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….”.

Staycation: Part I (Sazeracs and Swamp Thang)

After a rough bout with sweet tea vodka and The Bulldog the night before, our First Annual Staycation was finally here. It was our anniversary weekend and since we hadn’t taken a vacation this year, we decided to play tourists in our own town. We’ve eaten a lot in New Orleans, but this weekend we didn’t want to cut any corners. The objective: eat, drink, and then eat some more. We arrived at the Sheraton on Canal to find that we were eligible for an upgrade to a club level room. We excitedly rushed up to the 42nd floor to check out the room (and the view) like we were 7 year olds on our first vacation.

Following a few ooohs and ahhhs as we gazed over Canal and the French Quarter, we remembered that our main mission was to eat, and that our first stop on the tour was only a few short blocks from the hotel.

It was only 3:30 in the afternoon, and we stormed into Domenica like we were Starvin Marvin. We were greeted at the door with the smell of a wood burning oven, and the sight of the largest concentration of cured meats. Domenica, located inside of the historic Roosevelt Hotel, was running a happy hour that included half priced pizzas, so we decided to, in the words of my mammaws, “not spoil our supper”, and enjoy the humid afternoon over a prosciutto, bufala mozzarella & arugula pizza. The prosciutto was so fresh, and thinly sliced that it practically melted in your mouth.

We decided after a few French 75s and Sazeracs that our appetite had been suppressed enough to make our way down Decatur towards our next watering hole and feed trough.

As we turned off of bustling Decatur onto a much calmer and quieter Dutch Alley, we ran into one of the major casualties of the Red Dress Run.

We made sure the guy was still amongst the living and continued down Dutch Alley to our next Staycation destination, Galvez. We were shown to our table by a very energetic Spanish man with tattoos (not t.a.t.u.s) all over his neck, and were immediately taken aback by the view of the Mississippi River from our table.

Again, there were some oohs and ahhs, but this time they weren’t just because of the view. We decided to go with the tasting menu, a Portuguese inspired 4 course menu, each paired with its own wine. Each course tasted like some little old Spanish or Portuguese woman had been slaving away in a kitchen all day. As we took our first bites of each course, the tat’d up guy, who we later just called Mr. Galvez, explained each pairing in detail. As Mr. Galvez was explaining the history of one of the wines, I happened to catch a glimpse of the chef peering out of the kitchen. My assumptions were correct; the chef was in fact a little old Spanish lady who Mr. Galvez stated, “just likes to make sure everything is running smoothly”.

Gambas al Ajillo - Gulf shrimp, chorizo, and garlic

Paired with: Lancers Rose

Championes Rellenos - Mushrooms, chorizo, bacon, Spanish rice

Paired with: Perquita Reserva

Aleta de Ternera Rellena- filet, pork, demi glace, Portuguese vegetables
Paired with: Domini

Manchego and Quince

Paired with: Osborne Port

As we were were about to wrap up dinner, Mr. Galvez continued our royal treatment by allowing us, and a few other guests, to enjoy the best view in the city on the restaurant’s impressive columned balcony with a complimentary glass of house made sangria.

We continued upriver and played tourists on Bourbon Street, doing the things that most people do when they're on Bourbon, and ended up grabbing a seat to catch some pretty good jazz by Jamil Sharif at Maison Bourbon.

After a few Abita Ambers, some bad dance moves, and watching a big boned girl ride the mechanical whale at The Beach, we were back on Bourbon Street headed back to our Staycation headquarters, and ended up having a close encounter with swamp thang.

Bill Cooke (Clinton)

After a seemingly endless ride through Millard, Pachuta, Electric Mills, and Shuqualak, we pulled into Starkville just in time to catch Bill Cooke’s last set.

Luckily, classes hadn’t started yet, so we were able to snag a table next to the band. I can remember rolling 40 deep (seriously) with a roll of quarters and a fake ID in my pocket for the $0.75 Amber Bock and Bill Cooke my freshman year. A lot has changed in Starkville since those years, except for the cheap drinks and Bill at Dave's. Since we arrived at the bar with just an hour and a half left before last call, we made up for the lack of time with those cheap drinks (3 for 1 wells for $4.00). And just as the night was winding down, alcohol finally snuck up on some poor unsuspecting white couple.

The throwback weekend continued with “grill time” (where some serious Icing took place) and more cheap drinks at Mugshots. I always wondered how long it would take for me to become the “old guy” at the bar. And, at 24, I was THE old guy at the bar. I mean, these kids probably don’t even know how to complete the line “and when we think about you , it….” or who Tommy Pickles is (go ahead and Google it, I’ll wait). I witnessed the worst karaoke of Baby Got Back and a guy on top of the tables taking his shirt off. I later came to the realization that if Baby Got Back was replaced with Don’t Stop Believing, and the guy on the tables was replaced with Stewart/Beavis/Webster, it would be us during the most ridiculous summer of all time.

Between all the nostalgia, the best part of the weekend occurred next to an old house in a remote part of rural Starkville. We got out of the car with an AR-15 and a .40 caliber pistol, and there stood Uncle Tinto with his black jeans and cut off Georgia Bulldogs shirt. The first Steel Reserve influenced words out of his mouth set the tone for the rest of the day- “Shit, all I need is a pocket full of rocks to whip yo ass, Trey.” I knew this was going to be good. He then glared over at me and Matt (in our sandals, shorts, and pocket t-shrits) and said we looked like terrorists for “that al kada, al kida, ya’ll know what the hell I’m talking about”. We made it down to the range and emptied a few rounds on a life size cut out poster of Zach Efrron, before Uncle Tinto wanted to “sho ya’ll boys how to shoot”. After professing he was “45 sheets to the wind”- like we didn’t already know- Uncle Tinto emptied a few rounds of his own, and walked, or I guess stumbled, down the range to see what kind of damage he had inflicted on our High School Musical 3 star. He must have done pretty well because he came back proclaiming he had “got ole Bill Clinton right in the nuts”.

Abita Tour 2.0 and Cochon

Even though my fingers were swollen and blistered from grabbing the grate in a successful attempt to save the hamburgers, and my liver was pissed that I drank that stiff rum and coke right before I went to sleep, I knew it was going to be a good Saturday. Why? The 4th greatest movie of all time was on- Jurassic Park. There’s nothing like waking up to a herd of Gallimimus or T-rex trying to eat your head off. I’m sure the neighbors thought I had a hangover from hell with all the racket radiating from the house (like the time our camper door was almost ripped off the hinges by a fellow dinosaur caller).

After a breakfast of Ranch smothered, day old Domino’s, I met up with the rest of the crew for Abita Tour 2.0 at the site of the previous night’s burn incident. The house looked like the Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters had exploded at a 6 year old birthday party that had been overrun by a bunch of 20 year old fraternity boys. In the mini marshmallow covered yard, an empty kiddie pool, and a deflated Saintsations moon jump laid next to a spent keg and an overturned beer pong table. After a quick assessment of the previous night’s events, we were finally able to gather the living and begin our trek across the world’s third longest bridge to the Abita brewery.

We barely made the start of the final tour of the day, and were greeted at the door with an empty plastic Abita cup and blue booties. I promptly made my way to the eternal fountain of Abita.

Since the free beer buffet, I mean tour, only lasts an hour, I pounded my first Andygator/Purplehaze mix like I was in the NOW Wolfpac. For the remainder of the tour, I stuck to the Abita Select. Select is Abita’s premium line of beers that is brewed in small batches and changes about every month. This month’s rendition of the draft only beer was the Double Kolsch. Abita took the golden colored, German style ale a step further by increasing the malts (and most importantly alcohol). After a few beers and quick tour of the brewery itself, our power hour was over.

Even though my stomach was full of beer, the leftover extra cheese pizza had worn off, and I was getting a little hungry. A pit stop into the Abita Brewpub, the former brewery, allowed us to down massive quantities of even more Abita (the last of this year’s Strawberry) and curb my hunger with one of their blue cheese burgers and sweet potato fries before we made our way back to the south shore.

After an afternoon power nap, I awoke hungry. Seriously, how the hell am I always hungry. I guess I could wake up to something worse. Luckily, Erin made surprise reservations for us for my birthday. The surprise was over when we passed under the 90 overpass on Tchoupitoulas and I saw this.

Cochon, Donald Link’s flagship restaurant, could be best described as a mix of down home Cajun and southern cooking. The rustic Cajun dining room imparted a very laid back and casual ambiance. The menu included a lot of true Cajun and southern dishes as well as a few New Orleans favorites (and no, New Orleans is not Cajun). After a quick glance over at the fried alligator, rabbit liver, boudin, pork cheeks, pork rinds, and fire baked oysters, I knew exactly what I wanted.

Smoked Rabbit and Cornbread Dumplings with Greens. The tender rabbit was surrounded by a bed of seasoned greens, and topped with cornbread dumplings that tasted similar to cornbread dressing that one of my mammaws would make. I cleaned the cast iron skillet and felt like I just finished eating Thanksgiving dinner, but I had to try some of Erin’s brisket.

Slow cooked in Cochon’s wood fired smoker, the taste of smoke resonated throughout the tender beef. The fatty layer that Erin left for me dissolved as soon as it hit my tongue. The juicy meat was accompanied by a southern barbecue staple- potato salad. Cochon spiced theirs up by adding horseradish. The spiciness of the potato salad, the heat of the open kitchen, and the humidity of the July night were finally getting to us. We didn’t even need to think twice about desert. Blueberry cobbler with creole cream cheese ice cream. My phone doesn't do well in low light.

We were going to hit the Magazine Street bars by the house after dinner, but Jimmy Buffet had different plans for us. Before we knew it, we had Zach Brown and Jimmy’s version of Free/Into the Mystic blaring out of my 8 year old, $25 Wal-Mart surround sound.

We felt a little weird dancing in our living room with Gatlin staring at us, but it really got awkward when we realized the blinds were open and everybody on Laurel Street got to see our performance, including Burge and Maddie. I guess we can just attribute that to the Abita Tour 2.0 and the pitchers of Lazy Magnolia Golden Honey Ale at Cochon. Unfortunately, we caught the end of the concert, but it warmed us up for the Starkville road trip to see Bill Cooke.