“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).