Franklin Taggart's Blog

I've always been a very deep feeling and emotional person, which has its pros and cons. As deeply as I can feel love and regard for people and situations, I can just as easily slip into wild bouts of anxiety, depression or rage. That's been a tendency for as long as I can remember. I've navigated the world by feel and have always thought that my feelings were a barometer of my circumstances, that they gave me an accurate read on what was happening in the outside world at large. Strong emotion has also been the root of my sense of being at the mercy of the whims of the world, and not completely responsible for my experience here. Recently I've learned that this was a misunderstanding, and not just a small one. About six months ago I was listening to the I Love Marketing podcast with Joe Polish and Dean Jackson. It's one of my favorites, and I recommend it to clients and friends frequently if they are in any kind of career where they have to learn how to market the

I don't know if this qualifies as a recipe, but here's how I make my gumbo: First, you have to make roux. Cover the bottom of a 12 inch frying pan with olive oil. Heat on medium until a drop of water spatters on contact. Add oat flour(if you're gluten sensitive, wheat floor if you're not) to the hot oil while constantly stirring. Add only enough flour to make the mixture a medium thickness. Not soupy, not sandy. Stir over heat until it becomes reddish, golden brown. If you smell it burning, remove from the heat and keep stirring. Burnt roux spoils the whole gumbo. Set aside in a bowl after it's done. In a big stock pot heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil. Add two heads(yes, heads) of crushed chopped garlic, two medium sized chopped white onions, one bell pepper, one or two small hot peppers, one and a half pounds of sliced Andouille sausage, and 2-4 pounds of chicken(I usually buy a few packs of thighs and legs). Add cayenne pepper, salt and pepper as d

Charles Paul Taggart died the other day. To the grown ups in my life he was known as Paul. To all my cousins, my sisters and I he was known as Uncle Charlie. He was a larger than life cowboy who'd also been a sailor. Strong as a bull elephant, twinkling eyed, kind, generous and open hearted, he was my boyhood hero. I can still viscerally feel the anticipation of waiting for him and his family to arrive at gatherings. Back then they lived in Texas and we lived in Evanston, Wyoming where most gatherings took place at the Sims Hotel, owned and operated by our Aunt Lue. Uncle Charlie's son, Shawn is the same age as me and between knowing I was going to see my buddy, and Uncle Charlie and Aunt Joyce I couldn't sit still. He drove a burnt sienna(thanks Crayola) Cadillac that seemed to be about 40 feet long. When we saw that car come down Front Street from the underpass, I'd leap out of my own self with joy. When he spotted us he'd give a couple of pops on the car horn