Storm rolling into Morgantown as seen from Lowe’s in Westover - 5/17/13. (Photo: Walt Sarkees via Instagram)
All Praises To The Monongahela River
A friend of this site’s - the esteemed Evan Fedorko, whose available on both Twitter and Instagram - wrote the following about the Monongahela River:
I generally try to avoid self-aggrandizing and passive aggressive Facebook posts, but I have a favor to ask. In recent history I have posted a number of photos of fish that I’ve caught from the Monongahela River. At nearly every turn, some folks have used the photo to take pot-shots about the perceived water quality of the river, usually by some allusion to the fish being poisonous to eat.
Look, I‘ll be frank: I’m really sick and tired of the way people in this town talk about the Mon River. At best it’s a cheap joke born mostly out of habit, at worst it’s a reflection of the way Morgantownians think of themselves and their town.
The Mon isn’t pristine - it’s a post industrial river in a post-industrial town in a post-industrial country. It needs help. But here’s the thing: if the people who live here perpetually and habitually dismiss the Mon, if the people who live here don’t care about the river, who will?
I know, I know - it’s a little hippy-dippy… but this is my river, in my town, and I would appreciate it if you’d all take some classic grandma advice in this instance and avoid saying anything if you can’t say something nice. Thank you.
I tend to agree. There are some awful hot spots; anybody who has been above each of the nearby dams (Opekiska, Hildebrand, Morgantown, Point Marion) knows of the huge amount of trash that tends to pile up. But outside of those particular places, the river is a joy. I run up and down the Rail Trail on a regular basis and it is always fantastic. I see boaters out there and they seem happy. There’s wildlife by the trail and fish in the river. What more are we hoping for exactly?
Check out Evan’s work and many thanks for his allowance for sharing his work with us.
On the one hand, I absolutely love this.
On the other hand, please keep missing Morgantown, because that means you’re at a distance and that makes it easier for us to get from one side of town to the other.
Cooking Ramp Slurry
From mid-April to mid-May, the most glorious of the onion family grows on the wet hillsides of West Virginia (and several other, lesser states): ramps. Ramps are a delicacy that aren’t for everyone. Those steering clear include weaklings, children, cowards, the gutless, and other assorted weenies who can’t deal with this wild onion’s particular potency. And they are potent. Stored in a fridge, they’ll leave everything reeking of their stench. And the smell hangs around the consumer long after the onions themselves have been consumed. Still, they’re magical things and wonderful in all sorts of recipes including cornbreads, meatloaves, chilis, salsas. That said though, I honor the following recipe above all others, as it was my first genuine exposure to the local Spring treat. For those without access, this recipe could presumably be recreated with any strong onion that you’re willing to eat. My apologies in advance for the photographs. They’re not exactly great. 
Prepare fat in your biggest skillet. The photo above is of bacon fat melting; anything used to saute/fry works though. I went with a generous portion because, yknow, health or whatever. 
Those are yukon golds, not finely chopped. I generally home fry one potato per consumer, plus one or two extras in case somebody’s hungry. All of us ended up being hungry. Although the photo doesn’t really show it, that’s a 14” skillet I’m using to fry things. It’s the largest of my collection. Unfortunately, I’ve never found a similar skillet in cast iron, my true cooking passion. Anyway, fry, fry, fry. Get them nice and crispy. 
At the same time, start bacon going in another pan. This is an entire pack of the thick cut variety. Nothing fancy is required; you don’t need to visit an a specialty butcher’s shop. Whatever cheap pack is on sale this week at the grocery store is going get the job done. This isn’t about subtlety. Cook this bacon on relatively high heat until it too is crispy. If you’re very talented, the bacon and potatoes will reach this point simultaneously, sort of like how couples in movies always orgasm at the same time, just like in real life. 
These are ramps that have been washed. 
These are washed ramped that have been chopped. 
These are washed, chopped ramps that have been pushed into a tighter pile. I unfortunately had to lose many of the leaves. They’d started to rot since being dug several days ago (likely last Friday). There’s no reason not to eat the leaves if they’re still looking good though. They all would have gone into the pan if they’d been in better condition. 
Remember the bacon? Use a slotted spoon to take it out of its frying pan. Sprinkle it over the potatoes and leave the heat where it is. You can mix it into the potatoes if that makes you happier. You’ll be mixing them later regardless. 
Meanwhile, the ramps have gone straight into the bacon’s left behind fat. It should only take a few minutes to cook them down until vague translucence. As soon as they’re getting to that condition, it’s time to combine everything you’ve made so far. 
Which looks like this. But we’re not done, because god forbid the caloric content stop where we are. Although I should probably acknowledge that the next part is entirely optional. 
Remember when you counted out the number of potatoes to fry per person? Double it for the eggs; in other words, use two eggs for every person that’s eating. Put them in a bowl and scramble them, but don’t thicken with milk. Pour the eggs over the potatoes/bacon/ramps or make a biohazard symbol as a friend that was eating with me did. Worth noting: I’ve seen the eggs cracked directly into the pan and not whipped beforehand. That’s cool too. 
Give the eggs thirty seconds maybe, then start slowly stirring, folding them into the rest of the mixture. They’ll start to scramble, although obviously more thinly than they would if there was milk in the mix. Let the entire mixture sit long enough for the eggs to thoroughly cook, and then allow it to sit longer than that to get a crust on the bottom. That crust is entirely up to you. I probably gave it five additional minutes tonight; things got brown, but not dark brown. On more impatient days, I’ve simply served the entire thing as soon as the eggs appeared to have reach a suitable level of cooked. 
In the end, you’ve got that, a pile of food served unceremoniously on a cheap Ikea plate. If you’re one of those people who has to think that you’re looking at the most beautiful food in the world before testing it, this ain’t for you. I freely admit that the final product looks like it was ridden hard and put up wet (to slightly abuse a beautiful phrase). If you’ve made it this far though, you’re not in this for the look; you’re in this for the flavor. And fried potatoes are good. Crispy bacon is good. Scrambled eggs, even thin ones, are good. And ramps? They’re almost heaven.
It took me a few minutes to figure out where those top two photos were taken. That’s the intersection of University Avenue (then called Beverly Avenue, a street that still exists in Sunnyside), Stewart Street, and Campus Drive. Those buildings on the left are where the Rusted Musket now stands. Many of those buildings on the right are gone.
I’ll often try to recreate the pictures that I enjoy, but there’s simply no way to recreate the first two (they were both taken before 1924). They were taken on a bridge that’s no longer there, a bridge that connected the aforementioned intersection to where University Avenue passes by the Business and Economics Building. In other words, what we now know as the loop/horseshoe/place-where-traffic-horribly-backs-up used to be bridged.
My father, who just retired from WVU, remembers the bridge from when he first moved to Morgantown in 1976. He reported that it was shaky, and that when traffic backed up, it was incredibly shaky, and that one day, it was gone and everybody felt safer. Meanwhile, the stately home on the right side of the top photograph stood until I was a teenager; by that time, it was overrun by students and may have partially burned down before eventually being torn down and replaced with the hideous apartment building that sits on the corner of University and Stewart.
You can see the bridge in each of those aerial photographs, all taken before 1975. You can also see the bridge captured in other directions in the in the bottom photographs. The snowy one was likely taken before 1910 and clearly shows a largely undeveloped Wiles Hill, a neighborhood that has since grown incredibly.
(Thanks, as always, To West Virginia History On View.)
I’ve noticed new piping in the parking lot at the Dominion Post, presumably as part of a project to keep Hartman Run flowing better during torrential downpours. Which would be good given what happens when Hartman Run is overflowing.
This is the Metropolitan Billiard Parlor. It is beneath the Metropolitan Theater. Although I no longer go, I believe it is still there and still being frequented by all sorts of strange people.
These taste like sex feels. Not that you’ll be having any sex, what with how badly you’ll smell. But still, the comparison is apt.
I love Greenmont’s alleys.
Sidenote: that looks like a good place to drink a morning cup of coffee. Or an afternoon cup of coffee. Just a cup of coffee really, not matter the time.
Why I Like Morgantown (Percy)
Last night, I got a frantic call from friends: their dog Percy had a run-in with another dog, slipped his collar, and bolted into the night. They were obviously worried. So I hopped in my car and headed down the hill into Greenmont to help them look. Other friends joined us as we searched.
We went up and down the alleys and the streets of the neighborhood. Greenmont is one of the more interesting neighborhoods left in Morgantown because of its age and because of the way that age shows a different side of town, one where homes were built to accommodate backyard gardens, one where alleys cut between houses, one where those houses were built in odd and interesting ways (wraparound porches, second floor balconies, old stone walls, etc). It’s a neighborhood that feels largely untouched by time.
As I drove around, I asked the people I saw if they’d seen Percy, and almost every single person said that they hadn’t seen him, but that they’d keep an eye out. This included people relaxing on porches, people coming home from the bars, people at Genes, people out for a stroll, people getting home from work. One woman took my phone number in case she found him. Another wanted to know what to do if he found the dog. Others wished us luck and promised that Percy would be found.
Eventually, he was. He was on Demain and ran happily into his owner’s arms. He was bleeding a bit but otherwise unharmed. As you can imagine, Percy’s owners were overjoyed at him getting home safely and all of the panic that had hung over the night turned into the nice realization that no matter how frustrating this town can be at times, it’s an awfully nice place to live.
