it has screamed at them. And to see musicians put themselves out there, with no sense of entitlement, and nail it is refreshing.

Hercules are a reminder that in every town, there is still that one group of kids doing something on their own terms. They’re not getting rich, but they’re making memories and noise along the way.

Hercules will stop through with fellow hardcore band BATTLE! on March 24 at the Eagle’s Lodge North (3103 N. Broadway). Locals Low Oriole, Robust Android, and Plaguebot will also be there.

A slim physique, I like to keep, but ethnic food gets me out of the diet mood. A single guy I do not cook, so to local restaurants I daily book. Now to you I do divulge, the places where my appetite is indulged.

Red curry carried from Thai House; Mike It Up’s boba tea, your thirst it will douse.  If Salvadorian pupusas are what you crave, Usuluteco is the all rave. When falafel’s on your mind, at Byblos a fix you’ll find. One gyro at LeMonde Café, with two sides of tabouli and you’re on your way! For an after-dinner dessert, Larkspur’s tiramisu will get your mouth alert.

Mongolian grills are all around; at Kwan Court, sushi happy hour does daily abound. Saigon serves noodles in a snap. At the Artichoke, try Paddy’s pickled pepper wrap. If a bierock you’ve never had, a trip to The Riverside Perk will make you glad. Sabor’s fish tacos are a prize—Chef Paul-Febres is easy on the eyes.

La Galette has yummy tomato bisque; for an Indian newby, Maharaja’s buffet is worth the risk. For a sandwich twist, a torta from Laura’s you’ll want in your fist. When looking for good Italian, De Fazio’s spaghetti and meatballs is your culinary stallion. Beijing Bistro is the place to go for Chinese, with lemon chicken that will always please. If a burger’s what you want, to TJ’s you need to jaunt.

Where to go for Sunday Brunch? Yia Yia’s, it has lots for you to munch. What about those late night munchies? The Donut Whole’s cakes of Fruity Pebble crunchies! Where’s a bar that has good eats? The Anchor, it surely competes. The morning-after drinks are over? To the Beacon, you’ll soon get sober.

The ICT has lots of food, to suit just about every mood. Hole in the wall, carry out if you call. Some will have a daily special, other’s menus will make your mind wrestle. There’s no need to diet. Eating out is a riot! Sans corporate chain, it’s all about local gain.

photos > SETH NIEMAN & ADAM WILLIAMSON

The weatherman predicted severe weather and several inches of snow today. Am I the only person in Wichita not preparing for the storm?

Four inches too long, the jeans gather globs of snow all the way to the truck, eventually soaking my socks. I should have tucked them into the rubber fishing boots dad handed down, but foolishly decided to leave them home on a mission to find: The Orange Juice.

The grocery parking lot is completely packed when I arrive. A stuffed orange chicken is one of the items on the dinner party menu tonight. Guests will arrive at 7:00 p.m., and that is that. Need juice.

So that ya’ll know, I grew up in Louisiana, and preparing for storms was way different. We had a boat tied up on slip lines, cans of Spam®, water, flashlights, matches, candles, a radio, tons of batteries, a hatchet, and a few other things. The hatchet was on hand in case we needed to chop our way out of the roof from inside the attic. There was lots of water all around where we lived. Growing up on the Bayou was a great life when the weather was nice, but like hell when Mother Nature turned ugly.

Suppose we all have different ideas of “severe” and what kind of preparations are necessary, depending upon where we come from? The friends I’ve made in the last six months here tell me I’m a work in progress. Maybe they’re picking because they like me? It seems kind of funny anyways. After all, a Bayou kid living in Kansas?

After sloshing through the store, I finally find the juice coolers. There are so many different types of juice. There’s No Pulp, Lots of Pulp, Some Pulp, and then there’s juice with Added Vitamins and Minerals, or something like that. There’s some strange juice that really isn’t orange juice, but mixtures of other ingredients—no idea what they are. The container has a big, pretty orange painted on it. Are they trying to trick us into believing this is real juice? I’m not buying it. There are different brands, different colors in different containers. Frozen, canned, and boxed juice on other aisles. All I want is fresh-squeezed orange juice, not from concentrate. Where is it?

Suddenly, an older woman in her 70s approaches me. She asks if I need help finding something. “Not finding this juice is a problem,” I explain, “it’s the only kind used in a scrumptious dish I’m preparing for a party this evening.”

I slip away for a moment, daydreaming—missing the citrus of Louisiana, arguably the best in the U.S. The fertile soil located between the Mississippi River and the Gulf of Mexico is perfect for growing and eating. Each year the growers sell out their produce of Satsuma, Kumquats, Sweet Oranges, and Navels early. Nothing like juice fresh-squeezed by hand! And the smell and taste of them—oh, I miss that!

A touch on the shoulder, along with a sweet smile wakes me.  She’s found the juice. There it is. Bottom left, third cooler— Fresh-Squeezed Not from Concentrate Orange Juice. “Sometimes there are so many choices, its hard to find what you’re looking for,” she says.

“Yes Ma’am. Thank you so much”, I say. “And would you have any idea, what happens to the pulp?” “Well, I really don’t know,” she says. “But if finding pulp is as difficult as finding the orange juice, maybe the answer is not worth finding out!” We both laugh, sharing stories from the past, and how it used to be. As I turn to walk, she smiles again. Raising her index finger she says, “Choices. And remember, too much of anything is not good.”

Thank you my new friend. Another lesson learned.

Stuffed Orange Chicken

• 1 whole chicken, cleaned and patted dry
• 1 box Jiffy^® Cornbread Mix
• 3 slices hickory smoked bacon
• 1 stick salted butter
• 1/2 cup chicken stock
• 1/2 cup fresh-squeezed orange juice  (not from concentrate)
• 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
• 1/4 teaspoon orange zest
• 1 medium yellow onion, chopped fine
• 1 stalk of celery, chopped fine
• 3 medium garlic cloves, chopped fine
• 1/2 of a small green or red sweet pepper
• 2 eggs
• 1/4 cup evaporated milk, or heavy cream
• 1/3 cup milk
• 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
• Poultry seasonings
• Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Mix together Jiffy^® Cornbread Mix, 1 egg and 1/3 cup of milk and bake according to directions on the box. Cool, crumble, and set aside.

Reduce oven temperature to 375 degrees. In a black cast iron skillet, fry bacon until crispy and set aside. Add 1 stick of butter to the drippings, stirring until melted. Add vegetables and cook until clear.  Remove from heat. Add crumbled cornbread and crumbled bacon. In a small dish, beat together 1 egg and 1/4 cup evaporated milk, or heavy cream, then add to skillet as well. Salt and pepper to taste.

Drizzle chicken with oil, then season inside-and-out with salt, pepper, and poultry seasonings. Stuff chicken with the cornbread mixture. Tie the legs and wings with cotton twine. Sprinkle orange zest on top before baking.

Place chicken in deep baking dish. Add chicken stock, orange juice, and Worcestershire sauce. Cover and bake 1 hour, basting twice.

After 1 hour, reduce heat to 325 degrees. Remove cover and bake until golden brown and glazed (approximately 15-20 minutes.) Remove from oven and let rest 5 minutes. Carve and serve.

Serves 4 people, including the stuffing and a side salad and dessert. Note: a deep black iron skillet cooks it—nice. Ca c’est bon (Sa say Bohn)—that’s good!