14 Things I Think I Learned from Gretna Heritage Festival

Another weekend, another festival. Instead of boring you with details, I’ll hit a few highlights from the Gretna Heritage Festival from this past weekend. Since the format for the 33 Things I Learned from French Quarter Festival worked out so well, I’ll try to give you the 14 Things I Think I Learned from Gretna Heritage Festival (it’ll be like Food Network’s The Best Thing I Ever Ate, but trashier, and with worse food).

1. Gretna Heritage Festival celebrates the heritage of, well, um, well I’m not really sure, but they do like trains.

2. Gretna is the Jersey of New Orleans. Even E! is getting in on the action and will begin filming Real Housewives of the Westbank next month. Flat bills, Affliction shirts, pencil goatees, trashy, black-haired baby mamas, and drunk toddlers- it’s all here.

3. Molly Hatchett is no longer “Flirtin’ with Disaster”, he’s down right catastrophic. At least they band still has sweet flowing locks.

4. As terrible as they sound now, the band is still pretty Amurrican. They even pulled a few marines out of the crowd and brought them on stage, one of which gave a rousing Forrest-Gump-like speech.

5. Criminals are given exemptions for Gretna Fest.

6. Every gas station in Mississippi with a deep fryer has a chicken on a stick. It’s easy- deep fried chunks of chicken, potatoes, pickles, and onions all on the same stick. South Louisiana’s version is just skewered chicken tenders. What the hell.

7. They do love there corndogs here. I’ve argued once that not all LSU fans smell like corndogs, I may have to change my stance on this issue.

8. All the other traditional state fair fare is here- funnel cakes, turkey legs, and every other thing Boomhauer would fry, including kool-aid. Oh yeah, that’s right, deep fried kool-aid.


9. On top of the fried goodness, the festival offers up some of South Louisiana’s specialties, if only someone could learn to spell boudin.

10. I went 25 years of my life without seeing Tracy Lawrence. I have now seen him twice in two months. I have a problem.

11. I spent 25 years of my life listening to Bad Company on Z106.7 out of Jackson, MS. I have now seen them once. I do not have a problem. Brian Howe can still bring it (sorry for the poor audio quality).

12. Westbankers love their cover bands. Chee Weez and Bag of Donuts drew bigger crowds than Bad Company. Both COVER Bad Company. Hopefully this makes sense to you, because it’s something I can’t comprehend.


13. The Beer Garden let me down. Since the tent was set up directly in front of the German-American Cultural Center, I had high expectations. I’m pretty sure an old man in suspenders and 2 measly German beers on tap doesn’t qualify as a beer garden.

14. I was not let down by the city views from atop the levee at the foot of Huey P. Long Avenue.

Brew Day: Pumpkin Stout

The first weekend of October also marked the first sign of fall weather since I returned from North Dakota. The cool, crisp air usually entails football games and day-long tailgates that are usually followed by someone pissing in a black garbage bag in The Junction (you know who you are). Unfortunately, State was playing at Georgia this weekend (if you can call really call that playing), so I had to figure out another way to take advantage of this awesome weather while also satisfying my obsession with fall.

A quick trip to Martin’s Wine Cellar on Friday afternoon provided motivation for the weekend. The cooler and “beer wall” were lined with fall installments of seasonal beers- Oktoberfests, harvest beers, and even Brooklyn’s Post Road Pumpkin. I grabbed one of each of the autumn-inspired beers from the shelves and tucked them away into our fridge.

Once home, the afternoon supplied perfect weather for porch drinking. I then realized that this cool weather would also lend itself well to brewing beer, especially in a not-so-well-insulated, 100 year old house. Since I’ve been trying to get this Bovina Brewing project off the ground for awhile now, this seemed like the perfect time to get this thing moving. After quick trips to Brewstock and Rouse’s we had everything we needed to make our first batch of beer (and hard cider) in almost 3 years. With ole punkin’ heads hiding in every corner of the grocery store, it was only natural that our first brew would be a Pumpkin Stout (witty name to come later). It’ll be almost a month and a half before this brew is ready to drink (hopefully by the Alabama home game), but just from the initial smell and taste before it got thrown into the fermenter, it looks like this is going to be one awesome seasonal beer. Pumpkin, cinnamon, and nutmeg hit me all of my senses right up front. Hopefully this project will be the beginning of good things to come.

The brewing didn’t stop there; we also brewed up a smaller 1 gallon batch of hard apple cider that should come in handy when we feel like we can't drink any more of the mulled apple cider vodka during the upcoming holidays. Anyway, below is a quick rundown of the Pumpkin Stout. Hopefully, a few months from now, or at least by Thanksgiving, I’ll be able to hand a few of these out at Tyrone Biggum’s next 5 o’clock free crack craft giveway.




PUMPKIN STOUT
3.3lb Briess Traditional Dark Liquid Malt
1lb Munton’s Dark Dry Malt
1lb Briess Traditional Dark Dry Malt
0.5lb Dark Brown Sugar
0.5lb Flaked Barley
0.5lb Roasted Barley
1oz Fuggle Hops (60 min)
1.5 Tbsp pumpkin pie spice (15 min)
60oz. pumpkin, roasted (15 min)
11g Danstar Nottingham Ale Yeast

Back from Minot

I finally made it back from tent city in Minot. I had no clue this small North Dakota town even existed when I got sent there for a disaster relief mission almost a month ago, so I’m expecting, that like me, everything you knew about the Dakotas you learned from Fargo.

To keep you from having to Google or Wikipedia Minot, I’ve compiled a quick and dirty rundown of this country town located in the Souris River Valley:

Devastating floods hit Minot this summer, and created an impressive amount of debris (and made for some even more disastrous sewage backup).



50mph winds can do work on a canvas tent while you’re trying to sleep through a symphony of snores from the Over 50 Singing 100. Just ask a local to tell you the terrible “why it’s windy in North Dakota joke”.

Minot State University is the only college that can get away with having a beaver and a red rocket on the same homecoming week poster.

The only source of entertainment is Bingo, and it’s not just reserved for the senior citizens Sunday school class.

Breakfast buffets, Chinese buffets, country cookin’ buffets, hell any buffet, North Dakotans love buffets, which leads me to number my next observation.

Sasquatch sitings in the Dakotas can be attributed to the burly, Scandinavian women of Minot. My first day, The Harry and the Hendersons phenomenon was first revealed to me by Minot’s own City Engineer- “What do you call a hot girl in Minot?.... a tourist”.

The ride from Minot to the Candian border makes for some pretty incredible views.




Canadians are actually more pleasant than Terrance and Phillip, and usher you right on in to their country for a visit (aye). Getting back through U.S. Customs without a passport is exponentially less joyous. After one hour, 12 phone calls, and an interrogation by a Kindergarten Cop, we were finally allowed back in to the States.

If you can’t tell, I was ready to return to some normalcy, if you can even call New Orleans that (at least here, I’ve got a hot shower and a warm bed). I’ve been deprived of festivals, live music, good food, and even cooking for over a month, so be on the lookout for some good things to come over the next few weeks (especially since New Orleans on Tap Beer Festival over at City Park is this weekend). Hopefully, in between all of my catching up, I can finally get this Bovina Brewing project off the ground, aye.

Hiatus

I’ve just been tasked to a debris mission in North Dakota, so the blog is going on an extended (30 day) hiatus. I’m up to date on my tetanus shots (thanks to our demolishing of Stewart’s house in the greatest summer in Starkvegas history), so don’t worry about me stepping on a rusty nail from a less-than-reputable-establishment. I’ll be living in a tent outside of a town that just got completely flooded, so the blog entries may be few and far between, and possibly nonexistent. We will, however, be burning up a Groupon to Flaming Torch tonight, and I’m sure I’ll hit up Freret Street Po-boy and Donut Shop for a fried eggplant po-boy, so a few posts may get cranked out before I leave on Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll bring back some of that cooler North Dakota weather with me, so this Bovina Brewing project can get off the ground. See y’all when I get back.

Happy Hour at American Sector

Summer is still in full swing. Just a quick whiff of my soaked shirt from the Delcambre Shrimp Festival this past weekend is evidence enough. Even though there is no end to the sweltering temperatures, there is still a small flicker of hope. Fortunately there a few a few rewards for those tourists and locals that can stand breathing through a hot, wet towel during the middle of a southern summer day. The official COOLinary menus are in play right now, as well as a few other summer dining specials I’ve attempted to compile here. Last weekend we decided to take advantage of another perk for sticking out the unbearable summer heat- food-centric happy hours.

The bacon maple donuts from Blue Dot had held us over through lunch, so we were looking for an early, somewhat small supper before we went over to Royal Street for Dirty Linen Night. As usual, and almost on cue, we both concurrently thought about meat pies. That’s right, meat pies. I know it’s weird that we were both thinking about meat pies, but the savory, deep-fried, empanada-like pastries that Natchitoches, Louisiana has tried to lay claim to are irresistible. Almost telepathically, we knew exactly where we were going- American Sector.

A part of John Besh’s empire, American Sector is the ‘40s and ‘50s themed restaurant located on the sprawling World War II Museum complex. We walked through the large glass doors at the Magazine Street entrance to find a hostess, as well as the entire staff, fully decked out in the era’s attire.

Since we were here for happy hour, our Lucile Ball-like hostess seated us at the oval-shaped, industrial-looking bar located directly in the center of the restaurant. We took a quick look at the standard menu just to get a feel for the John Besh’s interpretation of this era’s food and found some seriously uncustomary dishes. There’s the down-home comfort food classics like meatloaf and chicken and dumplings on the menu. But the rabbit pate, a beef tongue sandwich, and pork cheeks with black-eyed peas will entice the more adventurous to this reinvented post-WWII -themed fare.

Before the bartender could even begin explaining the happy hour specials, we quickly placed our drink order. The draft list was fairly substantial, with all the local breweries, including the oft-overlooked Heiner Brau, well represented. I decided to go with a pint of Tin Roof Perfect Tin Amber Ale, and Erin jumped the border over to Texas like Slowpoke Rodriguez and ordered a pint of one of her new favorites, St. Arnold Fancy Lawnmower. Any bar/restaurant can throw out a drink special or two for happy hour, but the restaurants in the Besh kingdom trump all other happy hours by including some pretty ridiculous food specials (see the pizza at Domenica and oysters at Lüke). After all, that’s why we chose American Sector on this steamy afternoon.

Before we could even suck down a few sips or our pints, our food was delivered to the bar by a smaller Asian guy who still hadn’t mastered the English language. After a few incoherent mumbles, we ultimately figured out the order was ours. First up, meat pies. The crisp crust surrounded the savory meat filling, which was somehow creamier than any other meat pie we’ve had. I let Erin have the majority of them, not because they were terrible (we even placed a second order of them), but because I was a little more interested in the second part of our happy hour special.

Billed as a slider, these were more like mini sloppy joes than a sack of late night gut grenades from Krystal. These aren’t even your Warren Central Junior High cafeteria sloppy joes or you mama’s manwiches either. Slow-cooked, tender chunks of beef short rib, crispy fried onion strings, and sweet bbq/sloppy joe sauce replaced the customary ground beef and were sandwiched in between a miniature, soft bun. On their own, these tiny sandwiches from this nostalgic restaurant were awesome, but throw in the price of the draft beer ($2.50) and the price of the sliders and meat pies ($0.75/each), and I think we’ve discovered a deal that will aid in our ability to survive these last weeks of summer.

American Sector’s happy hour runs daily from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM and includes:
$0.75 sliders
$0.75 meat pies
$2.50 draft craft beer
$3.00 wells
$4.00 mint juleps

Blue Dot Donuts

The lockout is over, and football season has finally arrived. Yeah, it’s just preseason, but the beginning of football means that I will slowly start regaining my household control over the remote control. At last, no more new episodes of Teen Mom, Toddlers and Tiaras, or reruns of Law and Order: SVU. It also signals the beginning of some serious hangovers and even more serious clog-your-artery-and-soak-up some-of-the-remnant-alcohol breakfasts lunches in the near future. Since I started the season by actually partaking in the Saints first preseason game Friday (thanks Pierre), I figured we might as well give the morning-after breakfast a little preseason run, too. After all, it takes a lot of offseason workouts and multiple preseason practices (and Bojangle’s chicken biscuits) to make it through a season of tailgating while running the 300 miles with a dog in the car (Griswold style) between tailgating in The Junction in Starkville on Saturday and the tailgate on Rampart in New Orleans on Sunday.

Even though it is over in Mid-City, I’m certain that we discovered a new early morning game day tradition for the upcoming season. As soon as we walked through the door into the small ex-policeman-owned shop that had been entirely painted in a baby-boy’s-room-light-blue, the smell of fried dough and molten sugar was enough to entice us to come back to Blue Dot Donuts every morning as part of our game week routine. It was a little later in the morning, so we had to anxiously wait a few minutes while a gaggle of customers frenetically flocked near the cases of donuts at the front counter.


They do have a paper menu, but once we finally got within reading distance of the cases, we realized that manuscript wasn’t necessary. Some of the donuts, like the glazed, chocolate iced, and lemon filled donuts, were easily recognizable. Some, however, were not your ordinary, everyday donuts, and reading the label at the front of the pile of doughy, sugary goodness was a necessity. There were red velvet cake donuts, German chocolate cake donuts, key lime pie crumble donuts, boston cream pie donuts, and even a donut filled with peanut butter and jelly. For those really feeling extra frisky, or most likely still drunk, Blue Dot even offers breakfast sandwiches. No McMuffins or Spam Croissan’Wiches. Here, they take your favorite New Orleans Ice Cream flavor and sandwich it in between the donut of your choice. I wasn’t in the mood for a bananas foster ice cream- blueberry glazed donut sandwich, but since it was just preseason, I took a gamble on the kickoff and went with the donut that brought us here in the first place- the Bacon Maple Long John.

Resembling piece of scrap 2x4, this elongated donut was iced with a maple glaze and then topped with what looked like 3 whole strips of crumbled bacon. The salty, sweet, and savory ridiculousness overloaded my taste buds. We had done it; we had found the perfect hangover remedy. This cure-all had all the essential food groups needed for football season- bread, sugar, and of course BACON. If only David Allen Coe had eaten here, all the kids at every karaoke bar in the SEC would probably be singing “The Perfect Hangover Remedy Song” instead.

Black Drum with Creole Meuniere and Toasted Pecans

BLACK DRUM WITH CREOLE MEUNIÈRE AND TOASTED PECANS

(Yield: 2 Servings)
½ cup flour
1.5 Tablespoon, plus ½ teaspoon Creole Seasoning
black pepper
2 black drum filets, 4-6 ounces each
½ cup peanut or vegetable oil
4 Tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
¼ cup toasted pecans, chopped
2 Tablespoons shallots, diced
¼ teaspoon garlic
½ teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
6-7 Tablespoons veal stock
Juice of 1 lemon
¼ teaspoon red wine vinegar

1. In a shallow pan, add the flour and 1.5 Tablespoons of the Creole seasoning and black pepper. Blend well and set aside.
2. Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Season both sides of the drum filets, lightly and evenly, with the Creole seasoning.
3. When the oil is hot, dredge the drum filets in the seasoned flour. Place into hot oil and cook until both sides are brown and crispy, 2-3 minutes per side.
4. Transfer the fish to a sheet pan lined with paper towels to drain. Set aside and keep warm in a 200 degree oven.
5. Discard the oil, reserving the flour in the bottom of the pan. Return the skillet to the stove over high heat.
6. Add 1 Tablespoon of butter and cook, stirring constantly, until the butter turns dark brown, 20-30 seconds.
7. Add the pecans, shallots, garlic, and ½ teaspoon of Creole seasoning. Cook, stirring, for about 20 seconds.
8. Add the Worcestershire sauce, 6 Tablespoons veal stock, lemon juice, and vinegar. Bring to a boil. (If the sauce is too thick, add an additional Tablespoon of veal stock.)
9. Reduce heat to low and add the remaining 3 Tablespoons of butter. Stir constantly just until the butter melts into the sauce and becomes fully incorporated. Remove from heat.
10. Top each filet with sauce and serve immediately.

*Note: Our version is definitely not a true French meunière (like the one at Galatoire’s); however, it does closely resemble the Creole version of meunière invented by Count Arnaud that is still widely used throughout New Orleans. Black drum can be replaced with speckled trout, or red fish. Almonds are a suitable (and delicious) substitute for pecans.

Mahony's Po-Boy Shop

Mahony’s fits the bill of a traditional New Orleans neighborhood po-boy shop. Besides the sign out front, they set up shop in a nondescript, converted Uptown shotgun. Since we live only two blocks away, the neighborhood feel of this Magazine Street restaurant is utterly unmistakable. We’ve been here a few times for some of their New Orleans’ classics, like an overstuffed fried shrimp po-boy. But the owner, Ben Wicks, utilizes his culinary talent learned at Rio Mar to create some specialty sandwiches that are both adventurous and delicious. Since it is practically in our backyard, we’ve even ventured out into his more inventive sandwiches on the menu, like the grilled shrimp/fried green tomato po-boy and the peacemaker (fried oysters, bacon, and cheese).

These signature po-boys are what have won this restaurant awards at the annual New Orleans Po-Boy Preservation Festival. Chef Wicks po-boy prowess has even garnered the attention a few celebrity chefs.

Unfortunately, one of the downfalls, for me at least, of gaining local and national attention is gaining an enormous following. Trying to get inside on a Saturday is like trying to get into a porta-john at Jazz Fest. We knew this already, so we slipped in on a humid Friday night. No huge crowds. Not even a line at the order counter. We quickly placed our order, grabbed a NOLA Hurricane Saison and waited for the forthcoming deliciousness at one of the tables in the half-full dining room. We waited, and waited, and then waited some more. The kitchen is the size of a small bedroom, and getting a seat in the dining room on most days is like playing musical chairs with Bill Goldberg, so I usually anticipate a lag between ordering and eating. But seriously, this was a slow Friday night. After looking around at all the miserable looking diners inside, we weren’t the only ones getting anxious; each time the saloon doors to the kitchen opened up, every head in the restaurant whipped around to see if their mound of butcher-paper-wrapped po-boys were on the brown plastic serving trays. The party next to us had never been here before and wasn’t prepared for the wait. After just 15 minutes, they asked the bartender how much longer it would be. She explained that all po-boys were fresh and made to order. True, but I’ve been in and out of Freret Street Po-Boy in 10 minutes, and they don’t even mix the batter for the shrimp until I order.

After 45 minutes, we finally heard our name called. Ah, there was hope. Regrettably, it was only our large order of fries (seriously, don’t be a hero, one order can feed 3 or 4 grown men). These hot, crisp, hand-cut fries appeased our appetite, but served as a mere teaser. Finally, after nearly an hour, our name was called again. Thank the Lawd. I almost had to break out into a Southern Baptist hymnal. With thick, spicy brown gravy bleeding through the chewy Leidenheimer bread and white butcher paper, you could already tell that Erin ordered the super sloppy roast beef before she even unwrapped it. Even though she proclaimed that it was a little to fatty for her, I like my slow cooked roast to have some of that melt-in-your-mouth fat intermingling with the tender beef. Wait, what the hell am I doing? I’m hungry, and I’m now wasting time analyzing a roast beef while ignoring my own po-boy sitting right in front of me. I hastily unwrapped my sandwich- a chicken liver and Creole cole slaw po-boy.

The crunchy Creole slaw, made with Creole mustard, provided a textural contrast to that characteristic organ meat texture of the golden-brown livers. The tanginess of the slaw also provided some flavor contrast by cutting through the minerally quality of the chicken livers. It’s the quality of sandwiches like this one that cause me to continually ignore the long lines and even lengthier wait here. Still, it perplexes me to have high quality po-boys right here in my backyard piss me off and soothe my sandwich soul at the same time.

Dong Phuong

Dong Phuong. Uttering those words a decade month ago would have conjured up images of a crime fighting canine janitor.

Today, it conjures up something even better. The lockout is over and the dreaded Vietnamese bug has bitten me. Unlike the swarming mosquitoes of summer, there isn’t a readily available repellant. Even though we just checked out the newer Pho Orchid in its unnatural suburban setting Saturday in Metairie, my craving for Vietnamese struck again. The bun salad and spring roll fix had already been satisfied by Pho Orchid’s lemongrass beef, and I had to run to Lake Catherine for work. Almost instantly, I knew exactly who was going to feed me for lunch- the little old ladies behind the banh mi (Vietnamese po-boy) counter at Dung Phuong Bakery.

Even though I had been down this stretch of Chef Menteur Highway from Paris Road to U.S. Highway 11 numerous times, I became somewhat intimidated as I drove past deserted theme parks and Vietnamese signage. While pulling into the parking lot, I began to wonder why restaurants, including Green Goddess, source their bread from this unassuming building. I was about as confused as Hank when he first met Kahn, but trust me, the lunch from this Laotian neighbor is worth it. Once inside, I quickly realized that one slight whiff of the fresh mounds of French bread wafting up from the red box at the front of the store is enough to hook anyone (that’s actually probably the smell of the lard they baste the top of the loaves with). Knowing I would want more bread within the next 2 hours, I grabbed 3 loaves. Why 3? Because they’re 3 for $1.25.

After bagging up my bread in plastic grocery sacks, I immediately dashed to the back counter where two old Vietnamese ladies were stationed. No, not for a massage, but for the best banh mi in the metro area. Ordering was simple- I just picked a number between 1 and 17 (the number of protein choices). I decided on #7. One of the ladies slapped some pate on their fresh bread and then passed it off to the next lady. Once she slathered my bread with an obscene amount of the yellow-tinted, house-made mayonnaise, and loaded up my sandwich with a large crunchy cucumber spear, a few jalapenos, a handful of cilantro, and a heap of crisp pickled daikon and carrot, my liver pate banh mi was complete.

My lunch, however, was not. I’ve made the mistake of only getting one sandwich before and by 3:30, I was hungry enough to eat a whole box of Asian trix. I’ve also gotten two sandwiches and by the time I finished the second one, I was on the verge of exploding. I scoured the store’s assorted pastries and eccentric Asian desserts, but didn’t find anything that would appease my Vietnamese fix. I reluctantly decided to go ahead and check out. Right before she rang up my total for the loaves and banh mi, I noticed a few cases abutting the counter. The assorted meat pies and turnovers that filled the heat-lamp-lit cases caught my eye just in time. Filled with savory meats and a hardboiled egg, one of these flaky pastries would complete my lunch.

With lunch finalized, and enough bread for 3 more large sandwiches, I paid the cashier my $4.28 (remember, that’s for 3 loaves, a banh mi, and a meat pie). Besides the attached restaurant, there weren’t any tables or chairs on the premises to enjoy the fruits of the bakery. Luckily, Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge has a few picturesque pavilions and picnic tables within a 2 minute drive of this truly amazing Vietnamese bakery.

Boo Koo BBQ, Old New Orleans RUMble, and Taceuax Loceaux

The blog has now stuck around for a year, so it’s unquestionably time to get back to the basics. This weekend provided the delicious food and strong drinks to get the blog back on track after a the last few recipes we’ve posted. Equipped with a Groupon and big appetites, we started our night at Finn McCool’s.

Yeah, they pour a good pint of Guinness, but beer was going to play second fiddle to the food being cooked up in the back of this neighborhood Irish pub. Hungry, we had already studied the Boo Koo BBQ menu like Japanese goalies study our penalty kicks, so we knew what we wanted as soon as we walked up to the half door behind the pool tables.

Half a beer and less than half an hour later, we were bombarded by ridiculousness. First up, deep-fried truffled mac and cheese bites with a southern-style comeback sauce- crunchy on the outside with a gooey, cheesey center. Awesome! My only complaint was that only two come to an order. At least we left plenty of room for our mains. Erin, tempted by nachos as usual, got “Da Muthaload Nachos”- a pile of tortilla chips piled even higher with pulled pork, brisket, smoked chicken, and boudin. I decided on the Cajun Banh Mi. This Vietnamese style po-boy, filled with pulled pork, boudin, and hogs head cheese was topped with the usual banh mi toppings (mayo, cucumber, and pickled carrots and daikon).

Wow! Smoky, crunchy, fresh, and creamy all at the same time. The best of Erath and New Orleans East all in the same French roll. And don’t forget, all this grub is coming out of the back of an Irish pub.

As if mounds of smoked meats and deep fried cholesterol weren’t enough, we had already committed to our night’s dessert weeks ago. As we pulled into a sketchy warehouse next to a deserted concrete plant near Elysian Fields, I began to think this event was some type of human trafficking scam. Enticing visitors with an open bar and unlimited desserts, they’d lure us in and then we’d find ourselves bound in the back of a concrete mixer headed for Burma. Scary, but very untrue, that is the trafficking part. As we made our way into the Old New Orleans Rum distillery for their Cocktails and Desserts Summer RUMble, we were immediately met with a stiff, but refreshing, drink from the Bombay Club booth, which was set up in front of a set of the many barrels throughout the warehouse.

After sweating off my first drink in the sultry tin building, we grabbed a frozen drink from the Organic Banana booth and a bowl of rum raisin ice cream from New Orleans Ice Cream to cool ourselves off. As one of the servers floated extra Cajun Spiced Rum over the top of the ice cream, I silently started singing "Yo ho". After “tasting” a few more strong drinks from Juan’s Flying Burrito, and taking a whiff of the random liquids placed throughout the working distillery, the lyrics were on the verge of actually spewing out of my mouth.

Since our time at the open bar was dwindling down, and I was now longing to wear an eye patch, we decided we’d grab more dessert(s) before heading out. While waiting in the dessert line, we inhaled a few doughy rum balls from Bob’s Delectables before getting to the best dessert at this rum-centered event- blueberry mojito cupcakes from Bee Sweet Cupcakes (participants on Food Network’s Cupcake Wars). Cue the chubby cupcake song.

As a last hoorah, and before the Uzbekistan-mail-order-bride/late-2000’s-lesbian-Russian-pop duo DJ scared us off, Erin managed to sneak in a “to-go” rum drink with watermelon from Phoenix.

We thought we were homeward bound like Chance and Sassy, but a tweet from a new food truck (Geaux Plates) rerouted us to Kingpin. We really didn’t need any more food but decided to at least check out the menu. Not entirely impressed, we decided to forgo the mobile offerings and ran into Kingpin (the bar, not the movie) for our nightcap. Once I figured out that I was actually in a bar and not some smoky basement that had been cheaply decorated with cheetah print wallpaper and hubcaps, we were able to enjoy a few pints of NOLA Hurricane Saison while watching a few drunk rednecks (I’m allowed to insult my own kind) play shuffle board with their iPhones.

Drunk gorging (you know, eating a family size bag of Hot Cheetos) and social-media-driven-food-trucks struck once gain. This time it was Taceaux Loceaux and their bulgogi chicken tacos outside Dos Jefes Cigar Bar.


Assembled within the confines of a snatcher van, the Korean-marinated chicken tacos with cabbage, Sriracha aioli, and pickled red onions lucratively ended our Incredible Journey and made it impossible to fit through our door once we finally made it home.

Beer-braised smoked sausage, grilled corn relish, Tobasco gastrique

(Don’t forget to check out the Summer Specials page.)

Still trying to recover from the worst awards show since the Vicksburg High School graduation on TV23, my remote control usage was out of control last night. I flipped past the Travel Channel and see Adam Richman eating a hot dog topped with cole slaw, barbeque sauce, and pickled okra. Somehow, a grown, sweaty man eating a 3 pound hot dog and the sound of Gord Brody banging on a keyborad inspired me to raid the leftovers in the fridge. I ended up with most of the elements of the standard hot dog, well, except for the buns.

BEER-BRAISED SMOKED SAUSAGE WITH GRILLED CORN RELISH, CREOLE MUSTARD CREAM, AND TOBASCO GASTRIQUE

2 links, smoked sausage
½ bottle of beer
1 clove garlic
grilled corn relish, recipe follows
Creole mustard cream, recipe follows
Tobasco gastrique, recipe follows
cheese grits
(Yield: 2 servings)

1. Place sausage in a skillet set over medium-high and brown all sides.
2. Add beer and garlic to pan, and bring to a boil.
3. Reduce heat to simmer, cover, and braise sausage until cooked through, about 5 minutes per side.
4. Serve sausage, grilled corn relish, and Creole mustard cream over Tobasco gastrique and cheese grits.

Grilled corn relish
1 ear corn
2 Tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon Creole seasoning
¼ small red onion, diced
¼ green bell pepper, diced
2 Tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
1 jalapeno, seeded and minced
1/4 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

1. Preheat grill to medium-high.
2. Brush the corn with 1 tablespoon of olive oil and season with the cumin, Creole seasoning, and pepper to taste. Grill until golden and toasted on all sides, 5 to 8 minutes, turning as needed.
3. Combine the remaining 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, bell pepper, onion, parsley, jalapeno, sugar, and vinegar and season with salt and pepper.
4. Slice the corn kernels off the cob and toss with the relish. Cover and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

Creole Mustard Cream
1 Tablespoon Creole mustard
1 Tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 Tablespoon sour cream

1. Combine all ingredients and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

Tobasco Gastrique
¼ cup Tobasco hot sauce
¼ granulated sugar
1 Tablespoon apple cider vinegar

1. Combine Tobasco, sugar, and vinegar in a saucepan.
2. Stirring occasionally, reduce over medium heat until the sauce has thickened enough to coat the back of a spoon, approximately 8-10 minutes.

The Big New Orleans Summer Specials List

With July only one day away, I figured this would be the appropriate time to launch the Summer Specials page on the blog. The 100 degree temperatures of July and August kill the tourism industry in New Orleans. But for locals, this is the best time of the year to take advantage of summer dining specials and bar promotions. I've compiled these specials, promotions, and coupons, and put them on one comprehensive specials page. You can find this page by following this link or by clicking the "Summer Specials" link there on the right side of this page.

Cabernet Marinated Venison Steak Sandwich

It’s been way too long since I’ve posted a recipe from the kitchen of L’hôtel Gordon (my attempt to try and make our kitchen sound fancy). I’ve seriously neglected this part of the blog, so be looking for me of these recipes to come soon. Follow this link to the relatively small, but soon-to-be-growing recipe page, or just click on recipes link on the right.

Anyway, Erin was out of town for the weekend, I was still hungover from the company picnic, and, besides a few leftovers, we had no food in the fridge. Even though the grocery store is less than 5 blocks away, I didn’t feel like running to get any groceries either. I could have resorted to Chinese delivery from Green Tea, but I decided I love cats too much to make them my lunch.

I dug through the freezer and found a few pounds of vacuum-packed tenderized deer steaks from last season. The tenderized steaks are usually just small steaks that have been pounded thin, and are usually battered and pan-fried or used to make what I call gut rockets- cream cheese and jalapeno stuffed steaks, wrapped in bacon, and grilled. I didn’t feel like frying and we were out of cream cheese and bacon, so that idea was quickly shot down. Besides, Anthony Bourdain was in town. I vacated the recipes found in mobile homes (hey I lived in one for 3 years), and whooped up something I assumed would be worthy of a No Reservations appearance. With ingredients scattered throughout the near-barren fridge, a decently stocked pantry, and leftover duck and andouille jambalaya, I was able to throw together a ridiculous sandwich plate that can serve equally well on a brunch, lunch, or dinner menu.

CABERNET MARINATED VENISON STEAK SANDWICH WITH GRILLED ONIONS, GORGONZOLA AND FIG MUSTARD

2, 6oz tenderized venison steaks
Cabernet marinade, recipe follows
Creole seasoning
½ red onion, sliced
fig mustard, recipe follows
2 oz Gorgonzola cheese, divided
4 slices bread, toasted
(Yield: 2 Sandwiches)

1. Place steaks in marinade, and refrigerate for 3-4 hours (can be marinated overnight).
2. Remove from marinade and liberally dust steaks and onions with Creole seasoning.
3. Grill steaks over medium-high heat until cooked to medium to medium-well doneness (2-3 minutes per side).
4. Grill onions until soft (2-3 minutes per side).
4. Allow steaks to rest 3 minutes.
5. Assemble sandwiches on toasted bread: 6 oz. steak, grilled red onions, 1 oz Gorgonzola, and 2 Tablespoons fig mustard per sandwich.

Marinade
½ cup Cabernet Sauvignon (drink the rest of the bottle, or BOX, while grilling)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 Tablespoon cracked black pepper
1 Tablespoon crushed red pepper
¼ cup olive oil
1 sprig thyme (stems removed)
2 sprigs rosemary
5 dashes Crystal hot sauce
2 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 Tablespoons brown sugar
2 Tablespoons Dijon mustard

1. Combine all ingredients in a gallon storage bag and refrigerate.

Fig Mustard
1 ½ Tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 ½ Tablespoons fig preserves*
½ Tablespoon Steen’s Cane Syrup
½ Tablespoon Creole mustard

1. Combine all ingredients and refrigerate.

*Note: I used my grandma’s homemade fig preserves from Attala County, MS

NOLA Brewing Brewery Tour

After streaming the Mississippi State-Florida Super Regional on ESPN3.com at “work”, I decided I had had enough of the relelentless scoring of Florida’s offense (at least Nick Vickerson delivered on Saturday). Serious drinks were necessary to ease the pain of the shellacking I had just received. With less cash money than BG and Juvy, I quickly had to figure out a way to drown my sorrows without sinking my bank account. Following countless minutes of blank stares, it finally hit me- NOLA Brewing Brewery Tour. Since they’ve been in operation about as long as I’ve been in town, I figured this trip was long overdue.

As I pulled up to the small red warehouse within the industrial thoroughfare at the corner of Tchoupitoulas and 7th, I saw that I wasn’t the only person suffering from drinking pains at 2:00 on a Friday afternoon. Around 40 people were already there, drinking free beer out of their free NOLA Brewing pint glasses. I grabbed myself a pint and then hit the taps directly across the warehouse from the stash of glasses. Once in front of the tap handles, I had to make the toughest decision of the day.

Feeling pressure from the growing line that had formed behind me, I grabbed a Hopitoulas right before the tour began. Free beer is nothing new to a brewery tour, but the actual tour itself is what set NOLA’s apart from others I’ve partaken in. This was no Pawtucket Brewery, people were WORKING. That’s right, while we were enjoying an ice cold ale, employees were actually doing real work.

It’s a brewery (the only one in the Crescent City). They brew beer. Really good beer. That is all. There were no fancy tasting rooms or frilly gift shops here, just a wide open, dimly lit warehouse with a few tanks and kettles.

NOLA set itself even further apart from its competitors’ tours by providing a guide who actually works at the brewery. She wasn’t a marketing director or a weekend volunteer giving us some generic 5 minute incoherent spill; she was just a rubber-boot-wearing brewery worker. So, when someone had a question about the hop additions in Hopitoulas I was drinking, or the dry erase board that contained the day’s tasks, she was able to answer without hesitation.

I had already heard they were moving to canning their beer by the end of the year, but towards the end of the tour, our guide revealed that they would be releasing a new brew very soon. The Smoky Mary, named after a former Street Car and a ride at the defunct Pontchartrain Beach theme park, is an ale brewed with grains that have been smoked for 2 hours over pecan wood.

Wait, wait, wait. I can’t believe I fell for it. I’m off work, 3 beers deep on a Friday afternoon, and I was being tricked into learning something. That shifty NOLA Brewery, forcing me to drink free beer and encouraging me to also learn a little something, too. I will NOT be going back. Who the hell am I kidding? I’ll be back, and it’ll likely be this Friday at 2:00. This time, I’m signing out a keg from the complex checkout system next to the oversized walk-in fridge and most likely starting a premature one-man red dress run training session.

Unless you’re one of the seersucker-wearing guys that takes a 5 hour lunch down at Galatiore’s, a free Friday afternoon is pretty scarce. If you do get a chance to get away from the daily grind after lunch, or you decide you’re going to pull a Ferris Bueller like I did this past Friday, you seriously need to get over to NOLA Brewing on Tchoup for a brewery tour.

A Tale of Two Tacos

With all the weddings and all the field trips (not the fun elementary school kind) for work, I’ve been eating out more often outside of New Orleans. Just last week, I had to run to Montegut, and within 24 hours I was on the road again- this time 250 miles away in Vicksburg. In both cases, I was road weary and starving. I’m sure it had something to do with heat and boredom, but in both instances I went for a roadfood staple- tacos. Even though they were mutually delicious and shared similar names on the menu, the tacos from Taqueria D.F. in Houma, LA and Taco Casa in Vicksburg, MS were polar opposites on the taco spectrum.

It’s appropriate that after all this writing that I would end up writing from the same place where the blog began almost a year ago. Much like the first entry, I began the day “working” by collecting wetland data near Montegut. It was hot, I was hungry, and I only had $6 cash. Not to mention, my options were limited in this run-down town. Thankfully, a co-worker suggested a nearby taco stand he had seen on the side of the road on a previous field trip. I’m all about street food, so I was all over the idea. When we pulled up to the taco stand (basically a converted sno-ball stand), the sign in front of Taqueria D.F. made ordering seem almost too easy.

Not so fast, my friend. Yeah, the options were limited to quesadillas, tacos, tortas (Mexican po-boys), burritos, and gorditas, but the fillings of these things were undeniably limitless. There were the familiar shredded chicken and brisket and the semi-recognizable carnitas, but my eyes quickly wondered to the bottom of the menu taped to the sliding glass window.

"lengua (beef tongue), barbacoa (beef cheek), cabeza (beef head), buche (pork stomach)"

There were more entrails on the menu of this tiny kitchen than on the prop list of an early ‘90s Nickelodeon game show. Even though I was feeling more adventurous than Andrew Zimmern, and was willing to try one of these terrible delicious sounding tacos, the translator inside the small stand said they weren’t ready yet (we were the first customers of the day). Somewhat disappointed, I ordered 1 chicken taco and 2 carnita tacos.

My frustration quickly dissipated. It’s amazing how something so straightforward can turn out so amazing. Griddled corn tortillas, carnitas, white onion, cilantro and a limed wedge. That’s it. This was simplicity and fill-you-up-for-cheap at its best. Not to mention, I got to wash all the pork goodness down with a Mexican Coke (sweetened with real sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup). Giggady.

250 miles away in Vicksburg, freshness and authenticity were forsaken (that really came out sounding like the narrator of Swamp People). From outside, Taco Casa appears to be some rundown spinoff of Taco Bell that could have been featured on the Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia.

For those who actually make it inside, they quickly realize this is not the Americanized Mexican fast food we’ve grown to love at 3:00 in the morning after $1.00 Night- it’s much better, and worse at the same time. The carpet hasn’t been changed in 20 years, or even cleaned in the last 20 days. There are only 4 combos posted on the newly refurbished menu behind the counter, but I’ve never seen anybody order them. Like all other frequenters of this local chain (the one in Tuscaloosa, AL can’t be the same), I’ve always ordered from the à la carte menu that includes tacos, burritos, sanchiladas, and their specialty, taco burgers. I’m still not even sure what a sanchilada is, so I ordered my usual.

Like the 400 other times I’ve been here, I gave the lady $6.00 or $7.00 (they don’t take cards or checks), and she gave me my order number from a hand written receipt. I waited around for a minute or two while the old lady smoking behind the counter threw together my custom combo. Once I heard the microwave ding, I knew my order was complete and walked over and picked up a handful of the mini containers of hot sauce, and got my brown tray of oh-so-unhealthy deliciousness- 1 combination burrito, 1 soft taco, 1 chile con queso, and a medium sweet tea.

You’re probably wondering why I would continually expose myself to microwaved ash tacos. Hell, I ask myself that every time walk in this musty, humid restaurant. Maybe it’s the crushed ice. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Maybe it’s the fact that I can walk out miserably full for really cheap. Or, maybe it’s something in the hot sauce or the “beef”. I’m not sure what it is, and I may never know why, but it seems like every trip home, I get a craving for a combination burrito and my car somehow auto-pilots to Taco Casa.