Stirring It Up with Molly Ivins (32 page)

MOLLY LOVED TO TRAVEL
, and she believed in reciprocating whenever possible. So shortly after she visited Russia on one of those trips where reporters were invited to “see” the Soviet Union, she helped organize a trip that attracted a gaggle of Russian reporters to Texas. To give them an authentic experience, the
Texas Observer
rented a bus and a margarita machine (or a Bloody Mary machine, depending on who's doing the telling) and set out to show the Russkies the
real
Lone Star State. To keep it even more authentic, the company included
Observer
reporter Kaye Northcott; contractor Joe Pinelli, a staunch Democrat and union man; Molly; and John Henry Faulk.

Faulk was a disciple of J. Frank Dobie, an outspoken opponent of intolerance and one of those Texas anomalies—a populist voice at a time when it was way less popular to be one than it is now. He kept that voice from the 1920s until his death in 1990.

Now, imagine having John Henry Faulk along in the 1970s with an unsuspecting busload of Russians, liberal Texans, and a margarita machine. Kaye Northcott remembers it probably better than most. She's a teetotaler.

“The whole time we were driving through these racist little towns, we, the hosts, were pissing and moaning about how corrupt politicians were in this town, and how rotten the cops were in that town. John Henry would lapse into preacher mode and tout America's greatness one minute and rail against its social shortsightedness the next, denouncing the poll tax and castigating Jim Crow laws.”

Pinelli is a barrel-chested force of nature whose conversational style moves at something close to warp speed. He has one of those Texas accents that would probably require subtitles if he were in a movie. He's plainspoken, liberal, stri-dent, and very, very funny. He does not have a “pause” button. The whole scene must have driven the overseas visitors nuts.

“Those poor Russians were convinced we'd all be swept into prison any minute for sedition,” Kaye recalled. “We were equally sure we were being spied on all along the way—if not by the KGB, then the FBI, but probably both. What did we eat? Lord only knows. And between the distance in time and the alcohol consumed, I doubt anyone else remembers. We were just grateful we didn't end up in the hoosegow somewhere.”

On yet another international occasion, Northcott wound up with Sylvan Bouillard, a French photographer. Kaye spoke no French, and he spoke the tiniest bit of English, but he was a wonderful cook. Molly acted as interpreter.

“She really saved my bacon once when we had a complete miscommunication resulting in the three of us having to eat
moules à la marinière
prepared for six. I thought Sylvan was preparing for Saturday dinner, but
he
thought he was preparing for Saturday lunch. It seems the French make a midday meal of mussels, salad, and a good loaf of French bread. So all of a sudden I had to call everyone and say ‘lunch, not dinner.' But since it was Saturday and people had already made plans for lunch, I called Molly and she came right over to help us eat up those damn bivalves. I mean, they were good, but all I can remember was much wine and garlic and wads of parsley and Molly telling Sylvan how
delicieux
the fucking mussels were.”

Before Sylvan left, Kaye took him to a Final Friday that left him totally confused. It was loud and crowded and several slam poets presented works that were in all probability incomprehensible except by intonation and dramatization. At the end of the evening he turned to me and expressed great appreciation, asking, “Is this a soiree? A salon? A buffet? How do you call thees? This is complete anarchy, but I like it.”

30

AS PART OF MOLLY
'
S INNER CIRCLE
Courtney Anderson participated in many of Molly's beloved dinners with a theme. The group usually included Shelia Cheaney, UT journalism professor Maryln Schwartz, and Kaye North-cott, who was editor of
Texas Co-op Power
until her retirement in 2010. The monthly magazine, published by Texas Electric Cooperatives, boasts a circulation of 1 million, the largest in Texas, and goes out to all homes that get power from the various rural companies. (In the 1930s a young Lyndon Baines Johnson shepherded electric cooperatives into being as a means to provide affordable electricity to rural Texas.)

All except Shelia, Athena (Molly's badly behaved, aristocratic French poodle), and Coco (Shelia's sleek, playful Weimaraner) cooked. Shelia, therefore, usually brought bread and wine. Courtney's forte was baking—specifically, apple pies—based on a skill learned from her daughter, Barrett.

Molly was also known for her potluck brunches. Guests were expected to come up with something
wonderful
. On one occasion Courtney knew immediately what her offering would be.

“I kept trying to think of a dish that would wow Molly, then I remembered her love for frenchified food. I dug up an old recipe my mother used to make. We called it ‘floating island.' In French it was called
ouefs à la neige
. As I recall, it means ‘eggs in the snow' or something like that—but in Sherman, Texas, it was ‘floating island.' I'm pretty sure
oeufs à la neige
was not part of my vocabulary. I do remember that it was labor-intensive, but it came from a day when women who were so inclined would take time to make a nice meal.”

Whether you call it “snow eggs” or
oeufs à la neige
, “floating island” or
ile flottante
, it is a light dessert consisting of a liqueur-drizzled sponge cake spread with jam, sprinkled with nuts, topped by whipped cream, and surrounded by a pool of thin custard.

“Molly was genuinely impressed, and I remember thinking, ‘Well! How d'ya like that!'”

Courtney, a divorcée, grew up in Sherman, a town about seventy miles north of Dallas, near the Oklahoma state line. She moved to Dallas twice, once in 1968, then again in 1970. There she met Molly through her brother, Steve Anderson, and his wife, Linda. The two of them knew every liberal in Dallas. Both Molly and Steve, now Linda's former husband, knew their way around a kitchen. The food fad in the '70s was paella. Dinner parties fueled by beer, sangria, and a general joie de vivre frequently featured dueling paellas. Even then, joyous dining events had Molly at their epicenter. As her popularity soared and book sales skyrocketed, so did the Ivins largesse.

Courtney chuckles to herself as she recalls a dinner with Molly and friends at Mezzaluna, a long-gone Italian restaurant in the heart of Austin's then-burgeoning warehouse district. It was one of Molly's favorites.

“We loved ordering all those fancy-schmancy dishes we could barely pronounce. You gotta remember this was the tail end of the '80s, and Austin was not exactly known for its gourmet restaurants. So we got a big giggle out of dishes with names like Quaglie Ripene con Salsicca, Pesce Spada Siciliano, and Cotoletta di Vitello Balsamico.

“After completely fracturing pronunciations, we'd usually surrender and order in English—sausage-stuffed quail, grilled swordfish, and breaded veal cutlet. Back then they were even doing that chicken under a brick that became so ‘in.' At the time we thought that was pretty hysterical but ordered it anyway, just to feel
Eye-tal-ian
. We'd go out for these dinners and the check would come and we'd reach for our wallets, but Molly would sweep up the tab with this grand gesture and, quoting Karl Marx, announce to the table, ‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.' It was always so funny how one minute she could do this deep East Texas accent, then lapse into her upper-crust
voulez-vous
accent at the drop of a hat.”

On another occasion Molly organized a birthday dinner for Shelia Cheaney at Courtney's house. The plan was to have dinner, then walk down to Jeffrey's to see an exhibit of Courtney's work. Once there, they would toast the exhibit with a glass of champagne and return to the house for dessert.

A friend made tamales, and Courtney, herself an accomplished cook, prepared sautéed spinach balanced on artichoke heart bottoms topped with pine nuts and toasted sesame bread crumbs that she finished with a drizzle of white cream sauce.

Molly made an incredibly elaborate chocolate cake. Everyone was keen to have at it. Courtney still salivates at the thought.

“It was called the Four Seasons Chocolate Fancy Cake. It's hellishly hard to make. There are a zillion steps and you use all this expensive chocolate and lots of butter and I don't know what all. I remember Molly saying it took her three days to make it.