Galliano Truck Plaza and Casino

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.