Vidalia's On My Mind
Save your old pantyhose, please.
One of the surest signs of spring arrives each year with a sweet crunch - and a promise not to make your eyes water.
Back before Dataw Island was on the drawing board, Publix supermarkets were only a dream, and the waterfront park did not exist; we had a neighbor with a rusted-out pickup truck. Ed lived over on Lucy Creek and wanted everyone to know he had discovered the freshest and sweetest onions the world had ever known.
I hadn’t lived on Lady’s Island very long before Mr. Ed came by and asked if I wanted to be put on the Vidalia onion list. As I was standing on the porch, he called out to me from the cab of his pick-up truck, his tanned forearm resting on the open window. A ruggedly handsome man, he spent his days working out in the tomato fields by his house and hunting quail and wild turkey.
“What kind of onion?”I asked. “An onion you can eat like an apple,” he replied. “Really?” I wasn’t sure it was up my alley, regardless of how eager I was as a newcomer to be accepted. I never could put my finger on the pulse of what makes those south of the Mason-Dixon line different from those in the rest of the nation.
I admit it. I was skeptical. “Never heard of ‘em,” I said.
With that, he got out of the truck, reached into the flatbed, and pulled a large onion out of a twenty-pound burlap sack. The bags in the back were all marked with names ready for delivery. Taking a pocket knife out of the front pocket of his bib overalls, he peeled back the skin and took a bite.
I’d never seen anything like it. No tears were coming down his cheeks, and he wasn’t even making a face.
“Sign me up,” I said. It’s hard for most of us to remember a time when those sweet Georgia-grown Vidalias were available only across the border, deep in the heart of Georgia. But that was how it was in the years before they caught on and reached their current rock star status.
So each year, Mr. Ed took onion orders from friends across town, got in his rusted Chevy pickup, and, despite the three-hour drive, made the pilgrimage several times each spring to pack up enough onions for each and every one of us to have enough to last through the summer months into the fall, and, if stored properly, through Christmas. Keep in mind that gas prices were running around 35 cents a gallon in the ’70s.
How would I store twenty pounds of onions? One thing for sure: if I needed to find out about anything in Beaufort, lunch at Harry’s restaurant on Bay Street was the fastest way. It was a daily gathering spot for shrimpers, lawyers, businessmen, politicians, and ladies and their “Blue Plate Special” was the talk of the town. As I was soon to discover, in the last part of April and early May even casual conversations would more than likely involve chatter about those Vidalia onions coming to town.
“Save all your old pantyhose,” I was told. “Onions must be stored in the legs of old, clean pantyhose. Tie a knot between each onion, and cut the knot when ready to use one. They’ll keep better if they never touch. Then, be sure to hang them in a cool, dry, well-ventilated area.” That was a universal practice amongst onion enthusiasts throughout the Lowcountry and on up to Augusta, Columbia, and Atlanta. Walk into just about anyone’s basement, and you would find dozens of pairs of pantyhose hanging from the ceiling filled with those delicious, sweet Vidalias. Now, that’s a true story. Do they even make pantyhose anymore? They were awful things, but at that time, everyone wore ‘em.
Sometime during the years that followed, Charles Fraser, a Yale-bred lawyer, owner, and land visionary of Sea Pines, met my husband at the Sea Island Motel while having breakfast. The next thing I knew, we were living in Sea Pines and working with Charles during the early days.
Every spring, an old yellow school bus parked at Sea Pines Circle, where folks could buy a big burlap bag of those sweet Vidalias. It was a certain rite of passage.
It’s interesting to note that Mr. Fraser purchased the Sea Pines tract of land held by his father for $1000.00 per acre. (reference NY Times, April 4, 1976)
It’s 1000 acres.
There’s more to the humble onion than you might think – today, it’s as synonymous with the South as sweet tea, pimento cheese, and watermelon slices.
THE ABSOLUTE BEST FRIED VIDALIA ONION RINGS
Ingredients
Several large sized Vidalia® Onions
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp salt
1.5 tsp baking powder
1 egg
3/4 cup milk
1 Tbsp salad oil
Instructions
Slice large Vidalia® Onions into rings. In one bowl (bowl 1), mix together flour, salt, and baking powder. In another bowl (bowl 2), beat 1 egg yolk, then stir in milk and salad oil. Add the contents of bowl 2 to bowl 1, stirring until smooth. In a third bowl, beat egg whites until soft peaks form, then fold in the contents of bowl 1, stirring until smooth. Dip onion rings into the batter and deep fry until golden brown.
This recipe may be doubled or tripled to satisfy your hunger for these delicious fried Vidalia Onion Rings.