Some Ranch Cooks Earn Praise;
Others Are Best Left Unnamed

By Curt Brummett

How many times have you gone someplace to eat and were somewhat disappointed in the amount of groceries you got for the price you paid? By price, I mean hard labor.

Well, I got to visiting with a friend of mine the other day and we got to comparing notes on some of the places we had worked when we were younger and the way some of those places fed their hired help. The memories brought some laughter and a few really deep thoughts about why, when someone comes to either of our humble abodes, we feed really good. It may not be fancy, but there is plenty of it and it is good groceries.

The names used here are the names of some of the best cooks in the world. They cooked for working men, and they enjoyed it. They took pride in their cooking, and if and when they messed up, they made do by simply stating: "EAT IT OR WEAR IT."

Nellie Gregory cooked for the Hunter outfit in Meriden, Wyoming. She cooked for four to 18 men and did one shore-nuf good job of it. Her specialty was anything she cooked. But I remember her for her rhubarb pie.

Elizabeth Pulliam (my Grandmother) cooked for all the farm hands year-round. Her meals consisted of what she grew in the gardens and what was raised on the farm. Her specialty was like Nellie's. But I remember her fresh baked bread and German chocolate cake (which she fixed me for my birthday every year).

Carlton Barton, when he wasn't on a line camp, cooked for the Simpson ranches during spring works and fall delivery. He could make the best chicken fried steak and gravy in the entire world. Sometimes he had a little trouble with his cornbread, but you could overlook a foul-up every now and then.

My Dad, Claude Brummett, cooked mainly for wagons when he was just a kid, and he taught me how to cook on open fires with dutch ovens. I have yet to see anyone that could make better biscuits than him.

Sheila Brummett’s chicken fried steak was even with Carlton's, her fried chicken has yet to be bested, her roast and steaks have never had any equal, and her Mexican food is legendary for its flavor. She holds her own with her baking when compared to Granny Pulliam. She has been known on occasion to really screw up a chocolate pie. You would be amazed at how well dressed a man can look while wearing a chocolate pie.

Darla Autrey is an exceptional ranch cook. The lady can cook anything. Her steaks and potatoes are perfection unlimited, and her Mexican food is perfect.

Donna Medlin cooks like a ranch woman should cook. She uses plenty of jalapenos and Mexican spices. Jay Tulk once asked her if she could cook anything without the hot stuff. Donna makes a shore-nuff great enchilada dish, not to mention the fact that she can fix beef better than most. You can get put on a diet (in a hurry) should you ask her if the brown lumpy stuff in the gray bowl is gravy.

Well, the people I've just named have more than just a reputation for being able to fix up really great meals; they are also known for serving plenty. If you left their tables hungry, it was your own fault. The one thing all of them had in common is the fact that they could all make coffee that would make Juan Valdez slap his momma.

Now that I've mentioned some of the good cooks, let’s get into what Rusty and me was talking about. The cook I'm about to mention wasn't really a bad cook, but she was, as one might say, conservative with what she did cook.

One farm and ranch I worked on in Eastern New Mexico worked four men year-round, and during spring works had as many as 12. I might add that not many men stayed there after the first payday. Man and wife had their duties split up. He worked the farm and ranch, and she ran everything. She was conservative, to say the least.

Typical breakfast — two eggs, one slice of bacon (per person), biscuits, plenty of water gravy, and coffee you could read a newspaper through. She always had it figured to where there was one egg left on the platter. Back then, manners required the hands to never take the last of anything on the table. When breakfast was over, she would comment on the fact that she had fixed just enough for there to be very little wasted.

There was several mornings I thought pretty hard about taking that last egg and biscuit and making me a sandwich. There was never any worry about the last of that tasteless gravy being eaten.

Dinner was meatloaf, cabbage, biscuits and catsup. By then the coffee had heated long enough to be semi-strong and damn sour.

Supper was the main meal. Usually a roast, with plenty of cabbage, catsup, biscuits, water gravy, and molasses and butter for desert.

At each meal, the man of the place would encourage each of us to eat plenty of that gravy: "It's filling and it will keep you going strong. Hell, I was raised on gravy and I love it. You boys help yourselves now, ‘cause there's plenty of it. And say, now, don't back up from that cabbage, either." (There was always plenty of that stuff, too.)

I knew the man was serious about that gravy and cabbage. I never did try catsup in it or on it, but I feel pretty sure it wouldn't have hurt it at all. I was sure getting tired of hearing about how good that gravy was.

One morning after breakfast, the lady of the place announced she had to go to town and buy groceries. I don't know why she had to buy groceries; she sure as hell hadn't wasted any on the hands. But she went anyway. She said a neighbor lady would come fix dinner for us.

The only thing we could hope for was that she hadn't trained this one to cook. She hadn't.

Rosa Mendez from a ranch over on the Caprock was her replacement. I had known Rosa since I was a little kid, and she could cook. She wasn't mentioned earlier because I was saving her for last.

Some of the hands had quit and went searching for a decent soup kitchen (sponsored by the Tucumcari chapter of the Salvation Army) in order to get their strength back. So there was only seven of us including the owner for dinner.

Rosa dug into the freezer. When we came in for dinner, we had a dinner. She had broiled each of us a steak, cooked a pot of beans, made bread, and fixed a cherry pie. She told the owner of the place she had heated up the soup (gravy) that was on the stove in case anyone wanted it.

The old man informed her that she had cooked way too much, and he hated to see anything go to waste. But he thanked her for heating up the gravy because he loved gravy, hell, he was raised on gravy and he thought gravy should be the base of every meal.

All six of us was eyeballing that cherry pie like a bunch of coyotes sneaking up on a dogie calf.

This was by far the best meal I had eaten in the two weeks I had been working there. Nothing was wasted. There was plenty of gravy/soup left.

One of the hands got up and sliced that pie in six perfect slices. He then proceeded to put a slice on each plate all around the table except for the old man. When he got to him, he just happened to run out of pie.

The old man mentioned how much he was looking forward to a piece of that pie because he really liked cherry pie. Then he kinda went into the whining mode.

The hand put the pie plate in the sink and picked up that pot of soup/gravy and poured it out on the old man's plate. Then he told 'im, "I figured since you liked that gravy so damned much you would rather have it for desert. So we saved it for you." Then he pitched 'im the last little slice of bread and told 'im, "now don't back up from that cabbage that's in the ice box, either."

The hand and me was relieved of any further duties on that outfit. Him for being rude, crude, and socially unacceptable, and me for laughing.

Rosa was an excellent cook, and her reputation was widespread. She was a gracious lady and fun to be around. And when word of her meal at that ranch got around, she was awarded a special prize for actually preparing a meal in a house that had never seen one.

I was 15 when I worked for them, and I didn't eat cabbage again ‘til I was 26. I still haven't eaten meatloaf, and I personally think catsup should be outlawed.