A Coupon Christmas

Tom Fitzmorris, if that’s you, you can stop reading now. Coupons were used, the Saints game was on, I didn’t throw money around like Auburn and Cecil Newton, and there weren’t any pompous, limp-wristed uses of the words “poor boy”.

Our weekend was supposed to begin with an overabundance of Drago’s charbroiled oysters and a few 10 cent superfectas at the Fair Grounds Race Course’s Starlight Racing. However, once we both got home and opened up a bottle of Delerium Christmas, we decided that standing outside under a huge white tent in the cold misty rain would be miserable- even if there were go-go dancers wearing jockey uniforms (giggady). We had both just eaten enough food at our respective pot luck company Christmas parties to put Mt. Zion M.B. Church #2 to shame, but we were both suffering from serious hunger pains. I was then reminded of the buried treasure I had stowed away in our desk drawer.

Dick and Jenny’s happened to be the first LivingSocial coupon I pulled out of the converted sewing table and our plans were set. We made the short trip down Tchoupitoulas to the bright yellow building on the Jena corner.

Expecting the place to be somewhat upscale, we imagined the restaurant would exude stuffiness. Our expectations were quickly, and thankfully, shattered as soon as we opened the door and heard the maitre de complaining to a guest about not being able to pick up Tashard Choice on waivers. In the midst of his fantasy rant, we were seated under the Christmas lit waiting area next to an indoor porch swing. Just moments later, we were guided though the converted bedrooms, and were seated in the main dining room which seemed to once serve as a living room. The neighborhood-like feel of the restaurant was inviting and radiated warmth. As my eyes wandered to the plate covered walls, it was hard to focus my attention on the diverse, fall-inspired menu. We started with the ridiculously affordable carafe of the house wine, and decided to skip the appetizers. Much to my surprise, Erin decided to get the lamb shank with a sage-rosemary demi-glace, so I went with the pork tenderloin stuffed with goat cheese and pine nuts. Both plates were served with creamy thyme- white cheddar grits and spinach which closely resembled a good ole pot of New Year’s Day collard greens. Stuffed as a Mississippi Leg Hound, we decided to sacrifice dessert at this newfound comfort food eatery for a few rounds of ice cold eggnog.

The hindering cold mist from the night before had continued to the next morning. Unfortunately, the rib-sticking fullness did not. However, Jolly Ole St. Nick had visited Erin for the 5th time this week (I’m beginning to think the old guy has had a few too many Abita Christmas Ales) and dropped off yet another LivingSocial coupon. The dog didn’t even have time to stretch before we were out the door and on our way to Laurel Street Bakery. Since this local bakery is only a few blocks from the house, we were gazing into the large, pastry-filled, glass counter within a few seconds.

No quiche, or pumpkin muffin, or fruity pastry for this guy. Instead, I decided to go with the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich on a housemade bagel, the bakery’s specialty. The bagel arrived with a crispy exterior covering a soft, dense interior as well as crispy bacon and remarkably cheesy eggs. Quickly rooting around I finished off my sandwich like Randy Parker, and turned to Erin’s croissant and chocolate milk. One was enough, but when I finished Erin’s I was fuller than any Who after a feast of roast beast.

The big breakfast gave us the power to fight the crowds and part the red sea of buggies while trying to get the last minute gifts for the mammaws. We made it back to the house in time to catch the first bowl game of the season. Normally, the BYU- UTEP matchup wouldn’t have satisfied me, but I was having withdrawals and fiending for football. Hell, at this point, I would have been content with the Capital City Classic. However, halfway through the Fresno- NIU game, the last of the LivingSocial coupons was burning a hole in my pocket.

It was getting even colder, so we bundled up as tight as we could and headed for Parran’s Po-Boys (not Poor- Boys) in Metairie. Once we got a translator, the older Italian lady behind the counter finally put in our order. While finishing off the last of our fried eggplant sticks, another older Italian lady dropped off a blackened chicken po-boy, and a chicken parmesan po-boy. The blackened chicken po-boy was pretty self explanatory and resembled most other blackened chicken available throughout the city. The enormous chicken parmesan po-boy, however, turned into a delicious mess of thick, sweet red gravy, melted provolone, and crispy chicken. With half a po-boy left over for each of us, we got two small to-go plates and journeyed downtown to Miracle on Fulton Street.

The combination of the holidays and the New Orleans Bowl caused a lot of unnecessary traffic. Tour busses and RV’s had taken up the prime free parking spots downtown. When we finally reached Fulton Street, we could already here some tunes echoing throughout the tall landscape of the CBD. After wandering through the festive tunnel of lights and getting pelted by the hourly “snow”, we spotted the Macy’s Christmas tree, which probably required a Bumble to hang the festive fleur-de-lis atop.

With snow falling, Sam Adam’s Winter Lager flowing, the sounds of Rockin’ Dopsie & The Zydeco Twisters filling our ears, and live reindeer, well, doing what reindeer do, Christmas time was here. Apparently all this holiday merriment was enough for Santa too, as he dropped off brunch the next morning. I recall him referring to it as Bovina Benedict- a smoked gouda grit cake, praline bacon, and a brown butter fried egg, all atop a homemade pepper jelly sauce.

Keifer's and a Christmas Shower

The blog has been on a short-lived hiatus for good reasons. For the past 3 weeks we have packed up the suitcases with a few pairs of clean underwear -I know it’s hard to believe that I actually have skid-free underwear- and wandered off to Mississippi. From Kosciusko to Port Gibson, we briefly stopped off to expand my elastic waistband pants while consuming 4 Thanksgiving meals in a few days.

Still suffering from a tryptophan overdose from the Thanksgiving bird, we sluggishly packed our luggage into the car, and headed north on I-55 once again. Arriving in Jackson late Thursday night gave us plenty of time to whoop up some vittles for the upcoming engagement party. We awoke Friday morning, and got the spice rubbed boston butt braising in apple cider and the beets for the golden beet tarts roasting. With the aroma of rosemary and cider spices lingering in the air, acute hunger pains began to set in. Fortunately, Erin’s friends suggested Keifer’s for lunch. Hell yeah. Before moving to Starkville, Keifer’s was one of our weekend mainstays. We arrived in the packed parking lot and found that nothing had changed at this downtown Jackson eatery. Diners spilling out into the outdoor dining area on the porch under the large pecan trees. Gyros overflowing with tender lamb and flooded with Tzatziki sacue. Melted mozzarella and spicy feta stuffed into warm, griddled pita.

I polished off the last few bites of Erin’s gyro (as usual), and then regretted even eating anything; I had made the enormous mistake of eating before going to Sam’s. As a kid, lunch wasn’t necessary if you were going to Sam’s that afternoon. We’d make our rounds of samples throughout the warehouse-like grocery store, and then go change hats, or put on a jacket. We figured the change of costume would confuse the sample ladies and we could load up on more pizza rolls or BBQ meatballs. This time, I wasn’t so lucky. I forgot the jacket, hat, and sunglasses in the car, so I was limited to only one buffalo wing and one teriyaki meatball. Seemingly defeated we left with our 8 pound block of cream cheese and 15 bags of chips.

We got back to the house and finished throwing togehter the ever-growing spread of food and started the Christmas music. What started as a few small nic nacs (what does that word even mean?) had swollen to an overwhelmingly overabundance of Christmas time staples- homemade fudge, garlic sausage balls, apple cider braised pulled pork, Christmas cookies, cream cheese and pepper jelly, rum apple cider, black-eyed pea dip, and a house infused Spiced Apple Cider Vodka with 4 types of apples, oranges, cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, allspice, brown sugar and vanilla.

Once the official shower merriment had concluded, the agenda slowly shifted to a true Christmas party. Fortunately, the ending wasn’t like the last time this group got together for Christmas. No Christmas trees were powerbombed, all doors were still on their hinges, and my Cousin Eddie ensemble didn’t end up in a parking lot.

Black-Eyed Pea Dip

BLACK-EYED PEA DIP


1 16oz can black eyed peas
¼ cup red bell peppers, diced
¼ cup red onions, finely chopped
½ cup tomatoes, finely chopped
2 tablespoon jalapenos, finely chopped
1 tablespoon fresh basil, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon lemon juice
½ teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon chili powder
½ teaspoon black pepper
½ teaspoon hot sauce
¼ teaspoon salt

Mix all ingredients. Cover and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

Galliano Truck Plaza and Casino

One of the great aspects of my job is getting out in the wetlands of Louisiana. Not only does it just get me out of the office, but it also allows me to observe some exceptionally distinctive landscapes.

If you know me, then you know the best part of my trip is not staring at cypress stands; it’s getting out and eating the food of South Louisiana. My projects are assigned to me, so sometimes I end up in the middle of nowhere in St. Helena Parish with nothing to eat, and, Occasionally, I’ll get assigned a project on the North Shore, where the eating establishments are endless. Then, there are days like Wednesday.

I was back in Larose for a third trip to an extensive mitigation bank project. The two previous times, we grabbed lunch at a truck stop/casino, which now seem to be located in even the most remote parts of the state. This time, we passed on that truck stop in Larose to see if we could find anything further down Bayou Lafourche. We passed a Subway and a Quizno’s, but neither of us thought a sandwich would satisfy our mounting hunger. As we wandered aimlessly around Galliano and Golden Meadow, hunger pains finally got the best of us as we pulled into Galliano Truck Plaza and Casino. Yep. That’s exactly what I thought-another truck stop. It’s not like truck stop food was new to me. From tater logs to chicken livers, from Wesson Truck Stop to the Country Buffet in Pickens, I know my way around the cardiac cuisine of the road.

I inspected the menu, which consisted of most of the usual suspects: greasy double cheeseburgers, oversized onion rings, and crispy chicken strips. Yet, there were also some things I should have expected, but still caught me off guard.

The second I saw the mini hot dog PLATTER, I was reminded of my college lunch staple of Betty’s corndog nuggets and rotel cheese dip. However, my corndog daydream was hastily interrupted as I focused on something written on the chalkboard next to the counter- boudin bites. Being that I have only seen these on 3 menus throughout Louisiana, and the fact that they were only $1.00 , I had to get an order.

While shoveling the freshly fried boudin balls down my throat, three guys walked into the empty truck stop diner with their Cajun Reeboks on. They walked directly to the order counter and in some sort of broken Cajun French- English asked, “what you got to eat?” At first, I assumed they couldn’t read the menu, but when the waitress sharply replied, “shrimp and crab fricassee”, my last boudin ball hit the plate. What the hell, was there some kind of secret menu like at In-N-Out Burger, and what truck stop has a fricassee? The three men sat down, and just a few moments later, an older man decked out in his navy blue coveralls came out from the kitchen holding 3 massive bowls of the fricassee. Even though I had just devoured a whole order of fries, a cheeseburger, and almost all of the boudin bites, I started to salivate at the site of the fresh potato salad and the overflowing bowls of stew filled with right-off-the-boat-shrimp and a massive whole crab. We asked the waitress if we could possibly get a to-go box of this secret stew to take home. As she looked at us like we were Phil Berquist, she explained that the old gentleman from the kitchen is one of the shrimp boot guy’s parraine. Every Wednesday, they let him use the kitchen and to cook whatever he wishes. The worst part, the down home Cajun dishes that he slings out of the truck stop’s kitchen aren’t made available to general customers. Instead, they are reserved for his kinfolk and his family’s friends, and only on Wednesday afternoons. After letting out a few "got dang it"s, we left the Galliano Truck Plaza and Casino empty handed. Places like this make me never want to depart from culinary-centric South Louisiana.

The Grocery and Broad Street Brewhaha

I had just settled into the recliner for the 11:00 games when I got a call from Burge to meet up with Mims for lunch (apparently calling people by their last names stuck, even after college). Mims was here for what seemed like the 10th time in the past 4 months to do “research” for Saveur, and since grilled fish doesn’t reheat well, I decided to skip the leftover grilled cobia and smoked red snapper tacos we made the night before, and take them up on the poboys at The Grocery on St. Charles.

After scanning through the handwritten menu on the chalkboard, I decided to go with the New Orleans style roast beef poboy. The sandwich lived up to the “New Orleans style” nomenclature. I’m still not sure how or why, but excessive gravy and mayonnaise forms a ridiculously awesome and artery clogging sauce on French bread. As I was finishing off the last few bites with a much needed fork and wandering why I didn’t get my sloppy poboy pressed (The Grocery’s specialty), I heard something I was not expecting to hear.

I’m usually on top of things when it comes to the ins and outs of the goings-on in New Orleans, so when Burge said something about a free beer festival in Mid-City, I was about as confused as Henry Rowengartner when Chet Stedman gave him in-game advice during the Giants game. Between habitually checking out GoNOLA.com, snagging a copy of The Gambit at Rouse’s, and clicking on the Internet Explorer favorites tab that take me to the guys over at Blackened Out and The Beer Buddha, I feel like I always have a halfway decent notion of the happenings throughout the city- especially the free and cheap ones. We drove through Central City, and finally made it to Broad. Even though Burge’s cousin was working the festival for Lazy Magnolia, we didn’t have any real directions. If we wouldn’t have spotted the oversized, inflatable Abita bottle, we would have never found the festival. As we pulled into the overgrown parking lot of a rundown and abandoned grocery store, we began to wander what we had gotten ourselves into. After we followed the crowd up a ramp to a hidden parking lot on top of the sketchy building, we finally caught glimpses of what lied ahead. As we walked under a sign that read “Broad Street Brewhaha” and fixed our eyes on the beer tents and trailers, I began to feel better than Julie Gaffney did when she made the game winning save against Gunner Stahl.

After sampling pints of NOLA Irish Channel Stout and Abita’s new release in their Select series, Rye Pale Ale, we set up shop at the Lazy Magnolia booth. While sampling an Indian Summer or two, I began to reminisce about being the first person to track down Lazy Magnolia Southern Pecan in Starkville and people looking at me crazily when I pulled out the party pig. If only I could get paid to talk about beer, especially a Mississippi brewery all day.

We finally drug ourselves away from the Lazy Magnolia tent and Mid-City and headed back Uptown. As if we hadn’t gotten our fill of local craft beer already, we made a detour by Breaux Mart for a party pig of NOLA Blonde. We emptied the miniature keg by the time the Alabama- Mississippi State game (if you watched it, then you know why). With an empty keg and more sorrows to drown, we walked over to The Bulldog for a few pitchers of Dead Guy Ale, which were very appropriate for our degrading state of consciousness. From what I can recollect, the rest of the night was set in the French Quarter, and involved some whipping of the hair back and forth, and a 4 mile walk.

Cafe du Monde and Cheesecake

No matter the age, you can’t resist the character of the historic French Quarter while sounds of brass bands fill your ears. How can anyone resist the charm of Magazine Street's shops and restaurants while being engulfed by the smell of Lilette or Slice? Who can resist being blanketed by confectioner’s sugar at Café du Monde? I know a certain 4 year old visitor who couldn’t.

With the in-laws and one of the nieces in town for the weekend, we decided to give them a whirlwind tour of some of that French Quarter character near Jackson Square. I’ll admit, the city’s oldest neighborhood is touristy and a bit overpriced, but it’s something everyone should experience at least once. We started by navigating our way through the usual weekend traffic on Decatur and snagged a table near the iron railing Café du Monde. After getting the niece to finally try what she called “beignet doughnuts”, we polished off her creamy hot chocolate and exited the bustling outdoor dining room.

As soon as we stepped back on Decatur, the St. Augustine Marching 100 had just fired up a free show at the amphitheater directly across from Jackson Square.

Even though the sound of brass resonating through the historic square made me want to pick up tuba playing as my second job, we quickly continued our tour of The Quarter in hopes of making it back to the house for the Alabama- LSU game.

My initial hopes were crushed. Three hours, and two overpriced stuffed animals later, I was finally back in my recliner. We just made it back for the start of the second half, but my time in the recliner on a windy Saturday afternoon was very limited. As soon as the game ended, we were off again.

This time, we set off for Copeland's Cheesecake Bistro. I know, going here is like going to Taco Bell in Cabo, but when you're dealing with a 4 year old and a mother-in-law that doesn't eat any seafood and is fairly picky about anything "different", you are pretty limited in New Orleans. The Cheesecake Bistro provided us with an extensive and diverse menu ranging from fried seafood platters to steaks and creole pastas. I kept the niece entertained by "driving" a boat through something she kept calling blueberry land until the fare arrived, which took almost 40 minutes. Normally the wait wouldn't have bothered me, but in a place that reminded me of a somewhat upscale New Orleans version of Applebee's or Chotchkie's, I at least expected a quick turn around time from the kitchen. My ricotta stuffed ravioli with crawfish cream turned out to be pretty tasty, and Erin's Chicken Marsala wasn't half bad either. Because the portions were huge, and we had cheesecake on our mind (I mean, we are in Copeland's Cheesecake Bistro), we decided to pack up the leftovers, and order two slices of cheesecake to go.

The chilly Saturday night ended up being a night that most 4 year olds can only dream of- one slice of fudge brownie cheesecake, one slice of bananas foster cheesecake, and Toy Story 3.

The Great Pumpkin

I don’t know why we do it to ourselves. It seems like every other weekend we’re forcing Gatlin into the car and making the long 5 hour drive to Starkville. This particular trip was worse than usual because I was still recovering from a freak freeze tag accident from the weekend before. I’ll just say that it involved me flying through the air like I had just slipped on a banana split. But, at least this time, we could let the windows down while blaring Stranglehold without suffocating from the humid Mississippi air. As we pulled into Starkvegas (don’t act like you’ve never called it that) late Friday night, the car’s thermometer read a cool 45 degrees. Football weather had finally decided to show up in the South.

After a quick preview of this year’s basketball team at The Hump Saturday morning, it was time to get over to The Junction and take advantage of this autumn atmosphere.

Even though I was 300 miles from New Orleans, I felt like I was still in south Louisiana as I quickly disposed of jambalaya, shrimp and crab gumbo, and crawfish dip. I then followed a trail of candy like James Woods down to the heart of The Junction where I stumbled upon a makeshift SEC graveyard directly next to our seemingly reserved tailgating spot. With all the hype surrounding this season, we got to share our recent scary stories with a few more folks than usual. After a few are you afraid of the dark stories, the day quickly transitioned to Halloween Eve night. We exited the stadium to find that the combination of the Bulldogs’ 7th win and the toxic fog surrounding our tent had transformed tailgaters into Werewolves of Fever Swamp (including Dr. Beavis/Mr. Webster).

Halloween finally arrived and the biscuits and gravy at Huddle House before the ride back to New Orleans turned out to be more of a treat than a trick. We made it back just in time to prevent seat soiling and began to prepare for the arrival of the Great Pumpkin. In an attempt to entice him to our personal pumpkin patch, we left out a large bowl of acorn squash and tasso bisque, and a poboy stuffed with pulled pork that I brined in apple cider, Steen’s cane syrup BBQ sauce, Munster cheese, and thinly sliced granny smith apples. We made sure to be as “sincere” as we could while watching the Black and Gold take on, well, the Black and Mustard Yellow. Erin even created a runway of pumpkin spice candles to ease his finding of our house. But just like Linus, the anticipation of the Great Pumpkin’s arrival was too much for her. We awoke the next morning, and swiftly ran into the living room. No toys. No candy. Not even a rock. We couldn’t find any evidence of the Great Pumpkin except for a half empty bottle of homemade pumpkin pie vodka. I’m blaming the dog- I knew he doubted the Great Pumpkin’s existence. Just wait until next year, Charlie Brown. You'll see.

NOLA Brewing Irish Channel Stout Release Party

NOLA Brewing is releasing Irish Channel Stout tonight, the newest brew in their ever-growing line. NOLA describes the seasonal beer as "an American style stout that has sweet malt flavors of caramel and chocolate, complimented by a crisp bitterness produced by roasted barley and American Hops."

If the Irish Channel Stout is half as good as Hopitoulas, this warming stout will be a welcome sign to soon arriving fall-like weather. The event will be held at Le Bon Temps (4801 Magazine Street) and will feature $4.00 pints of the stout as well as live music by Colin Lake. If you can't make it to Le Bon Temps Roule at 6:00, Avenue Pub will be tapping 2 kegs of the stout at 10:00.

Irish Channel Release Party
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
6 – 9 pm
Le Bon Temps
4801 Magazine Street
New Orleans, LA

An Imminent Intervention

I have a problem. Football has taken over my life. On Wednesday, I skipped Kermit Ruffins’ free show at Lafayette Square, so I wouldn’t miss the beginning of the Central Florida- Marshall game. Really? UCF and Marshall. I was the only person outside of West Virginia and Splash Mountain watching this game. Our once temporary living room setup of two TVs has become a more permanent fixture on the weekends. Even as I’m writing this, I’m watching Chris Collinsworth and Al Michaels ramble on about Peyton on one TV, and watching Herbstreit rabble as Rece Davis reveals the meaningless Week 7 BCS standings on the other.

Sunday morning, I made sure to refresh the websites for the Coach’s Poll rankings and AP rankings every 30 seconds Sunday to see if the once frustrating Bulldogs were ranked after they wrapped another one in maroon and white in a win in Gainesville- the first since 1965.

I also kept my phone handy to check the Twitter alerts for last minute NFL injury reports and the MSU beat writers’ blogs updates. Clinton Portis was once again inactive, and Mississippi State barely squeaked into the polls (including the BCS poll) at 24- the first time in almost a decade. After enduring the end of the Sherrill years, the “right way” era of Sly Croom, and ridicule from The School Up North (you know, the Rebels, I mean Fighting Yogi’s), it was about time for Mississippi State to start heating up.


I then canceled plans to go to the free Crescent City Blues and BBQ Festival, and stayed home and watched the equally frustrating Saints dominate the Bucs in a stadium that has about as much character as the Clearview Mall parking lot. I also had the laptop running ESPN's FantasyCast while watching my miserable fantasy team pile on the points for the first time this year. Oh, what’s that? Oh yeah, I was on a bye this week.

I hoard remotes and useless pregame analyses like a crazy old lady hoards dogs, and like Bill Belichick hoards future draft picks. What once was confined to just Thursdays, Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays, has now consumed the entire week. Tuesdays have now been overtaken by the MAC and Sunbelt, and Wednesdays are now reserved for Conference-USA and the WAC. What used to provoke only minor mental anguish now generates physical distress and degrades my social dexterity.

I have a serious problem. I am certain, that in the near future, I’m going to be ambushed in a strange hotel room by an A&E producer.

Lola's, Boxers, and Sweet Taters

After recovering from a weekend in which I thought I was an integral part of the Jersey Shore cast, the blog is back from its brief hiatus.

We started another weekend in New Orleans by vacating our Uptown comfort zone and heading over to Mid-City. We arrived at Lola’s just as Friday’s Sun was setting on the live oak-lined Esplanade Avenue.

Luckily, we narrowly beat the dinner rush- the somewhat small dining room was overflowing with guests as soon as we were seated. While we waited for a few small plates, we popped open our personal bottle of wine (BYOB and a $5.00 corking fee is almost as fun as stomping out a crotch fire) and fended off our mounting hunger with the antipasto plate of cheeses, prosciutto, and housemade chorizo.

Once we polished off the garlic shrimp and the avocado stuffed with crabmeat and a spicy aioli, we could barely muster a few bites of Lola’s specialty- paella with sausage, chicken, shrimp, crab, squid, and octopus. As usual, I couldn’t allow a plate to go back to the kitchen without being completely cleaned. As I took the last few bites, the Arborio rice began mingling with the red wine deep within my innards, causing me to balloon like the Imaginationland Flying Machine.

After our quick tour of Imaginationland, we again left our Uptown compound for Mid-City on Saturday. While we parked under the enormous oaks at City Park, we could already see the tents and packs of dogs ahead of us.

Across Big Lake, The Bulldog was hosting New Orleans on Tap, a beer festival/fundraiser for the Louisiana SPCA. Because what’s better than drinking and dogs? We sampled a few of the 200+ beers on tap, including some homebrews, and both agreed that Hebrew Rejewvenator (a big beer brewed with date juice), and Harpoon Leviathan Imperial Red were our favorites. The canine benefit resembled a typical New Orleans festival with food and entertainment on the Abita Stage, and something very atypical, a kissing booth.

I finally pulled Erin away from the adoption tent, and coaxed her into being my recipe test subject once again. Since fall was finally here, I had sweet potatoes on my mind, but not the marshmallow smothered kind that graces every true southern Thanksgiving spread. After seeing a similar recipe on the menu of one of Bourbon House’s Bourbon Dinners, we devised a recipe for a sweet potato crepe with roasted corn, pulled pork, and a spicier variation of our Abita Turbodog BBQ sauce that included Attala County fig preserves.

Our sweet potato fix wasn’t quite over. In an attempt to finish of the abundance of sweet potatoes left over from the night before, we surprised ourselves by somehow managing to create a Sunday brunch that would have even appeased the appetite of Admiral Ackbar. Sunny side up eggs over Marciante’s duck sausage and a sweet potato-bacon biscuit covered in a Tasso cream.

Sweet Potato-Bacon Biscuit

SWEET POTATO-BACON BISCUIT
2 cups self-rising flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
Pinch cinnamon
Pinch black pepper
1 stick cold unsalted butter, cubed
1 cup mashed cooked sweet potatoes, cooled
2 tablespoons packed light brown sugar
5 slices cooked bacon, drained and crumbled
3/4 to 1 cup milk

1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F.
2. In a bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, salt, pepper, and cinnamon.
3. Add the butter and work in with your fingers until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.
4. In a bowl, whip the sweet potatoes with the brown sugar until very smooth.
5. Add to the flour mixture and mix in lightly but thoroughly with your fingers.
6. Add 3/4 cup of the buttermilk and the bacon and gently work to make a smooth dough, being careful not to overwork and adding more liquid as needed 1-2 teaspoons at a time.
7. Spoon onto a greased baking sheet with a greased ice cream scoop.
8. Bake until golden brown, 15 to 18 minutes.

“Garrett Hartley… good snap, good hold, he missed it to the left”

We continued the nothing-to-do-weekend that we started the night before by spending the entire Saturday grazing on the assortment of meats I picked up from Rare Cuts on Nashville Avenue, and watching college football. Erin started off the lazy, grazing Saturday with her version of hash browns that included a spicy chaurice sausage and sunny side up eggs.

After brunch, I recreated my TV setup from the opening game of the NFL season, and resumed my long-lost position in the recliner. At one point, I even had a game streaming on my laptop in addition to the two games already on the TVs. As soon as the Alabama-Arkansas (come on Ryan Mallet) game was over, I began throwing something together for supper while Erin yelled out the 1st quarter updates of the Georgia-Mississippi State game. In an attempt to go back to the future, we tried to reinvent a Veal Scallopini recipe that we both liked before. The only disappointment with the recipe was that we didn’t make enough, and that, apparently, the combination of Madeira and cream creates some sort of sleep aide that resembles Ambien. After the last few bites, I could barely even make it to the end of the LSU game.

I awoke the next morning at 6:45 and realized that my alarm never went off, and my ride to the Falcons- Saints game would be here in 15 minutes. I quickly threw on my black and gold and jumped in the car for the ride downtown to the tailgate on Rampart. I knew I was about to partake in some serious tailgating, but I wasn’t ready for the trailer that had been retrofitted with 2 portable 8 foot grilles, 2 10 gallon propane tanks and lines, a water tank with a pressurized hose, more 6x9s than a 10th grader’s first car, and enough storage shelves to stow away every utensil or spice you could ever need.

I also knew that there was going to be some serious tailgating fare. I watched as the tailgaters injected 7 “dirty birds” (a special for the Falcons game) with their homemade marinade, and then hung them from the hand fabricated racks in a U.S. Army issued M59 field range.


While the chickens were slowly roasting, the tailgaters mixed up an absurdly large batch of dirty rice which included 8 pounds of seasoned ground beef. Also on the menu, two things that are singularly delicious, but when combined, takes on a life of its own- rotel cheese dip and crab boiled potatoes.

After spilling a plate all over my feet, I grabbed a few slices of hog’s head cheese and a mini muffuletta and started the journey to The Dome.

After parading through Allegro and the newly renovated Champion’s Square, and crossing the Bridge of Death we made it into the dome just in time for Drew Brees’ entrance.

Even though The Dome was a raucous crowd, it proved to not be enough to force Hartley’s kick through the uprights (I’m still not sure about the decision to kick on 1st down either). Downtrodden and beaten, I gathered my free Saints flag from my first trip to an NFL game, returned home, and crashed for 4 hours.

Veal Scallopini

VEAL SCALLOPINI
4-6 ounces baby portabellas
8 veal cutlets, 2- 3 ounces
Seasoned flour
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
4 tablespoons butter
2 shallots, minced
3 cloves garlic, minced
¾ cup Madeira
1 cup chicken stock
½ pint heavy cream
Juice, half a lemon
Salt
Pepper

1. Season veal with salt and pepper on both sides and lightly dredge in seasoned flour. (Do not do this until you are ready to cook the veal.)
2. In a skillet over high heat, add 1 tablespoon of the oil and heat until hot but not smoking. Add 2 tablespoons of the butter and saute half of the veal, cooking for 1 minute on each side, until golden brown and crispy. Transfer veal to a warm plate and set aside.
3. Sauté remaining veal in remaining oil and butter.
4. Add mushrooms and shallots and sauté for 4-5 minutes.
5. Add garlic and sauté for 1 minute.
6. Add Madeira, scraping pan bottom with a wooden spoon, and reduce by half.
7. Add chicken stock and cook for 3 minutes or until volume is reduced by half.
8. Add heavy cream and lemon juice and cook for 3 to 4 minutes, until sauce is thickened and coats the back of a spoon.
9. Season with salt and pepper, to taste, and return veal to skillet to heat through, about 1 1/2 minutes.
10. Serve immediately over cooked and drained pasta and spoon sauce over top.

Bourbon House

Finally, a weekend that didn’t involve driving to the far reaches of south Louisiana and Mississippi or opening up Hôtel le Gordon. I could finally take advantage of the free time and do what I do best- eat and watch football.

If you know me, then you know that I sniff out coupons like Tyrone Biggums sniffs out the white stuff. When the email reminder for Groupon came through a few weeks ago with Bourbon House as the deal of the day, I quickly snatched it up. Bourbon House is part of Dickie Brennan’s family of restaurants- a family who really knows how to treat their diners especially well, not to mention the good food that comes out of their kitchen. With its vast windows and interior balconies in the expansive dining room, Bourbon House also shows off the Brennan’s uncanny ability to design incredible dining rooms. Since we were practically dining half off, and we had gotten the seafood platters on our previous trips, we decided to break the monotony and share a few of Bourbon House’s small plates. We started off the mild Friday night with a plate of okra and eggplant “fries”. The fresh eggplant and whole okra were flawlessly fried, and were paired with a Creole Ranch sauce.

For the next course, we went with the Crystal Alligator. The alligator, usually a tough meat, was extremely tender and doused in a Crystal hot wing sauce. This slightly spicy sauce was subdued by the accompanying blue cheese.

Being that we were in a seafood-centered restaurant, we figured we would be doing the restaurant an injustice if we didn’t order some sort of seafood. The first of the seafood dishes was a Crawfish Fried Rice. The Asian-inspired dish, chocked full of Louisiana crawfish tails and topped with a sunny side up egg, was quickly inhaled like the Tennessee Titans' mascot inhales cheerleaders.

The final dish of the night showed off Bourbon House’s ability to locate the best and freshest seafood, even outside of Louisiana. The tuna tasting paired three unique tuna dishes on one plate- seared, Carpaccio, and tartare. The tuna, in both its raw and slightly cooked form, was both simple and delicious.

Once we had handily finished off the tuna, we made our way out of the restaurant just in time. A few West Virginia fans, presumably in town for the LSU-West Virginia game, were seated at our neighboring table. When one of the Mountaineer diners failed miserably at putting words and sentences together, we knew Bourbon Street had claimed yet another victim, and we knew that we didn’t want to stick around for the side show our waiter was about to witness.

The Joint, Pot Pies, and Avenue Pub

Even though I had just spent the final morning of summer trouncing around the sewage treatment plant in the 9th ward, food was on my mind. As I made my way down Poland Avenue towards the river in an attempt to check out Jack Dempsey’s, the half-and-half po’boy was all I could think about. As I approached the train tracks, I saw a hand written sign hanging above the door- “Closed: Power Outage”. Fortunately, this seafood joint just happens to be directly across the street from THE Joint.

While standing in line under a sign that read “always smoking”, I began to smell the smoky aroma of brisket, ribs, and pork. Once inside, which was actually hotter than the porch, I easily decided to go with the pulled pork plate. I took a seat at one of the makeshift patio tables and chugged down a whole styrofoam cup of sweet tea while trying to fight the urge to lift up the door to the smoker that was next to me for a quick appetizer before my food was brought out by a Marigny-looking girl. For some reason, I feel like I can’t eat pulled pork without cole slaw, and The Joint’s tangy version went well with their tender, juicy pork. The chunky potato salad was a non-mustardy version (thank God), and was slap-full of boiled eggs and herbs. Before heading back to the office, I capped off the best barbecue I’ve had since living in New Orleans with another cup of that delicious sweet tea.

Although I was still full from the ridiculously good pulled pork at The Joint, I gluttonously fought back the cats and went back for a second helpin’ of Erin’s famous homemade Chicken Pot Pie before we slowly rolled ourselves down busy St. Charles to a Brooklyn Brewery tasting.

We made our way over to Avenue Pub, THE beer bar of New Orleans, and ascended up the creaky stairs to the newly renovated upstairs bar. Avenue Pub has taken beer bars in New Orleans to a whole new level. They may not offer more drafts than other bars, but the taps are rotated and cleaned often, and they offer beers that you can't find anywhere in Louisiana. The bartenders are very knowledgeable and extremely helpful, and the Pub even offers review sessions for the Cicerone test (the beer equivalent of a sommelier). And if that’s not enough, the kitchen serves up some ridiculous food. Does life get any better than having a Stone Old Guardian Barley Wine with the St. Chuck Duck (cabernet sautéed duck, currant tapenade, granny smith apples, cheddar, and blue cheese on grilled sourdough) and homemade chips and guacamole?

Back to the beer, before I start trying to eat my fingers. After a brief history of Brooklyn Brewery's beginnings, Rich Nowak guided us through some of Brooklyn’s flagship and seasonal beers (thankfully it didn't turn out like the time I was in Ireland).

Brooklyn Oktoberfest
Brooklyn Post Road Pumpkin Ale
Brooklyn Brown Ale
Brooklyn Local 1
Brooklyn Detonation

The best of the night? Brooklyn Local 1, a Belgian Strong Ale. This ale is conditioned in champagne bottles and pours an extremely hazy golden color with a thick fluffy head. It begins with a slightly sweet, champagne-like mouthfeel (high carbonation), with hints of citrus, clove, and apples, and ends with a dry, slightly hoppy finish. As usual, Avenue Pub enhanced the beer experience with a free pint of your favorite beer from New York’s best brewery. The beers were good, but I knew it was time to go when a fellow taster ordered the Oktobefest-inspired duck sausage and German potato salad plate. After all, like these guys, it’s not pretty when I eat after midnight.

Auburn Fans, LSU Fans Do NOT Smell Like Corndogs

That’s right Auburn fans, LSU fans don’t smell like corn dogs. There, I said it. In fact, the stinch you claim to smell is actually the big dump that you dropped right in the middle of Death Valley- you know the measly 4 wins you have in Baton Rouge since 1901 (or Baton Rootch if you’re the guy that used to sit in the office next to me). Just because LSU fans wear Wal-Mart jerseys to the games doesn’t mean they work at the local tilt-a-whirl set up in the K-Mart parking lot. You are not Bill Nye, or Jaleel White, so stop wearing britches (yes, britches), a Polo Oxford, a bow tie, and suspenders when it’s 93 degrees in the shade. And LSU fans are trashy?

Yeah, because rockin’ the gold chain and sweet tats at 300+ is not trashy at all.

Since there are literally 300,000 people in Baton Rouge on game day, we had to aimlessly wonder a mile through a sea of endless purple and gold tents while trying to find some fellow State alums. Because of you Auburn fans, I cautiously took my first few steps into this uncharted territory like I was trying to float a chuck wagon down the Columbia River. Besides a few drunken Tiger Baits, the only serious heckling we received was a 3 year old trying to run over me on what seemed like a supercharged Power Wheels. No one threw feces or doused me with whiskey. Hell, we were even stopped at every other tent and were offered beers. I can’t even get that kind of hospitality in Starkville.

A few LSU faithful also stopped us and asked us if we had eaten some good food. I guess he assumed that we were from Mississippi and, for some reason, didn’t know what good food was. In his defense, he wasn’t aware that 24 hours later we would be back in New Orleans gorging ourselves on The Boudreaux (poached eggs over alligator sausage, jalapeno cornbread, and Crystal potatoes, smothered in a Creole hollandaise), a Louisiana crab omelet, and a make-your-own-bloody-mary-bar three blocks from our house at Atchafalaya. As we continued on our not-so-perilous journey, we consumed enough andouille and boudin to make Gord Brody envious. No corn dogs. No funnel cakes.

Speaking of envy, maybe you Auburn fans created this mythical corn dog phenomenon because you can’t share the spotlight with the SEC’s other Tigers. Just go ahead and join Ole Miss and officially pick another mascot. You already have 17 [17’ing] officially unofficial ones to choose from.

Auburn fans, because of you, I was also hesitant walking into the stadium, especially since I was holed up behind enemy lines in LSU’s season ticket holders section.

I even made sure to don my maroon because you said the urine that would be thrown on me by belligerent LSU fans wouldn’t stain. Yeah, there are 90,000+ rowdy fans in Death Valley, most of them drunk, but is there really any SEC stadium where the home crowd doesn’t mix Evan Williams in the stands and get a little obnoxious. Needless to say, the only stains suffered that day were caused by my reaction to 5 interceptions (I swore I saw Mike Henig on the field).

I know we’re the doormat of the SEC. I know Jemmye is trashy. We cant' read, and we don't wear shoes. Yes, we offer a PhD in Poultry Science. Cowbells this. Rednecks that.

But Auburn Fans, next time you think that you have concocted a clever insult, please make sure:
1) It makes enough sense where fellow SEC fans can laugh with you, and
2) It is original (see Oklahoma/Nebraska)

Revenge of the Hand Grenades

Even though college football was a week old, the first full week of football was finally here. You know what kind of week I’m talking about, right? The kind when you can catch an insignificant MAC game on Wednesday, meaningful college games on Thursday and Friday nights, get up Saturday morning to watch College Gameday and 37 more college games, and then start watching the NFL games on Sunday as you recuperate from the night before. The kind when your alma mater and the NFL team you grew up watching forces you to alter the audio/video composition of your entire home because the kickoffs are only an hour apart on the opening day of SEC play and the NFL season.

As much as I hate Ole Miss (to the point where I even refused to watch Blindside), the already big football weekend was further amplified by the presence of a few Ole Miss faithful. At one time in my life I would have felt like I was harboring insurgents by letting a couple of Ole Miss grads crash at the house for the weekend, but, over time, my hatred for the in-state rival has given way to tolerance and acceptance. [Oh God, I think I just threw up a little.] Like every other visitor to New Orleans, the weekenders were determined to go to The Quarter. Even though Bourbon is as touristy and pricey as it gets in New Orleans, I decided to join these wild and crazy kids for what I thought would just be a few beers.

A few beers. HA. If you have been keeping up with the blog, you already know of my infatuation with Tropical Isle. I’m still not sure how or why the cheesy, plastic tropical paradise lures me in every time I step my Chaco-tan-lined-feet onto Bourbon. It might be the arcade-like game in the bathroom that literally takes your quarter and measures to see if you could fill up a bathtub or swimming pool. I can't make something like that up. It might be trying to relive the YMCA days by throwing the tiny plastic grenades into the baskets that hang overhead like I'm taking my fare-the-well shot in an intnse HORSE game. Or it might be the fact that Tropical Isle always has the coldest AC during the summer- hey, us Mississippi folk know how to find shade and AC. Whatever it is that keeps drawing me into the establishment, the outcome remains the same- 2 hand grenades, 1 blackout, and 1 nagging hangover.

After trying to force my body to release me from the fetal position the morning after, I began the tedious task of removing the remnants of what I have come to call the Bourbon Street Stank from my weakened body, which now slightly resembled the look and feel of Gak. I had to quickly shake off this headache and gut rot, and perform one of the greatest comebacks in hangover history. An hour and 2 Sierra Mists later, I had gone from being a freshman on a Friday night after the first trip to the Hunt Club to a late-in-the-game-hero of the National Hangover League. Seeing as how we had 6 extra hungry folks in the house for the weekend, I decided to try out a few new recipes. The first was a simple take on homemade Gorgonzola Biscuits. Even if you’re not a fan of any of the blue cheeses, the amount in this recipe is just enough to add a hint of that distinct blue cheese taste without completely overpowering the entire recipe. The hot, golden biscuits came out of the oven tasting remarkably like a fluffy version of Mississippi cheese straws. Even though the biscuits turned out to be pretty damn tasty, the crowd pleaser was a version of Shrimp and Grits that I adapted from a recipe from one of Emeril’s restaurants- cheddar grits smothered with Louisiana shrimp and a mixture of baby portabellas, bacon, garlic, scallions, and a homemade Abita Turbodog Sauce.

Seeing as how this brunch’s original purpose was to simply cure the ailments inflicted upon us by the attack of the hand grenades, it was an added bonus that the recipes came out well enough to carry us through the rest of the college football filled Saturday, which also included a stop by Pat O’Brien’s to have a few ice cold Bud Lights with some good old folks from Gallman, Mississippi while catching a September 11th inspired rendition of Lee Greenwood’s classic performed by one of Pat O’s dueling piano players, Babs, who just so happened to be from It, Mississippi.

Shrimp and Grits

SHRIMP AND GRITS
2 pounds shrimp, peeled and deveined
2 ½ teaspoons Creole seasoning
½ teaspoon Old Bay seasoning
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons butter, room temperature
10-12 strips hickory smoked bacon
1 ½ cups baby portabellas
1 medium onion, choppped
2 tablespoons garlic, minced
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 bunch scallions, chopped
1 Abita Turbodog BBQ Sauce

1. In a large bowl, combine the shrimp with the Creole seasoning and salt and toss to blend. Set aside.
2. Fry bacon until well done, remove from pan and crumble once cooled.
3. Sautee mushrooms and onions in remaining bacon drippings until soft. Remove from pan.
4. Add olive oil and to the pan and heat until very hot.
5. Add 1 tablespoon of butter and swirl quickly to melt.
6. Add shrimp in 1 layer in the pan, and cook until pink on one side, about 1 minute.
7. Turn the shrimp over and add the crumbled bacon, mushrooms, onions, garlic, lemon juice, scallions, and Abita Turbodog BBQ Sauce.
8. Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until the shrimp are well coated with the sauce and just cooked through, about 3 minutes.
9. Add the remaining butter and stir until melted into the sauce.
10. Serve over Cheddar Grits (recipe below).


CHEDDAR GRITS
6 cups water
Salt
1 ½ cups quick cooking grits (not instant!)
¾ cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons butter
1 cup grated cheddar
Ground black pepper

1. Combine water, grits, and a generous amount of salt in a microwave-safe bowl and stir to combine.
2. Microwave 5-7 minutes stirring occasionally.
3. Add cheddar, heavy cream and butter, season with black pepper, reseason with salt if needed, and stir until cheese is melted.

Abita Turbodog BBQ Sauce

ABITA TURBODOG BBQ SAUCE
1 cup ketchup
1 cup Abita Turbodog
1 tablespoon Creole mustard
4 tablespoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1 teaspoon Worcestershire
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon paprika
1 ½ teaspoons crushed red pepper
1 ½ teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon white pepper
1 teaspoon Creole seasoning
1 teaspoon hot sauce
1 teaspoon Sriracha chili sauce

1. Combine all ingredients in a saucepan and bring to a boil.
2. Reduce heat and continue to cook at a steady simmer until sauce reduces to a consistency thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, 5 to 10 minutes.

Blue Cheese Biscuits

BLUE CHEESE BISCUITS
2 cups self-rising flour
1 (8 ounce) container sour cream
1 (4 ounce) package crumbled blue cheese
1 stick butter, melted
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
½ teaspoon sugar

1. Preheat oven to 425°.
2. Whisk together flour, salt, pepper, and sugar.
3. Stir remaining ingredients into flour mixture just until blended.
4. Drop dough in 8 equal rounds on a lightly greased baking sheet.
5. Bake at 425° for 15 to 18 minutes or until lightly browned.

NOTE
If you’re not a fan of blue cheese, an equal volume of coarsely grated cheddar can be substituted. However, the amount in this recipe is just enough to add a hint of that blue cheese taste without completely overpowering the recipe.

Death of a Cowbell

The drive was longer than usual and Erin’s barbecue nachos from the night before were giving me fits, but, as soon as I saw the Shuqualak sign I knew we were home free.

It was late, I had just gotten iced, we had been on the road for 5.5 hours, and we had a 300 pound TV to unload, but we knew that in less than 12 hours we would be in the greatest place on earth. I figured after the drive I would have slept soundly, but waiting for the first home game was like trying to sleep knowing that Santa Claus was trying to fit his jolly ass down my chimney. Dreams of hard hits, and even harder liquor were intermingled with the nightmares of seasons past.

Once I awoke and realized that the Croom Era wasn’t just a freakishly haunting nightmare, I went for the breakfast of both champions and morbidly obese rednecks, a Bojangles Cajun Chicken Biscuit and Hashbrowns. After scarfing down an extra biscuit, I fell right back into the gameday routine I had grown accustomed to since becoming an alumnus- pack the coolers while watching Kirk Herbstreit evolve into the ultimate douche bag, pick up the few survivors from Friday nights’ debauchery, swing by Abner’s for chicken strips, unload all of our junk as we try to evade the temple guards and ignore Shrek’s demands to not stop our vehicle next to the curb and, and begin the marathon formally known as tailgating in the Junction. Luckily, we didn’t have to carry our tables and random assortment of chairs far. Just as we have the past 4 years, our tents were set up in a prime spot during the land rush the day before.

With the smoke from the grills hovering over the Junction, and the smell of whiskey and charcoal now filling our noses, I realized as I looked around that the tailgate had turned into a reunion of sorts. The entire 2004 and 2005 pledge classes had decided to join our expansive and now overflowing mass of tailgaters dressed in their Saturday best. After a few Bud Lights from a Solo cup, some boudin, and a green onion sausage poboy, fellowship had to be temporarily cast aside for the Dawg Walk.

Since we finally had non-student section tickets, it was no longer necessary to enter the second oldest stadium in college football 2 hours before the game. As soon as the final get back coach made his way through the tunnel of fans, we got back to tailgating basics before walking into the game- chicken strips and flip cup. With our water bottles filled to the bream with rum and our cowbells in hand (legally), we made it into the stadium just in time to catch the resurrected Dawg Pound Rock before the kickoff of the 2010 season.

The Bulldogs must have known of my Christmas-Eve-like anticipation and anxiousness for the day’s game as they “wrapped it in maroon and white”. Unfortunately, some of those nightmares from the night before came to fruition as the long, but now cool, fall-like night was ending. The cowbell I have had since I was a freshman didn’t make it through the celebratory night. I’m not sure if he was stricken by a heart attack from the shock of actually having a productive Mississippi State quarterback, or overworked and exhausted from all the touchdowns, but I knew things were taking a turn for the worse when he couldn’t take another swig of that $7.00 bottle of rum. May you rest in peace Pike/Vote for Haley Barbour Cowbell (2004-2010).

Sal and Mookie's Moo Moo Farm

I’ve read through the past blogs and discovered that all the blogs have a common theme- alcohol, and eating so much excellent food that I end up making myself absolutely miserable. To keep myself from sounding like a raging alcoholic, I’ll just stick to describing the food induced coma I suffered Saturday.

Just like every other Saturday at the in-laws house back in Vicksburg, the day began with McDonalds. Not knowing that all 3 meals of the day would be fast food, we handily disposed of the customary sausage biscuit and hash browns. A mere 3.5 hours later, we found ourselves waiting for the carhop to deliver the goods- SuperSonic Cheeseburgers, onion rings, cheese sticks, tater tots, and a Route 44 Chocolate DrPepper. Yes, Chocolate DrPepper. Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it. Unknowingly, and perhaps subconsciously, all this fast food was just a way to get our guts nice and loose for the belt-buckle-breaking-supper we were about to experience.

We were trying to beat the crowd to get a good table for Jessica’s surprise engagement party, so we raced over to Jackson like we were Lazy Luke and Blubber Bear in the Arkansas Chuggabug. We finally arrived at Sal and Mookie’s to a full house (unfortunately, the Olsen twins weren’t there). Since we had to wait for a table for 20+, we hung out in the side bar to wait for the newly engaged couple to arrive. They entered a few moments later very surprised, as planned, of course. After a few exchanges of hugs, and laughs, and comparisons of enough shiny new rings to make Duke Nukem and Hoggish Greedly tremble, we were seated at a long table right next to the bustling counter where all the scratch-made pizzas were temporarily stationed before their departure throughout the busy dining room. Even though we had just left seafood-centered New Orleans, and were 3 hours from the Gulf Coast, we couldn’t resist the crab, shrimp, and crawfish pizza laced with a béchamel sauce, and smothered in melted provolone.

Luckily, we had suppressed our appetites enough that we didn’t immediately order the large. We opted for the regular-sized seafood laden pizza, which was very successful at stuffing us, but, as usual, I went for one final piece- a piece that would turn out to be the belt-buckle-breaker. It gets worse. Not only did the pizzeria have a full service bar, they also had an ice cream bar. And I’m not talking about an ice cream buffet like at Ryan’s. They literally replaced the bourbon, gin, and rum usually found on shelves behind the bar with sprinkles, Oreos, and gummy bears.

Overwhelmed by all the flavors and toppings (and I’m sure panicking), Erin went for just a regular ole chocolate milk shake.

For the second time of the night, I couldn’t control myself. Every swig, yes swig, of the extra thick milk shake filled up what little space was left in my now swelling stomach. The dining spectacle was now over, but was superseded by the spectacle of me not even being able to buckle my seatbelt over my stomach, which now felt as if a small child was forming in it. Needless to say, the ride back home didn’t go as smoothly as the ride over. I’m not sure if it was caused by the quick game of Mario Kart on the N64 before we finally left for Vicksburg, but it felt like I spent the entire drive back to Vicksburg dodging prairie doggin’ moles on Moo Moo Farm.

Bovina does Delcambre Shrimp Festival

The weekend started very calmly on our ride to southwest Louisiana for the Delcambre Shrimp Festival. As we sipped on Monsters and chowed down some McDoubles, The GPS navigated us down Highway 90 through thick swamps and vast sugar cane fields.

We thought we had a pretty good idea of what to expect as we entered the land of Poo Poo Broussard, but our stomach and liver weren’t quite as prepared as our minds were. We knew we were in trouble when we showed up to a festival in a town with only 2 stop lights (they just recently were upgraded from 1) and 2,000 people, and there were two 18 wheeler trailers slap full of over 1,000 cases of beer. We got there a little later than planned, and were met at the gate with the fruits of the said trailers. Even though we had just put down those McDoubles, the smells billowing out of the covered pavilion immediately lured us to the food stands. I know it’s called the Delcambre Shrimp Festival for a reason, but the variety of shrimp fare was enough to rival Pvt. Benjamin Buford 'Bubba' Blue’s selections. Boiled shrimp. Fried Shrimp. Shrimp Stir Fry. Shrimp Jambalaya. Shrimp Sauce Piquante. Shrimp and Grits. Shrimp Egg Rolls. Shrimp Pizza. Even Shrimp Burgers. We grazed on shrimp for what seemed like an hour, but made sure to leave enough room for more of those 10 ounce beers as we were taken back to the 80s at the band stands.

We mustered up enough energy to make it over to the bar in Delcambre, and I don’t think I can emphasize THE enough. It felt as if everyone within a 15 mile radius, was unsuccessfully seeking refuge from the humidity in the equally stuffy and humid bar, including a lady (or Billy Ray Cyrus circa 1992, or Jared Allen, or Kenny Powers, we’re still not sure) who had taken the 80s theme of the night a little too far. In the words of my cousin, she (or he) is so poodoo.

Next thing I knew it was 8:00 in the A.M. and the alarm started going off. I awoke in a bed full of Pepperoni Pizza Combos crumbs with the taste of Jalapeno Cheddar Chex Mix still on my tongue suffering from a slight hangover from the night before, or should I say 5 hours before (nothing a Bacon, Egg, and Cheese McGriddle couldn’t handle). One short hour later, and now going on six since I took my last shot of the night, I was back at the festival grounds for the Delcambre Shrimp Festival Cook Off. With my version of the “adult” lemonade in hand, the Bovina to the Bayou Cooking Team, a play on the blog, was now ready to go to work on our entry- a fried green tomato and fried shrimp poboy with tiger sauce and a homemade remoulade.

Our deep fried poboy was a crowd favorite, but, needless to say, my first attempt at trying to beat Cajuns at their own game was not a success (we’ll just say we finished 4th). To add insult to injury, the shade had fled from our team’s tent, leaving us vulnerable to the sucker punch August’s sweltering heat was about to deal us. Defeated and wounded, we hobbled back to some ice cold AC for temporary temperature relief and were treated to even more shrimp- curried Thai shrimp and grits.

As the day turned to night, we made our way back to the festival for one last shrimp fananza. My internal organs didn’t appreciate it, but the rest of Saturday went much like the previous night, massive consumption of shrimp egg rolls, more of those tiny Bud Lights, entertainment from decades past, and another trip to THE bar.

My stomach probably thought it was finally headed to the post game showers as we pulled into our final resting place. Earlier in the day, I mentioned how awesome Betty’s corndog nuggets and ro-tel were and how awesome Petty’s BBQ nachos were. Well, Ches then unleashed the final assault in a flurry of late night gut grenades, BBQ Chicken Nachos with homemade BBQ sauce, and Corndog Nuggets Four Ways- cheddar, buffalo, McIlhenny (sweet and hot pickles), and The Eclectic (hot sauce and grape jelly).

Staycation Part II: Arnold Palmer and Green Goddess

I woke up on day 2 of the Staycation forcing Powerade and 5 hour energy down my throat (the perfect hangover cure). Forgoing the formal jazz brunches, we got off the beaten path and traveled from shade to shade down Dauphine to EAT. The southern porch roof colored walls (don’t act like you don’t know what color I’m talking about) and the smells radiating from the open kitchen were very relaxing. We poured ourselves a few mimosas (EAT is BYOB) while studying the overwhelming weekend brunch menu. It didn’t take long before we were inhaling Eggs Daumaine- a scratch biscuit topped with grillades (slow roasted beef), poached eggs, and hollandaise- and a creamy herbed ricotta, and caramelized onion omelet like we were the cookie monster in chocolate chip rehab.

We wandered down to the Riverwalk, partly because we hadn’t been there since our 6th grade field trip (yes Erin and I were on the same field trip and didn’t know it), partly because its air conditioned and this is the middle of August, and partly because we wanted to check out the Southern Food and Beverage Museum.

The museum explores several facets of southern cooking with an emphasis on Louisiana cuisine. Exhibits range from early Acadian and Cajun fare to Louisiana seafood to historic Galatoire’s. The museum is fairly new, and some exhibits are incomplete. However, the museum makes up for its lack of content by also housing the Museum of the American Cocktail (MAC). The MAC chronicles the evolution of the cocktail, starting with its birth right here in New Orleans.

As planned, we were hungry as soon as our tour was complete. Somehow we both came up with the most touristy and best tasting midafternoon snack- an order of beignets from Café du Monde and a hurricane from New Orleans Original Daquiri. Run tell dat homeboy.

The combined sugar rush we experienced would turn out to last long enough to carry us through the rest of the long sultry New Orleans night, but we couldn’t pass up a free sample of the pomegranate frozen yogurt from Pinkberry. But since today was the actual day of our first year anniversary, we decided it was time to stop playing around with yogurt and beignets, and go on an all out New Orleans-style binge eating and drinking evening.

The Brennan Family has a stronghold on the dining scene in New Orleans, and rightfully so. As with our previous visits to Bourbon House and Ralph’s on the park, Dickie Brennan’s Steakhouse impressed us with its elegant interior, excellent service, and ridiculously good food. Since we did just eat a pound of sugar, and the night had more in store, we just ordered a small appetizer of artichoke and crawfish dip and a few Arnold Palmers (Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka and lemonade) at the vast old school style bar, and finished them off like John Daly.

We then made our way just a block or two over to the Carousel Bar at the historic Hotel Monteleone.

Just as the name implies, the bar is an actual carousel that slowly turns around the bartenders (about one revolution every 15 minutes).

The hotel has become a New Orleans landmark, so we figured we might as well drink the landmark house drink, the Vieux Carré, a strong concoction of rye whiskey, cognac, vermouth, Benedictine, Peychaud’s and Angostura bitters.

While spinning around the bar, we got to do some serious people watching- 3 girls slapping each other, a strange guy creeping on them and getting shut down, and a mother-daughter team of champagne drinkers. And, as usual, some unsuspecting couple tried to make friends with us. Since we got to share Mississippi State stories and talk football with alumni from 1962, it turned out to be a positive befriending this time. We finally parted ways with our new found friends and stumbled (not sure if it was the alcohol or the carousel) over to the greatest restaurant in the city.

It’s hard to label the style of food Green Goddess offers in its very small and intimate location on Exchange Alley. Chef Chris DeBarr mixes southern soul food, with south Louisiana staples, and infuses dishes with offbeat, eclectic worldwide ingredients. His unique style was very evident in both the food and cocktail pairings of the tasting menu on our Anniversary night. Chris’s treatment of each ingredient showed just how detail oriented he is and how knowledgeable he, and his entire staff, is, including exactly where and how each ingredient made it from the farm to the menu and onto your plate. Chris’s friendly and personable demeanor also shined during our tasting menu. Chris would come out and thoroughly describe each ingredient of each dish and then explain the pairing. He then would come back out, and just hang out with us and the other guests in the small back room, a couple making a 3 week road trip throughout the entire south, and a couple from England doing the exact same, and talk food and drink. Chris even took the time to sign the night’s menu in honor of our anniversary. I’ll just let the pictures and ingredients do the talking.

Chilled Persian Cucumber Soup – Turkish yogurt, heirloom cucumbers, sumac, onion, and Pimm’s infused Kaffir Lime (we at demolished this one before we could get a picture of it, but did get a picture of the Kizakura Sparkling Sake before it was gone)

Paired with: Kizakura Sparkling Sake

Green Goddess Rice Cake – bamboo rice, nori seaweed, wasabi-seaweed furikake, with LA blue crab (same thing with this one, this is the postdemolition shot)
Paired with: Kizakura Sparkling Sake “Tumblin Dice” Seared Tuna and Watermelon- yellowfin seared with fennel pollen, local watermelon, 7 spcie togarishi, avocado oil, and 9th Ward sprouts
Paired with: Nicodemi, Cerasuolo Rose

Quinoa- Stuffed Tomato- tomato stuffed with heirloom Peruvian quinoa and mushrooms, over Creole macque choux, fermented black garlic, pumpkin oil
Paired with: Markowitsch, Carnuntum Cuvee

Golden Beet Ravioli – beet ravioli, truffled chèvre, pomegranate molasses, Sardinian saba, avocado oil
Paired with: Markowitsch, Carnuntum Cuvee

Sultan’s Nest – pistachio gelato, whipped cream, shredded phyllo, saffron infused honey, candied yuzu peel, orange blossom water
Paired with: Bayou Teche LA 31 After a meal, or should I say experience, like that, we decided to take a quicker stroll down Bourbon Street than the night before, which included a stop at the Dungeon on Toulouse.

The secret bathroom that you can only access by pulling the right book on a bookshelf was the only highlight of this dingy bar. The rest of our short time at this gothic bar was spent making sure the death metal heads weren’t trying to rip our hearts out of our chest while we weren’t looking. The last stop of the night was purely coincidental. We just happened to walk by a bar called Sneaky Pete’s, and since Erin is, well, Erin, we had to stop and take a picture of the sign because she has a dog named Petey.

Inside the doorway, stood a lanky guy who could barely stand up. As Erin was taking her picture (about as slow as my great-grandmaw used to), he threw his hands up and uttered something that remotely resembled English. We thought he asked why we were taking the picture, so Erin replied that she had a dog named Petey. Our lankier, drunker version of Ochocinco then replied with the a long, drawn out quote of the entire weekend, “but you can’t send them to college, you can’t send them to college….”.