Hot Boudin & Cracklins!

It has been a while since I have found anything on the road worth writing about, but this week I struck gold in Cajun Country.

My trip started out in Metairie, LA, where I am managing a project. I had not seen Gustavo, our sub-contractor on this jobsite, for some time. We met up Tuesday afternoon to review some scope questions, etc. After touring the site, he invited me to meet him the next morning so I could finally share some Yerba Mate with him. Since we met in 2007, I have always been interested in his Uraguayan heritage. One thing that we have always talked about is their passion for Mate, a tea enjoyed by almost everyone in the region. It is a little bit more than a tea, though. It is somewhat of a social affair, as it consists of one person preparing a hollowed-out gourd with loose, dried tea leaves, setting the bombilla (filtered straw) and doling out servings to everyone around. Hot water is kept in a thermos, and poured in the tea-filled gourd. The mate is handed to one person, and when they have finished thier portion using the bombilla to suck in the warm, spicey tea, it is handed back to the preparer, and he/she then repeats the cycle until everyone has had their fill. Trust me, there is an art to preparing a good mate. I would have to include a video to explain properly.

The amazing thing about my mate session with Gustavo is that he has an amazing "gourd". It is a bull's foot that has been hollowed out and cured. The hair and hoof still intact, it is at first a distrubing sight, but upon closer inspection, it is not only a symbol of Gustavo's culture, but a work of art. Here are a couple of pictures of Gustavo with his "gourd":

By the time I was finished with my 5th serving of Mate, I was holding onto a heavy caffiene buzz. This would help me stay awake for the 10 hours I would be in the car for the rest of the afternoon. I had to drive from Metairie, LA to Marksville, LA and then onto Many, LA to visit two small job sites that Gustavo had completed the past weekend. This trip brought me right into the heart of Louisiana Cajun Country.

I was excited about the food possibilities I was about to realize. Driving the scenic route to Marksville, LA required a long drive on Louisiana Highway 1. It was amazing how many roadside establishments were advertising boiled or live crawfish. I was tempted to stop at several of these, but my mind was on the sausage at this time. I was after some of the hot boudin sausage that this area is famous for, besides, I have had crawfish in Louisiana before. Don't get me wrong, I love the crawfish, but I had never had the boudin. I needed to leave plenty of empty space in my stomach.

I struck gold when I was driving into Marksville. I noticed a funky, gold-colored building on my left. Juneau's Cajun Meats. It had a small smoke shack out back, and advertised "Hot Boudin & Cracklins". Ok, my stomach was yelling at me for some of the boudin, but my mouth started to water uncontrollably when I read "Cracklins", especially after seeing the smoke shack.

I wasn't sure what to expect with either product, but I knew I had come across an authentic eating experience. I proceeded to order one link of the hot boudin ( I ordered the regular, but had the option of smoked, also). Then I was on to the cracklins. These were hot, fresh cracklins, and they were dusted with cajun seasoning. I ordered half a bag. I wanted to order a whole bag, but I was warned that it was way too much for one person. I now agree with their advise. I noticed one more thing on the counter: cracklin cornbread. Wow...I needed to get a piece of this too! I was soon told that it was fresh and hot; the best way to eat it.

Juneau's is strictly for take-out. The only food they serve that is already prepared are the items I had ordered. There is no dining area, and no outside dining area, either. I didn't care. I had a rental car and air conditioning. I brought the food to the car, and sat in their parking lot enjoying my feast. First the boudin. Very nice snap and texture in the casing. It was the filling that was the most interesting. Amazingly seasoned pork and rice stuffed into a natural casing. Different texture for sausage, but after a bite or two, you get it. The complex flavors of the pork paired with the delicate texture of the rice makes for a soft sausage that starts off bland, but after a few chews, explodes with flavor.

I had to get a cracklin in my mouth. I fell into a trance after I bit into it and not only did the hot pork fat squirt in my mouth as I was chewing, but I was able to detect all the layers of skin, fat and meat throughout the nugget of goodness. I have eaten some pretty good chicharrones, but the texture and intense salty-fatty goodness ranks up there as one of the best flavors my tongue has had the privilege to meet. Check out this layering:

I can't leave out the cracklin cornbread. I was skeptical at first until I realized upon biting into it that, yes, there were pieces of cracklins cooked into the cornbread. Ridiculous. I have not eaten a lot of cornbread in my life, but I know that this sets the bar pretty high. Definitely the tastiest and moistest cornbread I have ever eaten.What a meal! I am thinking about looking into whether or not they ship the boudin and cornbread. I can't wait to go back and try the smoked boudin, and maybe pop my head into some of the other boudin shops throughout the region, but I think it will be hard for anyone to top the offerings at Juneau's. If you are in Cajun Country, you must visit them at 6068 Highway 1, Marksville, Louisiana.

Boys of Spring

After almost missing my flight back to Indy Saturday morning, I finally arrived back home at about 4:00 p.m. My Dad met me at my apartment at 4:30 p.m. While I was telling him about Skip's in Dunedin, I packed my bag for Phoenix. We were off to the airport to fly out at 7:30 p.m.

We got to Phoenix at 12:00 a.m. Saturday night, and got a cab to a hotel near the airport. Unfortunately, the rental car counter was closed for the night. Both of us crashed hard and woke up at about 7:00 a.m. We took a cab back to the airport and got our rental car. We were off to Glendale to see the brand new Spring Training facility that brought the White Sox from Tucson and the L.A. Dodgers from Vero Beach, FL. We had been reading about this grandiose field for several weeks now, and we were very anxious to see the new park.

We had a blast taking pictures, trying to see if Manny Ramirez was there and trying to find the great hamburgers that Hawk Harrelson had been ranting about on the Comcast Chicago channel my Dad gets at home. There was an autograph session on the field that my Dad took part in. He was on a mission to get a couple of autographs on a Program for a friend of his that is a White Sox fan. He hit the jackpot with signatures from Jerry Owens and DeWayne Wise. We got a dog, a beer and some peanuts and headed to our seats to watch the game.

We scored a treat from the young players that are still vying for a spot on the Opening Day Roster. A yound Second Baseman named Gordon Beckham dazzled us with 3 doubles and an RBI. A career Minor-League Catcher named Donny Lucy blasted a home run late in the game as the Sox creamed the Dodgers 9-4 in the first game on Sunday. Most of the regular starters got to see action Monday, but the Sox lost to the Indians 9-3. The 3 Sox runs coming on an inside-the-park home run by Chris Getz, another guy battling for the Second Base position.

The best part of the two game stint came after the game on Sunday. While we were soaking in the sun after the game, we were drawn to an event going on in Right Field. We had walked around the stadium and watched the end of the game from the walkway along the Right Field line. A non-roster invitee (like a walk-on) named Brian Myrow was playing catch with what seemed to be his two sons. One was probably around 3 and the other maybe 5 years old. I'm thinking we stood and watched them play catch for more than 20 minutes before we decided to leave the game. We kept talking about how cool it had to be for his kids to be playing catch with him on the field he just played on. More than that, I couldn't help but think of all the time my Dad spent with me playing catch throughout my life. We could play catch for hours without even saying a word to each other, but I could tell it was as important for him as it was for me to spend that time together. The scene reminded me why we were there. Baseball has played a significant role in us being friends for so long. We can talk about anything because we are friends, but baseball is what really brings us together. From my Dad lying about my age to get me into a Tee-Ball League when I was 5 years old to him and I sharing a bag of peanuts at Camel Back Ranch, baseball has always been there making sure we don't lose track of each other.

Dun-Eden

The journey all started when we were awarded to projects in Florida. One in Brandon, FL, and one in Valrico, FL. Both towns are just East of the Tampa area. I arrived in Tampa at approximately 9:30 a.m. Thursday, and by the end of the day, I had our paint crew ready to start work on Friday morning. The next day, I made sure the crew had everything they needed, and then they got off to a good start. This left me Friday afternoon to see a Spring Training. I just needed to decide where to catch a game. I first thought of heading to Tampa and checking out the Yankee game. We had painted at Ledgends Field last summer, and I thought about taking a look at our job, but another game caught my eye.

When I was a teenager I was obsessed with the Toronto Bluejays. I dropped out of baseball from 1994 to 2005, and have recently surfaced as a Chicago White Sox fan. The combination of a broken leg and a Dad that has been a White Sox fan for most of his life made it easy to jump on the Sox bandwagon in '05. Long story...back to the Bluejays. Toronto plays their Spring Training games in the Gulf Coast hamlet of Dunedin, FL. That was only 40 minutes away from where I was staying. It was easy to decide on watching the Jays Friday night when I found that they were playing the Philadelphia Phillies. This was a classic rematch of the '93 World Series. The height of my childhood baseball compulsion.

The game was a drag except for talking old-school Jays with a couple of Canadian couples sitting to my right and left. Fortunately, I had spent some time gobbling up some Tempura Grouper cheeks at Sea-Sea Riders Restaurant before the game. Not as tender as the Halibut cheeks I have had in the past, but I'll take them anytime I can get my hands on them. While stuffing my face with fried fish, I started a great discussion with the bartender. The small talk was easy because she had visited Michigan many times to visit her Father that was a chef at many different places in the state. I started asking questions about Dunedin, and it sounded like a very interesting place. She explained that it was a friendly place for people living alternative lifestyles and had a rich tradition of art and music. Then she told me about a bar called Skip's. After hearing her rave about the bar, I made up my mind to head there after the game. It was next-door to the restaurant, and I was parked right there.

I walked back from the game and headed into Skip's. I couldn't help but notice the $1 bills stapled to every solid surface around the bar and the randon crock-pot behind the bar. Interesting to say the least. I was told to drink PBR while here, so I obliged and ordered a bottle. I instantly knew I was in a safe place when they proceeded to wrap my bottle of PBR in a small brown paper bag. Seriously...PBR in a brown bag...I was loving this place. I was soon ordering from Skip, the owner. He has worked his own bar for 17 years. Got to shoot the shit with him for a while before I had to leave. Unfortunately, he had stopped making his "Famous Pressed Cuban Sandwich", however he did have home-made jerkey and Buffalo Chicken Legs behind the bar. Hence the crock-pot.

I explained that I would be back soon to get a picture of the brown bag action and to try the Cuban Sandwich. I will be there next Tuesday night, as I have to re-visit the projects East of Tampa. I will definitely bring my camera so I can share the pictures here.

Requiem for a Week

Last Thursday, I began a heck of a roadtrip. That morning I flew to Tampa early. I had two projects to start just east of the Bay area. I was scheduled to fly back to Indy on Saturday, arriving at 3:00 p.m. At 7:00 p.m. that same night, my Dad and I were flying out of Indy to Phoenix to catch two Spring Training Baseball games on Sunday and Monday. We would fly back Tuesday morning, arriving back in Indy at 4:00 p.m. Tuesday started a company retreat in Eastern Kentucky that I did not want to miss. So upon arriving back to my apartment and seeing off my Dad, I cleaned up, rested and caught up on some work before taking off for Kentucky to meet up with my company. I arrived there at approximately 12:15 a.m. and proceeded to drink and laugh very hard until we all left Thursday morning. I can't begin to describe the feeling of getting to sleep in my own bed for the first time in over a week. The following blogs will describe a couple of memorable moments that took place during the jaunt.

Hockeytown

For Christmas this past year, I purchased Detroit Redwings tickets for April. I do not remember her ever talking about being a hockey fan in the past, but last spring she began talking about her love of the Redwings. I questioned it, but she explained that I just never paid attention to her love of the game because I wanted nothing to do with it. She was probably right. I hate hockey. Seriously, I am aware of just enough about the sport to know that I would rather clean litter boxes and hairballs simultaneously than watch a hockey game. Yes, even the playoffs.

The game was Friday night, and we both took time off of work to make the 4-5 hour drive to Detroit. I was anxious, but it was Friday and I enjoy a good road trip. I was excited to start the drive, and with a positive attitude we took off from Indy at about 12:30 p.m. With the game starting at 7:30, we would have plenty of time to get lost a couple of times Downtown, and maybe grab a drink before the game.

We did get lost. I came about 10 seconds away from making a turn that would have taken us across the bridge to Canada. Fortunately, we did not make the turn, and finally pulled into a parking garage @ Cobo Arena (Old Redwings arena that is connected to Joe Louis Arena).

After walking around for a while, we found the entrance to Joe Louis Arena. There were no bars or restaurants close enough for us to walk in the freezing cold temperatures, so we decided to wait in line to enter the arena when it opened at 6:00. That would give us plenty of time to eat, drink and take a look at merch, which we did. I had a decent Italian Beef along with a couple of Molsons. You can never go wrong with food at a sporting event. Although I had never been to a hockey game, I was already impressed.

Upon getting to our seats, I found myself pointing out the similarities to NBA games. I felt the seating, the view and even the team warmups to be very much like the NBA. It wasn't until I looked up at the rafters that it sunk in. I was definitely in one of hockey's Holy Shrines. I have never been to Montreal. I have never seen a game at Yankee Stadium or Boston Gardens, but I have to say that I have never seen so many Championship banners at any stadium I have been to. The funny thing is, most places I have seen games have had more retired numbers than Championship banners. With this said, I found it refreshing that out of all the banners hanging from the rafters (there must have been 30-40 banners including Division Championships and other Specialty banners), only 6...6! were retired numbers. 3 of these 6 players were with the team for over 20 years consecutively, including Gordie Howe's rediculous run of 25 years.

As a sports fan, I have an extreme respect for the franchise. After watching a 2-1 Redwings victory, I am still not a fan of the sport, but I definitely have a new respect for the Detroit Redwings and the history of this program. This history and the excitement of the fans made my firsts hockey game one to remember.

Brown Baggin' in the Deep South

I've been to Tuscaloosa, AL during our Midwestern Winter one time before in 2004. I was on my way to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, and happened to stop in this College Football Mecca to fill the tank in my 1999 Ranger. At the time I seemed to think that stopping in a mall to get a Crimson Tide baseball cap would satisfy my need to show friends that I had been there. I have later come to realize that there are much better things to do when you are in a new city than go to a mall.

Fortunately, I was able to spend a bit more time there today while working on a couple of painting estimates on University Blvd. I was able to drive down Paul W. Bryant Dr. and see the Bear's lookout on the Alabama practice field, and then snap a few photos of Bryant-Denny Stadium. As I soaked in the 70 degree day, I decided I had time to go out of the way to get some good grub before I had to head to Mississippi to take-off a couple more paint projects.
I found my self following a winding rural road North of Tuscaloosa that led to an old sign pointing to a small block building calling itself "The Brown Bag" Restaurant. I had done a bit of research, and on a hunch, I felt this was the place I would be able to sample a real dose of the Deep South, catfish-style.

I pulled in the empty parking lot, and initially thought the place was closed. I proceded to shut off my car and walk toward the half-opened screen door that led to what seemed to be the front entrance of the restaurant. As I approached the door, I was still sure the place was closed until I noticed a lady walking out the back of the building. She happily shooed me in. I walked into an empty restaurant, but was soon greeted by a very friendly gentleman behind the lunch counter. He handed me a menu, and instructed me to take seat at any table. After my initial reservations, he was able to make me feel right at home with his jubilant attitude.
The dining area was an example of folk art. Simple block walls, along with a couple of amatuer paintings of the local High School mascot (I'm guessing Tigers). Simple country-style table settings with a basket of peanuts and a brown bag of napkins made me feel right at home. I took a seat after grabbing a bottle of hot sauce and a magazine from the front of the restaurant. My server was very amicable. After pouring me a cup of sweet-tea, he explained "we have smoked cabbage today". I took a look at the menu and quikly stumbled on what I came for: the catfish platter. I definitely was not planning on getting too far from the restaurant after ordering a basket of 5 fried catfish fillets along with sides of turnip greens and smoked cabbage, but that is exactly what I came here for. I had never eaten genuine Southern Style catfish. I have had the ubiquitous Midwest catfish nugget or fish fry catfish in Indiana, but Alabama is catfish country. I was anxious to get to work.

As the plate came to my table, I could not believe the size fo the fish portion. 5 catfish fillets is not a joke. I was lucky the sides of greens and cabbage were dwarfed by the fish portion. However, that did not mean that they were insignificant. I was in heaven when I dug into the TENDER smoked cabbage. Seriously, amazing stuff. Turnip greens...enough said. Both perfectly prepared and seasoned.

Finally! To the catfish! Presented on a bed of white bread, the catfish fillets at first bite offered that familiar, almost metallic flavor that separates catfish from other seafood. It was my second bite that I realized what I had gotten myself into. Texture: perfect. Skin: perfect. Breading: Out of this world! The word seasoning doesn't even cut it here. I'm talking flavor that is able to lift a simple fish to excruciating delight. Was there cayenne pepper in there? Probably. Was there a perfect balance of salt and black pepper in there? Most likely. Did I eat all 5 fillets after telling myself that 5 fillets was unacceptable? Absolutely! I don't have a lot of experience with catfish, but I have always enjoyed this particular fish. I think The Brown Bag takes it to a level that is unknown unless you have been to or live in Alabama.

If you find yourself in West Central Alabama, it would be a mistake not to head up this winding road to experience The Brown Bag, located @ 9425 Jones Rd., Northport, AL.