The Dinner:  The story of The Princess and the Frog takes you to New Orleans where beignets, Po’Boys and Jambalaya are local faves. 

The Movie: The Princess and the Frog

The Princess and the Frog hit s theaters nationwide on December 11th.  It is a long-awaited return to classic animation  and Disney’s first African-American animated princess.  The story centers around Tiana, a working class woman from New Orleans with hopes of opening her own restaurant.  The Disney films drives home the point of having a good work ethic. 

Tiana is voiced by Tony award winner Anika Noni Rose, more widely recognized as one of the Dreamgirls from the movie Dreamgirls.  Who is the dashing Prince turned frog?  Brazilian actor Bruno Campos (Nip/Tuck, Jesse) plays Prince Naveen of Maldonia.  The prince consumes the fruits of life without knowing what it is to labor for it until he meets Tiana.  Other celebrities voicing characters in the film include Oprah Winfrey and Terrence Howard.

Among the highlights of the film is the music and the characters.  There are catchy tunes sprinkled throughout the film.   The characters resonate to a point in which you know they will become a common to everyone as Pinocchio or Simba.  When a dialogue is written well and acted superbly it amounts to a winning combination.

Also this film is a treat to foodies because it not only showcases New Orleans food;moreover, it drives the point of how preparing food can be a loving act.

Visit the http://Multiculturalcooking.net at the Spotlight recipe section to learn about the Princess Tiana Cookbook:

http://www.multiculturalcooking.net/en2/news/spotlight-recipes

Leah commissioned me to make a “dark (balding) clown” wig for Next Halloween (I happened to finish a year early)…
and it turned out pretty GOO-OOd!  Now accepting pre-orders…

Instead of making a Dia de los Muertos altar, I just managed to finish my beerbox mask in time for the Butthole Surfers show.  I wanted to get it on to the stage so that they would accept it as a gift, but it ended up just on the ground on the side of the stage.  <:-/
Who knows where it ended up?

IN OTHER NEWS!

what?  Well, there’s a new show at Po’Boys, which I would like to post pics of, and Side Sauce (new compilation CD by Night Viking & Friends) is allllmost done, and the puppet theater needs to be documented, completed (with help!), and used.

That’s some news!

Photo courtesy of Acadiana

I think I smell gumbo.

What is it about writing while hungry that makes my dining memories all the more vivid?

If you’ve never experienced Louisiana cooking, go to Acadiana right now.  Right now.

My memories of visiting New Orleans are all food-based; beignets at Cafe du Monde, po-boys at Mother’s, Sunday brunch at Commander’s Palace.  There was so much to eat, and I was happy to oblige.  I have a vague memory of seeing an albino alligator somewhere, but honestly, I just remember the fried alligator at Franky & Johnny’s.  Tastes like chicken, by the way.

Acadiana’s got the flavor down pat.  Addictive biscuits with cream cheese and jelly.  Tasty crabmeat ravigote deviled eggs.  (I wish they gave you more than one.)  Surprisingly tasty turtle soup.  I’m not sure what turtles taste like, but at Acadiana they taste like a thick tomato-based broth with sherry.

And everyone loves crabcakes, right?  Seeing as that we actually lack good crabcakes in DC, you will be thrilled.  Here, although small, the crabcakes are all crab, all flavor, all Lousiana-style with butter and bacon.

If it’s comfort food you seek, there’s nothing more satisying than the seafood gumbo.  It’s like a big hug from your Mammy.  Crabmeat, crawfish, oysters, clams, rice in a thick, brown stew.  That’s what I want when it’s cold outside.  Take me to Acadiana when the first snowflake falls!

What southern meal is complete without pecan pie?  I don’t really like pecans by themselves but I’m nuts over the pecan pie.  Crunchy pieces of pecans held together with warm, gooey caramel.  Topped with ice cream!  Yay!

Go.  Go now.  Tell them Mary sent you.

Traditional po-boys–oyster, shrimp, sausage. Spicy, dressed, and yummy. You order sandwiches at one location and beer at a separate bar. It doesn’t look like it’s changed much in many years. You can drive by this place and miss it. On the corner of Annunciation and Bellecastle. On street parking along Bellecastle which connects Magazine to Tchapatoulis. White clapboard building with simple white sign

See Trip Advisor:
http://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g60864-d1008643-Reviews-Domilise_s_Po_Boys-New_Orleans_Louisiana.html

In preparation for our New Orleans dining adventure, I was doing a little research on some of the city’s culinary traditions. I found these interesting tidbits on the web site for the world famous Leidenheimer Bakery, makes of the finest breads for po-boys and muffulettas.

During the early years of the 20th century, two brothers, Benny and Clovis Martin, migrated to New Orleans from rural Raceland, Louisiana. When the Martins first reached the city, they found employment as streetcar conductors. Later, they opened a sandwich shop near the French Market and made a culinary discovery: if they concocted sandwiches out of the traditional loaf of French bread, with its tapered ends, the resulting sandwiches would vary in size. The solution was relatively simple: the modern, more or less symmetrical po-boy loaf, which could be cut into equal size sandwiches.

As for the name, during the late 1920’s, the New Orleans streetcar conductors went on strike. The Martins vowed to feed their striking brethren for free. When one of the strikers entered their shop, the call went out: “Here comes anther po-boy!”

The ingredients that go on a po-boy are virtually limitless, depending on one’s imagination: hot roast beef with gravy, ham and cheese (known in New Orleans as a “combination”), fried seafood (oysters, shrimp, softshell crabs, catfish), hot sausage, meatballs–even French fries. When the New Orleans po-boy is “dressed,” the reference has nothing to do with fashion: “dressed” in New Orleans nomenclature means that lettuce, tomatoes, and mayonnaise are added. Po-boys are the great equalizers of New Orleans culture, consumed by workingmen, bankers, doctors, lawyers, musicians, Mardi Gras Indian chiefs, and Carnival Kings. What the finest po-boys have in common is bread baked by Leidenheimer, “Good to the last Crumb” since 1896.

The muffuletta is an Italian-style sandwich invented by Salvatore Lupo in 1906 at Central Grocery in New Orleans’ French Quarter. The origins of the name are vague. Some sources say that it was named after one of Lupo’s best customers: others believe that the name refers to the distinctive round sesame seed-coated bread. What’s unanimous is that the muffuletta is one of the tastiest of all New Orleans culinary creations.

The traditional New Orleans muffuletta is stuffed with ham, salami, various cheeses and marinated olive salad. Muffuletta variations include seafood, turkey, and even a vegetarian version, with grilled eggplant substituted for the meat. The key ingredient is the bread, which has to remain crusty despite the onslaught of melted cheese and olive oil. For this reason, master muffuletta makers demand bread baked by Leidenheimer. www.leidenheimer.com

peanuts.

boiled peanuts

deep fried peanuts. with cajun spices.

cinnamon pecans

chasing after georgia peaches (i am the dot next to the tree)

po boys

It’s true for many of the world’s great wonders: love, compassion, art, music, color… and po-boys. This afternoon, I was discussing them with a future classmate with whom I’ve been in touch via Facebook (thank you, 21st-century social networking sites! I’m now acquainted with pretty much every single person I know and ever will know). He lives in New Jersey and has not an idea of this beautifully simple but indescribable phenomenon. I tried my best to explain New Orleans’ po-boy culture: how there are some places, like Zara’s or any other neighborhood grocery, that sells po-boys in the side. Then, there are po-boy shops that specialize exclusively in this sumptuous sandwich. I then had to try my best to explain the bread, the shrimp, the hot roast beef, the gravy, the satisfaction of a crunchy pickle, the bliss that is Crystal hot sauce mingled with mayonnaise…

I looked for a picture in one of my past blog entries and realized I’ve not once posted a photo of my lovely po-boys! This is sad, yes, but it’s incentive for me to have a po-boy-filled future (is that even a good thing?). I’ll be honest: today was NOT a day when I would have been willing to sit down with a camera and a healthy dose of restraint before eating. Context: today was my first day at Trumpet Group, which is based in Mid-City… in other words, SINFULLY close to Parkway Bakery and Tavern, which (do you believe it?) I had never visited (it’s just too far away, and since I’ve never experienced it, there was little calling me to it.

But, well, I was typical spacy me and forgot to pack a lunch, so I ate nothing all day. By the time I left at 5, I could have slaughtered and filleted a squirrel (thank God I didn’t resort to that). It just made sense to stop by Parkway for a fried shrimp po-boy, both so I could experience their offerings and so I could fill my tummy. I knew Su-Jit was a devotée of this particular sandwich and was curious to see for myself what made this shrimp sandwich so much better than any other. One thing I can say is that all the hype is wholly earned and deserved.

First: the bread. It’s chewy and easily torn, though it’s surrounded by a halo of flaky gold, an aura that shatters after first chomp. Combined with the pressure of both hands (which are required to hold together the pieces of the overflowing sandwich), this exterior breaks into a pleasing grid system of sorts, line after intersecting line like a windowpane letting you see the chewier white inside the bread has to offer.

Then: the shrimp. I have had a lot of friedshrimp in my life, but nary a few fried shrimp (or should I say Fried Shrimp?). Let me explain. Friedshrimp are universally recognized, a crowd pleaser. Big, small, salty, bland, dipped in ketchup or eaten like popcorn: they’re all the same. They’re friedshrimp. Only rarely are we lucky enough to encounter Fried Shrimp, which are fried with the dignity or precision that are typically heeded to, say, calamari. These shrimp were midsized and juicy but not soggy on the inside of their well-seasoned, crispy, greasy fried shell, which coated them completely in a tastefully thin layer. Intermingling with the stringly lettuce and that makeshift Crystal aioli, it was impossible to fathom for such a hungry tummy like mine.

All I know? This stuff’s good. Pictures to come in the next two weeks, depending on when I get out to Parkway again.

The high ranking on Urban Spoon, the fine review in the Atlanta Journal and Constitution, none of this adequately encompasses the way Benny’s Bar and Grill handles food and prepares meals.  The kind of talk you can hear on the Food Channel, about how food can be “rich with flavor”, comes into sparkling clarity when you try one of Mike “Benny” Miller’s dishes. So don’t let the tough driving conditions, the menu on the outside, the rave reviews drive you away.

The restaurant is located at the site of the old Mellow Mushroom just south of Golden Corral, on Highway 78. Benny’s is a little north of the Highway 78 – Killian Hills intersection, and for those a little west of this restaurant, approaching it by heading down Killian Hills and north on 78 might save you some grief. There is some parking in front of the restaurant, but a lot more parking in the back of the building, down a ramp to the left.

Once inside, it doesn’t seem as cramped as the old Mellow Mushroom was. There is much better use of space and, it seems, a lot more places to sit and eat. The layout is graceful, but unpretentious. There are big screen TVs on the walls, a bit of bar seating, elegant tables and on the tables, no salt or pepper. I didn’t notice the lack of spices, Mike Miller pointed it out. And to be honest, I didn’t need it.

A description of the food might be a fusion between the kind of food California has made famous (more accurately, modern American cuisine) and Cajun/Creole cooking.  If that’s too high falutin’, think of it as guys in a kitchen with Louisiana roots trying to make really good food while incorporating neat tricks friends from elsewhere have taught them. The results are a lot of original dishes, entirely the opposite of the chain experience.

On to the food:

The soup of the day was a gumbo, and gumbo can be a make or break experience in a restaurant with aspirations to deliver Louisiana favorites. The bowl was appealing when it arrived, with nice chunks of sausage floating in a rich broth. It looked great, smelled good, and it was delicious. It had a lot of flavor, and it managed it with just a tiny bit of heat, enough to let you know it was there.

I also had the boudin egg rolls, perhaps because a lot of restaurants that claim Cajun roots can’t even spell boudin. They were good, bits of sausage and rice in the egg roll. The rolls looked to be a bit unwrapped, and there was cheese, I think, melted into the portion of unwrapped roll.

I didn’t order an entree until I had eaten the appetizer and the soup and the jerk pork tenderloin was too much to resist at that point. And before I trip over superlatives describing how good it was, let’s just say it was exceptionally good.

The beer selection here is really well thought out, with a small number of beers that encompass a wide range of tastes. If you like light beer, you can get that. If you want an extra stout, you can get that too. If you’re like me and want something more like a brown ale or Anchor Steam, they have those as well.

For those wondering why I haven’t described the po boys or the desserts, they are very well covered by the AJC review, and I really want my wife, who has made me drive 90 miles for a good po boy in the past, to have her say first.

By the time I was into the pork tenderloin, Mike Miller came out, and we spoke for a bit. It’s impressive, his grasp of his craft. Prices in Benny’s Bar and Grill are also equally impressive. Entrees run 10 to 14 dollars, their famous po boys run about 9 dollars. You should be able to come here, have a salad and an entree, and beat the prices of every mid priced Snellville steakhouse, or even Ruby Tuesday’s. The desserts, which the AJC raved about, are also competitively priced with any low to mid priced chain.

Verdict: Exceptional food, exceptional value. This is original food, not cookie cutter stuff. The setting is appealing without being pretentious.  Despite the informality, this is the kind of restaurant that would be considered an asset in any city I’ve eaten in, from Seoul, Korea and San Francisco in the east, to Manhattan, Philadelphia, and Boston in the west.

Benny’s Bar and Grill
3902 Highway 78
Snellville, GA
(678)-209-0209

Update 10/27/2009: Benny’s has a letter posted on the front door saying it is temporarily closed.

When you’re walking the riverfront of Savannah Georgia, and your feet hurt, your body aches, and your stomach is asking for a little attention, this restaurant delivers. For one, the inside walls are beautiful: cracked masonry that reminds me of my grandfather’s houses, or a drive into Amish country in Pennsylvania. For another, the food they serve comes at a cost that doesn’t induce immediate fear and panic.

This was our third visit to this restaurant, overall, and there was a wait this time, a short one. And once we were seated there was an argument as to whether we had sat in the exact same seat the last time. That ended when the waiter came. I ordered the stuffed flounder, my daughter and wife ordered shrimp po boys. We also ordered a soup to begin, the crab chowder.

The chowder isn’t the pure white you might associate with a New England clam chowder. Instead there is an ounce of yellow in the color, along with bits of potato and small bits of crab. I liked it, my daughter really liked it, my wife didn’t like it – there was a ‘taste’ in it, she said.  But my wife is picky about her food, and even more so when milk or cream is in food.

The po boys were large, not huge, with several large shrimp each. They came with a potato side (french fries, or baked potato). My dish came with a steamed vegetable side as well as a potato. The fish in my dish was a bit more football shaped than I anticipated, but that didn’t affect the taste. The flounder was stuffed with deviled crab, covered with red spice and tasty. My wife finished her sandwich. My daughter was feeling picky, so she ate the shrimp, but otherwise picked at her food. Maybe she was thinking of Savannah’s Candy Kitchen a little further down the street.

We ended with a bourbon pecan pie, which wasn’t bad at all, though I was wishing it were a little richer in pecans.

Service is largely good here. Our waitress was attentive and when we were asking about desserts, quite helpful.

Verdict: The Cotton Exchange delivers reliably good food for someone prowling the riverfront. Though nothing on Savannah’s riverfront is cheap, you won’t feel as if you’ve overpaid for the scenery here.

We visited New Orleans (Becky, Tyler, Harry and I).    The weather could not have been better.  Very mild temps and low humidity.  We were able to visit some of our favorite places and Harry was able to see some of his old friends and take care of some business.

I’ve got to tell you though, New Orleans is one of my least favorite places to be.   The air around the French Quarter is a sickening blend of coffee, beignets and urine.  Visiting here is like spending time in a filthy interstate gas station men’s room – it stinks, it’s usually occupied by strange characters, there’s a good chance you will contract a disease and you can’t seem to get clean enough once you’ve left.

That’s not to say there are not some highlights in the Crescent City.  The Camellia Grill is always a treat – a look at the way restaurant service used to be.  Muriel’s on Jackson Square is an outstanding upscale dining experience.  And Cafe Dumond’s coffee and beignets are still a treat (oddly though the waitstaff is now entirely little old Asian ladies).

Only half to three quarters of the pre-Katrina residents are still present, the traffic is still horrific.  And, as general rule, the residents still have a “gimme, gimme, gimme” attitude.   The one exception:  the Algiers Community – life across the river appears to be more leisurely with a small town feel.

But I guess I am just spoiled.   Having lived in East Tennessee my whole life (so far anyway) it is hard for me to understand why anyone would want to live anywhere else.

1. this is my favorite place in the whole wide world
2. for less than $15, you too can own the greatest po’ boy sandwich ever to grace our island. I am partial to the catfish usually, but last night I had the fried oyster variety, and I felt something deep within me that I suppose would be akin to human love.
3. whatever you order, get bbq sauce on the side
4. the mac n cheese is small but mega dense with deliciousness
5. no matter how much you eat, you will have ordered too much
6. the mashed potatoes are amazing. They are creamy and smooth, yet lumpy where they should be. how is that possible?
7. they sell Abita Purple Haze. Sure, sometimes they say they think they are out of it, but if you give them the puppy dog eyes, they find a way to make it happen.
8. and they make a mean Lynchburg Lemonade which looks like some sort of baby fetus drink
9. no matter how much I drink, and how weird the seafood that I order there is, I have never gotten sick
10. I have always gotten really happy
11. oh yeah, free cornbread. And it rocks also.
12. they have a small club downtstairs where bands play and it rocks too
13. I saw this guy last night who was totally a whirling dervish on the drums
14. and I’d just gotten a haircut so I was all sexified
15. though it was probably nullified by the fact that I had just eaten my weight in n’awlins barbeque and really wish I’d worn my thanksgiving pants

In celebration of Mardi Gras I recently visited Nubian Queen Lola’s Cajun Soul Food Restaurant in Austin. Lola’s Shrimp Po Boy is believed to be one of the best in Texas and I was on a mission to try it.

Knowing Lola’s life story makes me appreciate her even more. It’s an overwhelming story guaranteed to make you cheer for her, (someone call Oprah, please). To top it off, on Sundays she closes her restaurant to the public and opens it to the homeless, devoting the entire day to feeding them.

Warning: You’ll wait way too long for your food (because she makes everything to order, right there on the spot) but you will be rewarded as a result. When your Po Boy arrives don’t even try to fit your mouth around it, just don’t, it’s impossible.

It comes loaded with fried onion rings, large perfectly seasoned battered fried shrimp, tomatoes, pickles, lettuce, secret sauce and a side of your choice. (Choosing just one side is difficult, but the beauty is in realizing that you will need to come back and try other options). The first bite of this sandwich will take you from crispy to sweet and then to heaven. The toasted French bread is crusty, warm and mouth-watering. Every bite will feel like a new discovery.

An added bonus to visiting The Nubian Queen is knowing you did something good for the homeless and for Lola.

i’m kind of a creature of habit. when i find something i like i basically stick with it until i get sick of it. that’s why i went back to yat’s again for lunch.  this time i ordered the crawfish po boy, which is now an “off-menu” item. let’s just say they are really generous with their crawfish. unbeatable for 6.99. and holy shit, make sure to try the catfish po boy too. it’s basically just deep-fried deliciousness. you won’t regret it.

later that night i went out with the gentleman friend for dinner. we hit up marnee thai, which neither of us had been to. um, this place is pretty awesome. i really don’t know why i’ve only just discovered it. seriously, everything we ordered was on point. but the highlight of the meal was definitely the basa filet (which is like sole) with garlic and black bean sauce . stellar. promis me you’ll order it- it was 12.95.

oh, and this is the shit that went down this past weekend. make up your own story.

Posted on Thursday, February 5, 2009

Today is one of those rainy days where Monkey had a hot mug of morning tea, a black milky tea she makes from a bag just like her three-in-one coffee.  Now it’s the afternoon and Pink Monkey wants another tea to warm her up while all the rain drip-drops on the balcony outside.  

This is what Monkey drinks.  It’s hard to read, but on the tea bag it says: Make a Healthy Beautifully Wish.  Monkey is going to do just that.  She likes to make healthy beautifully wishes.  Maybe it’s an asian thing.

This morning Monkey had her cello lesson where she learned one of the most important lessons of her life.  She was playing a Schroeder exercise for her teacher.  After she was done, he said, “Your notes are right, the dynamics are right,but….there’s not much emotion in it.”

That’s when Monkey realized that she was so concerned about playing the correct notes, getting the technical parts exact and following the musical instructions to a Tee, that she totally forgot to actually PLAY THE MUSIC!  Sometimes this happens in Monkey’s life.  She’s so worried about doing the right thing, she forgets to just live and be.

Me and my cello metronome. It helps me keep rhythm when I practice. This often makes me nervous and focus on getting it right instead of just enjoying the music.

Monkey’s also been on the computer a lot these days, tic-tac-ing on keys, uploading files, moving folders, creating portfolios, PDFs, JPGs, DOCs, PSDs, MOVs, ABCs and 123s.  It’s like a click click clacking dance that all happens in the screen on her lap.  Sometimes her eyes hurt after awhile.  

I'm working on the computer

Don’t tell anyone, but Pink Monkey wears glasses.  She wishes she didn’t have to, likes to pretend she doesn’t, but in fact, she’s a four-eyed monkey.

Dinner update!  The other night Pink Monkey and her partner in monkey crime made shrimp and cheesy grits with asparagus.  This took Monkey back to her southern belle roots.  Of course when she was a young southern belle, she hated grits, abhorred vegetables, disliked seafood, and only really wanted to eat chocolate for every meal.  

Anyways, Blue Monkey grilled the shrimp to crispy perfection and Pink Monkey enjoyed herself very much.  There was even enough shrimp left over to make shrimp po’boys with coleslaw for next day’s dinner.  Pink Monkey sighs because this reminds her of good ol’ southern Virginny and the Carolinas. 

Oh boy, Po' Boys!

Monkey is still working hard on her picture-taking.  She wants everyone to enjoy the visual images with their eyeballs oh so much.  Maybe she’s trying too hard like her cello-playing.  Maybe she should enjoy the pictures just the way they are.

Monkey also feels like this post is rather discursive.  She wishes she could be more poetic.  Like the Tao Te Ching which she just read but still has a long way to go to actually absorb its meaning.  Words that resound more than its letters.  Sentences that serenade like Tosca does for Scarpio before she stabs him in the chest.  Really good poetic-ness like that.

For some unknown reason, I am always seized with this carnal craving for a very particular dish or food group whenever I am in after-school choir practice. There is no explaining it, but every week, without fail, it happens, and I’m nearly keeling over because I am so hellbent on finding a juicy pink steak, some mushroom pasta, or some tortellini. Today, the food group of choice — or, more accurately, of involuntary spastic craving — was cheese. Ask Elizabeth; I was spouting out “mozzarella sticks,” “cheesy ravioli,” and other such novelties between verses for the entire rehearsal.

But at the heart of the matter was a very simple but very pressing issue. I was a girl who needed a grilled cheese. And with that said, I have decided to compile a very sincere, very dedicated declaration of my love for the art of the sandwich. First off, were you aware that John Montagu, the fourth Earl of Sandwich, is credited with pioneering this delectable dish? (He didn’t invent it, though; he was just a fond champion.) Wikipedia is such a joy.

Now:
La Divina’s Il Tacchino panini — I’m usually at this cute little place to get gelato (their crema di limon is like nothing else on this earth; it’s exactly like a lemon icebox pie, and it’s got a dreamy consistency), but every now and then, when I have company, I stick around for a sandwich and I’m never disappointed. The ciabatta bread is, well, ciabatta bread — I’m not sure anyone has ever raved about plain old ciabatta, but it’s certainly decent. Inside are thin-thin-thinly sliced smoked turkey, gorgeous avocado that is unfailingly green, diced red onions that are small enough to not overpower, and parmigiano reggiano cheese. I always ask for dijon mustard, because really, when can you go wrong with mustard on a sandwich?!

Sucre’s sashimi tuna sandwich — I actually haven’t had this one in a little while so I’m having a hard time remembering the ingredients; I’m a foodie but not a cook, so I have a keen memory for finished products but very rarely pick out and remember particular flavors and ingredients. (I’m working on it!) Anyway, the sandwich is comprised of a soft kind of French bread that is the polar opposite of Leidenheimer’s (it’s firmer and moister, so it stays intact and dignified for the duration of your sandwich experience) but which lends itself nicely to the rest of the item. Then you’ve got strips of delicious, tender, perfect sashimi tuna enrobed in black sesame seeds, some sandwichy green vegetable garnishes, and a sensational but simple wasabi aioli that is mellow with a kick.

Camellia Grill’s cheeseburger — Hands down the best burger I’ve ever had. When I get married, I will bend over backwards to ensure that my wedding is catered with these things. They’re just yummy slabs of plain ground beef, of a manageable but thoroughly satisfying thickness, cooked on that buttery Camellia grill until sizzling and served on the squishiest of squishy white hamburger buns. The best way to go is to get it dressed (mayonnaise is, for me, only okay when it’s on a Camellia Grill burger); bonus points if you also ask for grilled onions, which are diced up and practically caramelized in the same butter in which the burger is cooked. Some might say this universal grill is brutish, but I think it’s genius; I’m positive that the union of all the different items on that one cooktop makes for a sandwich that has subtle nuances and a pleasing sense of togetherness. I like my burger to have faint traces of fried egg in its flavor, and I like my onions to have faint traces of bacon grease or burger juice. Scrumptious.

Domilise’s half-shrimp, half-oyster po-boy — How can I possibly do justice to the way that bread crumbles at the slightest touch into a million tiny flakes? How can words possibly attest to the euphoria incited by that first bite into bread that is at once crunchy and soft? How can poetry possibly convey the glory of a single fried oyster bathed in Tabasco hot sauce? Enough said.

St. James Cheese Company’s delicious concoction of salami, buffalo mozzarella, and pesto — I haven’t blogged about this place yet because I can’t get over the mourning I have for my broken camera; I guess I haven’t felt confident enough to do it justice in its own entry with words alone. St. James is really quite awe-inspiring the first time you go in; as the name suggests, it is a bastion of artisan cheeses — every kind you can imagine — as well as other cutesy little spreads and dips from all over the world. The lunches there are a favorite of my mom’s and she’s gotten me hooked, too; among the offerings are assortments of cheeses/pates/chutneys, gigantic salads, and a host of constantly changing sandwiches named after their respective starring cheeses. My favorite is toasted on thinly sliced ciabatta, with just a few slivers of this really hearty salami, fresh and splendidly white mozzarella that is melted to cover the entire sandwich in all its velvety goodness, and some good old-fashioned basilly walnutty pesto. The sandwich is aesthetically pleasing because contrary to so many other sandwiches you see these days, it is slender and easily fits into your mouth; with such strong and high-quality ingredients, there is absolutely no need for gross excess.

Lilette’s pulled-pork sandwich with natural gravy — I hesitated to mention this one because it hardly counts as a sandwich, what with its hedonistic extravagance and ostentatious flair. I decided to put it in because it fits the technical definition of a sandwich and because it nicely follows the prim tastefulness of St. James’ creation. Pulled pork never loses its whimsy, in my mind; pulled anything is practically made for sandwiches, what with its easy biteability, and it absolutely doesn’t get better than juicy, well-seasoned pork (unless PERHAPS we are talking about a very particular brisket). The natural gravy is creamy-silky, and it makes the sandwich as a whole utterly lavish, serving a purpose similar to that of icing on a cake. The fries on the side are not perfunctory, either, and they are worth poking around in any extra gravy you might have.

That’s all for now because I’m a little swamped. Consider this a work in progress, and feel free to add your own input! I am always looking to expand my sandwich repertoire…

The restaurant’s second cookbook is an invitation into a family experience. Anthony and Gail’s son, John, shares his parents’ lives through recipes, anecdotes, photos, and letters of support they received after Hurricane Katrina.

In business for more than eighty years, Uglesich’s began as a po-boy shop in 1924. The lunch counter was handed down to a second generation, Anthony Uglesich, son of the Yugoslavian founder. Anthony added a new chef, his wife Gail, and new recipes, excluding the luxuries of coffee and dessert. Their devoted patrons enjoyed a menu consisting mostly of seafood dishes.

Beginning with an egg sandwich for five cents, the restaurant has since taken on a life of its own. It closed on weekends and for summer vacation while the owners experimented at home or took a break. It didn’t accept reservations or credit cards. Far from being the typical sleepy, small-time mom-and-pop, the restaurant and everyone in it moved nonstop from open to close, and it gained a national reputation.

The restaurant belonged to the family that shares its name, but it also belonged to the customers, consisting mostly of regulars and some frequent tourists who formed lines around the block to get in. Other guests have included Emeril Lagasse and Martha Stewart, who both featured the restaurant on their respective television programs. Newcomers may have been put off by the small size (only ten tables), or the exterior, desperately in need of new paint, but that didn’t stop the limos from pulling up outside.

http://www.pelicanpub.com/Press_Release.asp?passval=9781589805514&title=COOKING%20WITH%20THE%20UGLESICHES

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HISTORIC CHURCHES OF MISSISSIPPI

Historic Churches of Mississippi is Sherry Pace’s photographic tribute to religious architecture in Mississippi. In her new book she showcases 133 of the state’s most notable historic churches and synagogues dating from the 1820s through the 1920s. Close-ups of some of the structures reveal the work of talented artisans and beautiful architectural detailing.

Architectural historian Richard J. Cawthon provides historic and architectural background both in the introductory essay and in the captions to Pace’s photographs. The religious styles and forms represented range from simple wood-frame country churches to elaborate cathedrals, including the Federal, Gothic Revival, Greek Revival, Italianate, Romanesque, Moorish, and Neoclassical Revival styles.

All of the churches are documented by the Historic Preservation Division of the Department of Archives and History. The book includes images of several churches that have since been destroyed or damaged by Hurricane Katrina. On the front cover of the catalog is the bell tower of the Episcopal Church of the Redeemer in Biloxi. Made a memorial after surviving Hurricane Camille in 1969, it was destroyed during Katrina.

With churches from Aberdeen, Bay St. Louis, Biloxi, Bogue Chitto, Brookhaven, Byhalia, Canton, Carrollton, Centreville, Church Hill, Clarksdale, Clinton, Columbus, Como, Enterprise, Greenville, Greenwood, Grenada, Gulfport, Hattiesburg, Hazlehurst, Holly Springs, Iuka, Jackson, Laurel, Leakesville, Learned, Leland, Lexington, Liberty, Macon, Madison, Magnolia, McComb, Meridian, Natchez, New Albany, Ocean Springs, Okolona, Oxford, Pocahontas, Pontotoc, Port Gibson, Raymond, Rodney, Sardis, Shubuta, Starkville, Terry, Vaiden, Vicksburg, Water Valley, Wesson, Winona, Woodville, and Yazoo City

Sherry Pace of Madison County, Mississippi, is a freelance outdoor photographer. Her work has appeared in the Best of Photography Annual 2001 and Victorian Houses of Mississippi. Learn more about her work at www.sherrypacephotography.com. Richard J. Cawthon is the former chief architectural historian at the Mississippi Department of Archives and History. He lives in Jackson, Mississippi.

http://www.upress.state.ms.us/books/875

It started the way all bus rides start- I was a blissful, pre-pass-out drunk, listening to sweet jamz on my ipod, and I didn’t want to fucking be there.

Oh, and I had to pee, but not enough to really make the experience (‘experience’) of using the bus’s bathroom worthwhile. Because there really isn’t anything to make that worthwhile or good in any way, unless you have bladder cancer. And you were just given 3 seconds to live. And you had no family or friends, and also, you were blind.

In between 2 of the most amazing mashups ever, I hear someone go: ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!’

And then: ‘I’m going to need everyone to exit the bus!’

You are all shaking your heads now, the ‘that’s a shame, I know what that’s like’ nod. You are picturing yourself in the same situation, after that trip you took to meet up with your boyfriend at RISD, and you guys had that amazing first time doing anal, but he was kind of standoffish the next day, and you went home wondering if this was because he wasn’t speaking to his dad right now, or if it was you.

I mean, it couldn’t have been you… right? You guys swore you’d make it through his first year at college, it can’t end like this, with you giving him the one thing you never thought you’d ever give a guy, even one you really really loved who knew you preferred Lipton tea over the fancy stuff, and him just… drifting away from you. Your love is an awesome love that has withstood the toughest of times these past 2 months. No, no, you are totally freaking out, it’s going to be okay, he was just weirded out when you said his dick smelt like shit and you weren’t into going down on him right then. Yeah, that’s it.

And then your bus broke down. Right at this, your moment of deepest love and understanding for your best friend’s older brother’s friend you met at a Big Busch Party on Dobb’s Rock, your bus broke down.

And what did you do? You did what every other person anywhere on this Earth would do- you cursed a little under your breath, you kind of stamped off the bus so the driver would know you were soooo going to call Greyhound as soon as you got back home to get a refund, and you made one or two little snide comments to the other passengers, so that you could have that fleeting and beautiful moment of connection that only strangers experiencing First World Problems together can have.

I know you did this because I am also a human being. And I watched 40 other people do it last night.

Okay, 39. Because I didn’t. I didn’t do any of that. Unlike everyone on that fucking bus and exactly like everything on this fucking blog, having my bus break down is something only *I* like.

I did start to get a bit annoyed, for sure. When they loaded us all back on the bus to wait for an empty one, I kind of sighed, and I looked around, and every time someone walked off the bus and didn’t come back, I thought, ‘What are they doing? What do they know that I don’t know? Should I go see what they’re doing? Oh wait, that lady came back… she’s my ray of hope, I can calm down knowing she’s ba– DAMNIT! Where is she going???’

As soon as we all exited the bus the FIRST time, 4 girls around my age all grabbed their shit and started walking back towards the bus terminal. My skin itched a little to follow them.

Unsurprisingly, I’m sure, what stopped me was not how bizarre or stupid their actions were, but the fact that I was pretty sure they wouldn’t like me, and it would be awkward for me the entire time.

Whenever I started to freak a little, I just told myself to calm down. There was another bus coming. What’s the worst that could happen? I’d sit on this bus for a few hours. I had jamz, booze if I really needed it, and, yeah, the pee alert level had just gone from Red Bull Yellow to 1980’s Kid’s Show Dance Crew Neon Yellow Visor Yellow, but there was a toilet, at the very least.

And then… the whole thing became fun.

I should also say at this point that my cell phone had died some time before, while I was trying to call Greyhound and find out if my bus had been canceled, since it was almost an hour late and no one was around. So it didn’t become fun because, you know, I was callin’ up all my peeps, talkin’ and textin’ and fighting via Facebook Status Message.

It became fun because I literally just stopped caring. There are far worse things that could happen on a Greyhound Bus (insert 18 comments from people about the guy getting beheaded story here), and there are far worse things that could happen in life. I was safe, all my shit was still with me, my ipod had full power, and I was deep in the midst of a wonderful 26 Bloody Marys buzz, several hours after actually consuming them.

I got off the bus at some point, and I stood by the side of the road with all my bags. I did ballet on the shoulder of the road. I took pictures of the natural fauna in the area. I smoked. I took out my Macbook so everyone standing around waiting could see how important and smart I am (which ended up helping the bus driver when some bitch was tearing into him; he said, ’see? other people have work to do, too’, which was pretty great because, I’m sorry, lady, but what do expect this man to do? Do you think he made the brakes shut off for shits and giggles? C’mon. C’MON!).

Oh, oh, oh… and my favourite! A little game I invented called ‘Stand behind the bus door, and then peek around it like you are playing peek-a-boo with this other bus that is supposed to be coming’!

It involves a 20-sided die, 2 fighting chickens, and 18 decks of cards with the jokers, aces, and 4s taken out and thrown into a pillow case for the Chance Card Tie-Breaker round.

JK. It involves me standing behind the bus door, and then peeking around it like I am playing peek-a-boo with this other bus that was supposed to be coming.

There was also some giggling. A lot of it, in fact.

And I had a lot of time to think. I came up with an awesome idea for a tattoo, I wrote a poem, I remembered poetry is shit (no offense, Gabriella, but I didn’t think ‘At The Orange Julius’ was any good, and I know I said I really liked how you used alliteration, but I was actually just saying that so we could stop talking about your poem, and get back to serious issues, aka – me), I came up with fun gifts to give my friends in the future, I reflected a little on who I am and how I got here (spiritually speaking; I was well-aware of how I got to my actual physical location).

The best part, though, honestly, was the air. It was so fresh. It was just summer, all around me. I could hear crickets, and there was a light breeze. When I got back to the city, I walked out into Times Square to catch a cab, and the cacophony of NYC at 2 in the fucking morning was overwhelming. But I loved it, and I missed it, and I appreciated it more because I had spent 4 hours standing on the side of a major highway in a state whose name implies the only reason it exists- to connect Boston and NYC.

At midnight, when we boarded the Saviour Bus, I was still in fucking awesome spirits. The fact that I had been so happy and cool through the whole ordeal made me feel good about myself. I was heading home, and, also, the driver of the second bus was really fucking funny. As we were pulling out of the rest stop, she got on the intercom and said, ‘Are any of you still inside? If you see anyone running after the bus, please feel free to tell me’.

I was the only one who laughed.

Greyhound still owes me a full refund, though, and a continental breakfast. I mean, complimentary breakfast. Whichever’s the one with baby batter. I mean, waffle batter.

No, no… I definitely mean baby batter.

Last night, I had one of those terrifying restaurant moments where there was a fourteen-way tie for what I wanted to order and the waitress was there waiting for me to decide and all I could think was “WHAT IF I CHOOSE THE WRONG ONE?” Although, honestly, everything I was considering came with tater tots as a side option, so it would’ve been hard to go wrong.

What I went with was some kind of chicken sandwich with pizza sauce and mushrooms. And, tater tots, obvs.

Do people still say that?

One of the other options I considered was a shrimp po’ boy, but their version had fried shrimp, and I happen to have a delicate constitution that doesn’t handle fried food well. There’s another restaurant in town that does a non-fried bbq shrimp po’ boy that I loooooooove, and it comes with “taters,” which are basically potatoes with a bunch of cheese and something saucy and, sadly, I just learned that the saucy business contains pork, which I don’t eat. Luckily, I don’t really eat there often because it smells weird.

There’s a point to this.

We were going to go out to dinner tonight, because our heat stopped working last night sometime and the house was freezing. But, by the time I got home from work, the landlord had fixed it, so we stayed in. They’re calling for snow overnight, and it’s freezing outside, so we settled in for a night of TV and some homemade po’ boys.

I made my own version of the meal I described earlier, minus the bbq sauce (I don’t typically have that around) and the grease and pork associated with the real “taters.”

Jenny-style taters with chili powder, cumin and, of course, cheese:

(I know it’s not a good picture, but I put it up anyway, because I think they look kind of… ON FIRE)

Grilled shrimp po’ boy with red peppers:

And here’s the whole thing. On a stool. With some steamed broccoli (with cheese), because I wanted to use my new steamer, and because I was feeling a little guilty about having double desserts at lunch. Of course, in the end, that didn’t stop me from making myself 4 no-bake cookies that I saw featured on Couch Cubicle. No pictures, because the cookies magically disappeared.

It was really good. Matt ate three po’ boys, so that’s a solid yes vote.

BIG NEWS.

A shirt that I personally own was actually featured in an episode of What Not To Wear. Like, as an example of a good thing. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be bragging about it.

Tara and I sent our chapter to the editor yesterday, so I’ve got this weekend to kick back and relax a little bit. I guess I’ll finish my taxes. But I’m only in it for the return.

Now, we’ll wait for the snow. And try not to hate our families, who enjoyed 80 degree weather in North Carolina today.

Po-boys

Originally uploaded by juplife

Eating too much again. these things are delicious though
cooper