Mulder: There's something rotten in Mayberry. There is evidence of occlusion due to dirt in the nose and mouth, indicating the dirt has been inhaled. Mulder: I guess we can rule out murder as the cause of death, huh? Mulder, it looks like this child has been afflicted by every rare birth defect known to science. Sheriff Taylor: By the way, this is my deputy, Barney. They grow their own food, they raise their own pigs, they breed their own cows. Still has no electricity, no running water, no heat. Sheriff Taylor: The Peacocks built that farm during the Civil War. They haven't been seen in ten years, so we suppose they died. Sheriff Taylor: Well, we tried to administer medical attention, but the boys hauled the bodies away. Their folks were in a bad car wreck and suppose they died. Sheriff Taylor: That farm belongs to the Peacock family. Scully: Well, were there any local women who were pregnant and now suddenly aren't? Sheriff Taylor: Agents Mulder and Scully. You know, my work demands that I live in a big city, but if I had to settle down, build a home. Mulder: Scully, you don't know me as well as you think you do. Scully: Mulder, if you had to do without a cell phone for two minutes you'd lapse into catatonic schizophrenia. Scully: Meanwhile I've quit the Bureau and become a spokesperson for the Ab-Roller. You know, we already had to move home plate because you bitched about the mud. The recipe is really very simple, based on a Chess Pie, but with chocolate added.Pitcher: Hey, quit complaining. I’ve made it over the years for special occasions, and it is a family favorite. She had many recipes for traditional southern foods, and one treasured dessert recipe that she shared with me. She had no daughters, and took me under her wing, treating me with love and affection (it didn’t hurt that I wound up dating one of her sons for about a year.) Being a southern woman, she cooked all the time. I got to know her better as the summer went on and our mutual affection grew. She told us all about her family, including her sons (of course, we were teens then) and generally was the epitome of southern graciousness. My friend R and I took him home to her, and she brought us into the cottage, plunked us down in front of the television (a rarity at the beach at that time) and gave us cool glasses of lemonade. We met because of her little Beagle dog (whose name I forget), which had been in a fight with another dog. Peters looked at her and plaintively said “Only once a day?” My mother recalled meeting her at Harris’s grocery store one day, where mom complained that the way we all ate, she had to shop every day! Mrs. She was one of the old breed of southern women, who would move to the beach for the whole summer with her kids, her husband staying in the city to work, only visiting on weekends. Her family owned the beach cottage three south of ours, and she had five sons. William Peters (Louise), who was affectionately called Wheezy by her friends.
(NB: This is not a recipe from one of my relatives, but an old family friend.)Īs a teen, I was privileged to meet Mrs.
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