Panoramic Pasty and MIA Paul

Roadside advertising can be an eyesore.

But I do have some favorites.  Really big Santa and Mrs. Claus waving as you drive through Christmas, Michigan are classics. The hay bales arranged along the roadside north of Alanson that advertised Romanik’s Ranch via one huge letter spraypainted on each bale were quite creative.  This was rustic advertising at its best and heated up to become a tempest in the Tip of the Mitt tea pot until the hay was pitched when Romaniks withdrew from the field.

               Where is Paul Bunyan??

                artwork by--Ben Scherphorn

Venturing into the U.P. recently, I again searched for that North American legend in advertising; Paul Bunyan himself.   Traveling west on U.S. 2 from Saint Ignace, Mr Bunyan proudly straddles the stubble off in a roadside field and greets hungry travelers with news of traditional U.P. pasties served up nearby in one of the small diner type establishments that punctuate U.S. 2.

Yummy!

A pasty is a manly meal prepared by women for centuries.  Pasties arrived here with Cornish miners who came to work Western U.P. copper mines.  The immigrants from Cornland—er Cornwall, on the southern portion of the British Isle brought their mining know-how, their womenfolk, and pasties. 

They shared all of these--well maybe not the womenfolk--with other miners.  Pasties, hearty meat pies, made of a crust wrapped around meat, potatoes, rutabaga, carrots and onions, were packed in newspaper or dish towels to keep them warm and carried as portable meals deep into the bowels of the earth. 

Other workers carry them also including storekeepers, government drones, students and even lumberjacks.  When prepared and packaged carefully they are a heavenly, hot, portable meal that is much sought after nowadays by tourists.

This voyage to the little town of Newberry brought to mind a previous trip there in 2008.    On the return leg of that trip I stopped at a pasty diner to sample the wares.   I’d buy one and take it with me to enjoy at the end of my trip when I got home to the other bowels of Michigan—south of the Mackinac Bridge.   

Stopping at a little diner I approached the counter.  A man in white 50’s style standard diner uniform was apparently the chief cook, cashier and bottle-washer of the establishment.  In what is now a rarity in take-out dining he seemed able to discuss the food, take my order, serve it up and take my money.  A true multi-tasker.  I, a savvy pasty consumer, had a few pointed questions before I would be shelling out my or my employer’s precious money for the wares. 

There were three people in the diner, the proprietor, me, and a tourist guy sitting at a booth but paying close attention to my pasty connoisseur discussion with the proprietor. 

“So, tell me about your crust; is it flaky and slightly crisp on the outside or is it thick and soft? 

“It’s substantial enough to hold in your hands but not doughy” he told me.

“Do you use Rutabagas or carrots?” I asked--this is an important factor.  

“Rutabagas, of course” He answered correctly. 

It may be a small detail but there is huge debate amongst pasty producers and consumers about which is better; Rutabagas or carrots.  I prefer Rutabagas, it’s one of the few meals you can buy that feature rutabagas actually. 

He had all the right answers; I was ready to make a deal.  He wrapped my pasty up in white paper; I gave him five bucks. 

The third person in the room, tourist from-who-knows-where, joined the conversation at this point.

“I was wondering how you pronounced pasty” he said.  “I wasn’t sure if it was pay stee or pass tee,” he said with a slight blush.  (I love it when a mature man blushes)

“Yeah," he continued, "I saw that sign a ways back, the big one with Paul Bunyan advertising the pasty shop.  I imagined Paul wearing rhinestone pasties.  I couldn’t get it out of my head."

The three of us chuckled at the image conjured by the traveler. 

I was still smiling as I hit the road east and south.  Soon enough, Paul’s brawny physique appeared on the horizon.  As I drove past I could see just what the out-of-state tourist had seen.  Paul’s plaid shirt was unbuttoned and there were pasties dangling strategically from his hairy chest.

I imagine this vision of him every time I drive on US 2 now—except he’s not there anymore. The sign is gone.  He’s missing.  What happened to him?  I really want to know.

If you know what happened to him or have a picture of the old billboard sign.  Let me know!

SIREEN