Balls to the Wall: Gettin' my fru-fru on at Cool Beans

This sandwich is called a "Sophia Coppola"

I am female.

This is something that -- I hope -- is obvious to most people when they meet me. It has come to my attention, however, that the gender of your local, friendly LITG contributor is not always apparent by simply reading this blog. And there is a certain egalitarian beauty to that. You can judge me for my blog entries (few though they may be) rather than for what’s between my legs. Or what’s not between my legs, as the case may be.

For purposes of today’s LITG excursion, however, it is precisely this line of demarcation that seemed to govern many of those who were willing (or, rather, not willing) to join their LITG colleagues and eat lunch at Cool Beans.

That’s right, Cool Beans. It’s back open for lunch again. And it’s good, too.

But apparently “good” isn’t good enough; for when the suggestion of going to Cool Beans today made its way through the information superhighway, this is the type of response we got:

“Sorry no ‘fru-fru’ food and long wait for me!” or "They serve sissy food there. Turkey burgers and such. Heart-healthy shit. Sissies pay up for it. Me? I don't hold with it."

OK, first of all: Really? You’re willing to consort with mercenaries, go to a prison-like state building to get a hot meal, and eat poblanos with eyeballs, but you won’t venture five minutes down the road to a local restaurant to eat a sandwich?

Secondly, I have no idea what “fru-fru” means, or if that is even the proper way to spell it. But I have a feeling that “fru-fru” is somehow associated with being “girly.” And, as a wannabe comedian (who was male, by the way) once said to me, “Hey, I resemble that remark.”

Fru-fru is in no recognized or civilised dictionary I can find. I note it can be found in something dreadful called "The Urban Dictionary" where you can find all sorts of crass made-up words. There the "scholars" who post such drivel assert that "fru-fru" say it means: "Very decorated or girly in nature. Lacy or frilly." One wag says: "It is derived from a stupid misspelling and misinterpretation of a real word: 'froufrou' which means fancy trimmings." You don't say? I would say most Urban Dictionary words are based on some form of stupid misspelling or misinterpreation of real words but that is not the point.


The point is that here is what I can tell you about my visit to Cool Beans today. I was able to walk there, order food, eat, and return to the office in half an hour. They no longer wait tables for lunch, so I walked up to the counter immediately upon entering and placed my order. No queue. The food arrived at my table mere moments later. I had a chicken salad sandwich, which comes with a side of pasta and a salad. In other words, my plate consisted of chicken, bread, grapes, pasta, cheese, and lettuce. Unless men have stopped eating chicken and I didn’t get the memo, I’m pretty sure that what I was eating could have been consumed and equally enjoyed by any of my male counterparts.

And I think I have already proven that the “long wait” comment is completely unfounded.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I will digress back to the chicken salad sandwich order and admit that it is known as the “Grace Kelly” on the menu. In fact, all of the menu items are titled using the name of a former movie star, some male (e.g., John Houston) and some female (such as the aforementioned Grace Kelly). Is this “fru-fru”? I have no idea. Who cares, anyway? If it really bothers you that much, just say “I want the chicken salad.” Or the pastrami sandwich. Or whatever. You get the point.

So, there you go. If you are too scared to go to Cool Beans because someone said that it was “fru-fru,” I suggest you grow some balls and try it yourself. You just might like it. And I’m pretty sure the family jewels will not suddenly evaporate even if you have to place your order by stating the name of a former movie star.

But then again, don’t go. If the male population of downtown Montgomery garnered enough gumption to start going to Cool Beans for lunch, it might actually become crowded and busy. So forget everything I just said. Go eat your hot dogs and ribs so you can prematurely die of a heart attack, and leave the sandwiches to us women-folk.

El Rey Abides

These Dudes Abide.

Anyone who has seen the cult-classic: "The Big Lebowski" knows that it is at its core a formula detective whodunit except that the "detective" is a stoner. The "logic" flowing from a conversation between The Dude (Jeff Bridges), Donnie (Steve Buscemi) and Walter (John Goodman) is so spacey that the fact that vandals who by a case of mistaken identity break into the Dude's apartment and pee on the Dude's oriental rug "that tied the whole room together" becomes the responsibility of the other or "Big Lebowski" the vandals meant to terrorize. It is sort of like the logic which we often utilize on LITG to tie current events with restaurants.

So what do El Rey (the King of Burritos) and The Big Lebowski have in common? Here is what El Rey had to say about that:

"On the evening of September 15 the President of Mexico will begin Mexico's Independence Day with the ringing of bells and the Grito Mexicano.  Each year we celebrate by cooking our famous version of carnitas.

We've managed to get the Capri Theatre to participate in our celebration by showing The Big Lebowski. We are almost certain that Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla used the words "dude' and "abide" at least once in the Grito de Dolores."

I say: YAAAAHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...... the.Dude abides! (And Mexico should be free from Spanish colonial rule...I guess). 

The 15th was a great night to stop by good ole El Rey, devour some carnitas and catch one of my favorite movies.  Carnitas consist of braised (as opposed to debased) pork and are eaten alone or they can be used to fill tacos or burritos. The pork is first simmered for a long time to make it really soft and then braised in the oven to make it crispy. The recipe is very simple and does not involve any chili sauces.  At El Rey they serve them by themselves.

Carnitas on the right.

Unfortunately, while a big fan of El Rey, the carnitas were not very hot (temperature-wise) and sort of bland.  Perhaps they are famous for other types of carnitas but the ones I had were not very noteworthy. Coupled with the fact that you have to buy the chips and salsa at El Rey, if it were not for the PBR tallboys, it might have been a downer meal not suitable for watching a classic Stoner movie immediately thereafter. But as the Dude would say: "Well, man, that's just your opinion, man."

PBR to the rescue!

Fortunately, after two tallboys the meal came together sort of like the rug in the Dude's apartment brought the whole room together. It was an appropriate prelude to one of the funniest movies that ever sprang from the loins of the Coen Brothers.  Seeing Lebowski on the big screen (completely uncensored) is a must for those who get it. Those that do not get the movie just will never understand it.  Sort of like Raising Arizona.  Either you thought it was hilarious when the wife tells the husband: "Ty, go back there and get me a toddler. The've got more than they can handle" or you don't. Which brings me back to El Rey.  Either you like the artsy-fartsy bohemian atmosphere and the food or you just don't. We at LITG like it, especially when seated in your bathrobe outside with a White Russian in fist. From such a perch the Old Cloverdale world jogs by at a snail's pace.  And as the warm glow of a Montgomery afternoon and alcohol washes over you, you can almost hear "The Stranger," in his cowboy twang say: "The Dude Abides? Why, we can all take comfort in that."



"...WTF?"



Man Bites Gump

A Lunch in the Gump Gump to Go in the Gump

It is not news when dog bites man, but how about when man bites a Gump? That is exactly what I did last week when Lunch in the Gump involved eating a Gump: A "Gump" sandwich from Midtown Pizza Kitchen that is. For those of you still skeptical or baffled by our use of the "Lunch in the Gump" moniker for this blog, know this: It has been called "The Gump" by kids in Montgomery for years.  One of the ironies of life in the Gump was nailed by a man from Wales who married a Prattville girl and moved to Montgomery.  He said: "I can tell whether someone is from Montgomery or not by the way they describe it.  Those that love Montgomery moved here from elsewhere.  Those that make excuses for Montgomery are from Montgomery.  I, for one, love it here."

Being from Montgomery I understand this well.  I also understand why we locals "affectionately" use the term "The Gump" to describe our hometown.  So once I learned that Midtown Pizza Kitchen in the Z-RED (Zelda Road Entertainment District) was serving lunch seven days a week I was intrigued to find the have a sandwich called "The Gump" and had to try it.

Glad I did. "The Gump" consists of sun-dried tomato and olive pesto, melted provolone cheese, ham, pepperoni, salami, and mortadella. It's a square sort of thing.  And heavy. Especially for only $7. The trendy kettle chips were a nice compliment to the sandwich which was difficult for one moderately hungry person to eat. But it was different and good. A refreshing break from the typical Chappy's sandwich tray selection of club, chicken salad, egg salad sandwiches and the like.

Actually, I am a little embarrassed to admit that I did not really know Midtown Pizza Kitchen was open for lunch seven days a week. And while I do not normally drink beer with my lunches more than once or twice a week, I noted they still serve PBR, the LITG beer of choice for those with discerning tastes.

Those of us who play down our pride in the recent growth in epicurean selection in the Gump when we bashfully acknowledge our roots to outsiders ought to eventually realize, as I have, that the Gump is really improving in many areas.  Midtown Pizza Kitchen is a part of that improvement. So, let's all be a little more positive and upbeat when we respond to the question: How do you like living in Montgomery?  When those who have lived here only a few years appear to love it more than we do, it seems a little dysfunctional.  It's sort of like a relationship you really enjoy but hide from your family or friends because you are afraid they may not like her as much as you do. I can assure you, most people who have moved to the Gump over the last 10 years like her plenty. So maybe we no longer need to be afraid to say: "I like the Gump!" 

Of course, if your peers look at you like you are crazy and that bothers you then you can always back peddle and explain you were talking about the sandwich at Midtown Pizza Kitchen.

And foreverafter be known as a wimp extraordinaire.

First Abita Beer Dinner at Roux Worth Going Toux.

[Ed. Note: Roux turned into True and now is A&P Social.]

The LITG Board of Directors was meeting in August to discuss the timing of our IPO when the Gumphone Rang with a tip from the French Consul General to the Gump--one Michelle Pompidou--explaining in broken English that there would be an event at Roux in September that he was inviting LITG to attend and review. We put him on the speaker as he struggled to describe something about what sounded like a "bear dinner" at Roux.  Of course, knowing the proclivities of Misseur Pompidou (the proud bastard son of a former president of France) he could easily have meant a "bare dinner" (au natural of course).  We certainly never expected him to mean a "beer dinner."

Anyway, I volunteered to accept the invitation with our Franco-friend which was set for September 7 at 7. I managed to scare up a date with an out-of-warranty (as NGNG would say) socialite and we arrived on time to discover we were about to attend what was billed as an "Abita Beer Dinner" a/k/a a "Food & Beer Shindig." You Southerners, like my Irish brethren, have a remarkable talent for inventing words or a turn of a phrase.  I had heard the word "shindig" before but, frankly, did not have clue as to what it was or how it applied to a beer dinner, whatever that was.  Was there to be a hoe-down?  Square dancing?  Yee-haws and the lot?  Fortunately not.

Indeed, what we experienced was in fact nothing short of a fabulous five-course meal that equaled any "wine dinner" I had attended but which utilized Abita beers from New Orleans as the common denominator.  At $40 per person the cost was also quite reasonable which allowed me to treat and impress the post-debutant socialite.  Not enough unfortunately.  But there always is next weekend. My host, M. Pompidou, arrived marinated in Bordeaux with a foxy date half his age and some cotton magnate and his new bride. Seeing Pompidou and his date reminded me of his friend DSK and that I should try very hard not to mention anything about that. Back to the review...

A group of about 30 diners were greeted by Abita representatives and Chef David Dickensauge all who hail from New Orleans.  I cannot even describe how Pompidou pronounced the chef's name, but it caused his date to giggle each time. In any event, Dickensauge and the representatives chatted up every table during the meal.  We were all impressed to know the Chef has been in the restaurant business since the age of 15 when someone at Commander's Palace apparently saw a spark in the waif from the local Boy's Club. In fact, he has worked at some of the best restaurants in the country, sometimes without pay.  Roux is his first attempt at running his own place. Given that his staff had to manage over 150 plates of food delivered to the entire group five different times speaks volumes for his management.


The first course was a seafood and andouille sausage gumbo made with Abita Restoration Pale Ale.  One of the Chef's secrets is that he always makes his gumbo with beer and chicory coffee. Although in the past the timing and temperature of some dishes were questioned, on this night the gumbo was the perfect temperature and delicious. If you did not know, the Restoration Ale was developed after Hurricane Katrina and a dollar was contributed to the recovery for each six pack sold.
  

 The second course was Abita Amber Beer battered scrimps with a Roux slaw and Bloody Mary cocktail sauce. The beer for each course was served just before the delivery of the food and the pairing of beer and food was phenomenal.

 
Chicken drunken by Jockamo I.P.A. comprised the third course.  It was accompanied with with buttermilk glazed carrots.  The term "I.P.A." refers to "India Pale Ale" which was invented to withstand the long travel from Brittain to the colonial troops in India. The secret is the addition of hops.

The fourth course was Purple Haze Braised Short Ribs with collard greens and pinto beans. We cut the meat with a fork.  It was outstanding.  As was the "purple" beer.

 
The dessert was an ice cream made from the foam of Abita Root Beer and cake topped with Turbo Dog Cookies.  By this time Michelle could only speak French.  I remember he was saying "manifique" a lot.

It was, for all concerned, a memorable evening and dinner all well below the Frazer Lanier line.  I am pleased to report that whenever you next hear of a second Beer Dinner at Roux you need to jump on it "Like a June Bug" as you Southerners are prone to say. While we did not have any "bear" nor did anyone get "bare" and it may not have been a "shindig," it was nevertheless a great experience and fine meal in the heart of the Gump. I hope they have many more.

Cheers!

[PS. Words in bold print can be found in our LITG Glossary]

Galatoire’s — Whatever NOLA Wants

Le Dejeuner Manifique!

If one is going to jump the wall, by God, JUMP THE WALL. Not the Wishbone Café, not Birmingham pretenders, make Le Grand Saut. Drive 312 miles southwest of the Gump to the quintessential New Orleans experience, Galatoire’s Restaurant.

The line at Galatoire’s for lunch on Fridays is a sacred Bourbon Street tradition. It forms at about 9:30 or 10 for the 11:30 opening and is a great equalizer—theoretically. When you arrive you go to the back of the line and, from time to time, the maitre d’ comes by to get your name, the number in your party, and the name of your regular waiter, if you have one. While the bank president may be in line behind the legal secretary, it is much more likely that the banker will have hired a surrogate (The Help) to hold his place until he is dropped off like a Miami recruit at Shapiro’s yacht, just as the doors open.

The good thing about waiting in line is that you get to meet some very colorful people. The three out-of warranty socialites we had chatted up were non-plussed when a crusty street person stopped to give us his world view, which was rendered unintelligible by his dental shortcomings. He clearly would have been eligible for Doc NBA’s express lane, since he certainly had ten teeth or less.

At 11:15 the upstairs bar opened, so we hustled up and—for the first time in a dozen visits over the years—were able to get four seats at the eight-seat bar. That’s when the fun began. The two expert bartenders quickly took our orders for a bloody mary and three milk punches (one with bourbon, one with brandy and one with Crown—the brandy was best), all delicious and near Reggie-strength. The bar quickly filled with prosperous-looking locals and a couple of touristas. We took up with a cute young couple, she a lawyer and he is general counsel for the NO Hornets basketball team (and, no, he didn’t know Doc NBA). We ordered another round and were soon summoned downstairs for the main event.

Le baguettes et beurre....

The dining room is a mirror-lined rectangle, roughly the size of a tennis court, filled with waiters in tuxedos scurrying among seersucker-clad gentry and their behatted, bejeweled and soon-to-besotted lady friends. Our waiter, John (our usual waiter, Bob, was on vacation), greeted us like long-lost relatives, though we had never met him. After taking drink orders from those who didn’t transport from the upstairs bar, he said simply, “Lemme bring ya some appetizuhs.” As he left, a busboy brought out THE BREAD, the best french bread in a city known for its french bread, with a giant pat of THE BUTTER. The only way it could have been improved was by toasting, which we asked them to do, and they did. Perfection.

Le Grand Goute

The drinks arrived—my Harvey Wallbanger putting me one short of drinking for the cycle—and were followed shortly by the “appetizuh”, aptly named Le Grand Gouté (the big taste), an overwhelming array of Shrimp Rémoulade, Crabmeat Maison and Oysters en Brochette. By now the room full of former sophisticates was getting a little rowdy as the champagne, Sazerac cocktails, and milk punches began to kick in. After laying waste to the bread and massive appetizer, we got up to stretch our legs and tablehop to check out how those we had met upstairs were doing. We weren’t surprised that our fully-ripened debutantes were on their second bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and hadn’t thought about ordering anything but more bread. Such is the pace of play on Fridays—even with a line at the door, the table is yours for as long as you can last.

Le Gumbo Mariner

Since a menu was never remotely offered, we relied on our waiter’s description of various house favorites and our own memory. The results were Seafood Gumbo, Trout Mèuniere Amandine, Trout Marguery, and Poisson Crabmeat Yvonne, accompanied by a nice Chardonnay (thus completing the drinking cycle). Waistlines expanded exponentially as we savored every bite. The Marguery—a cream sauce with shrimp and mushrooms swathed around a perfect trout filet—might have barely nosed out the Amandine. Too close to call.



Le dessert and Bud Legere

 After a leisurely gastronomique orgasm, there was, incredibly, still room for dessert. John’s lyrical recitation of offerings (he of the Mandeville Fontenots) yielded the Bread Pudding (a la mode) and Sweet Potato Cheesecake (a la whipped heavy crème), served with the traditional Bud Light pairing.

At meal’s end, we had been at Galatoire’s for three-and-a-half hours and loved every minute of it. You are absorbed by the old-world ambience and everyone’s unwavering commitment to enjoying it. But it was not without heavy cost, as the bill, not including angioplasty, was over the Frazer Lanier line of $75 per person.
As we said goodbye to our new friends and stumbled out onto Bourbon Street, it was sweet consolation that a nap at the Ritz was only a block away.

Montgomery Dragon Boat Race & Festival

They had food, so this is an official LITG review

By now you may have read the local news accounts of the truly excellent Montgomery Dragon Boat Race & Festival held in downtown Gump last Saturday on the banks of the Alabama River. As usual, the local news media gave you nothing but the Nine W’s (those being who, what, when, where, wayward, weak, worn, witless and wrong) so here's the real story.

They completely left out the “why,” which was to hang out by the river on a beautiful day with 7,500 of your closest friends, in peace and harmony, and race gigantic canoes under the influence of alcohol.

The event raised billions and billions of dollars for Bridge Builders Alabama and Rebuilding Together Central Alabama. So, thanks to the Dragon Boat Festival all of our problems around here are solved and we just need to hunker down while the rest of the world rides the bullet train to perpetual ruin and anarchy.

Food? Yes. There was plenty of food there, some of it very good, so this piece officially qualifies as a Lunch in the Gump review. I tried some boiled peanuts from the peanut vendor (excellent!) and also tasted some of the famous jambalaya prepared by local dentist and LSU grad Dr. Boudreaux Thibodeaux Gastineau. It is good stuff. They say he uses it instead of anesthesia sometimes. Put me down for a root canal!

Now excuse me if I break character and get serious for a couple of minutes…

If you haven't been to the riverfront lately, you should go.

I have lived in or around the Gump for a long time and I’ve been to pretty much every sort of “community event” we ever had. Broadway Under the Stars, Blue-Gray games, Community Challenge, Division II College World Series (an oxymoron? I think yes), Walk for This, Walk for That, George “Goober” Lindsey’s Celebrity Golf Tournament, Jubilee CityFest, and too many silent auctions, wine tastings, debutante balls, art shows, volleyball tournaments, book signings, parades and pub crawls to remember.

Flimp Festival. I never went to a Flimp Festival. Also I never participated in a 5K, 10K or any other K run, or even a “fun run.” How many K’s are in a “fun run?” No idea. As far as I’m concerned if a run consists of more than two or three strides it's not very much fun. The next time you see old Bidgood Bob running, if you’re packing heat, as most of us are these days, kindly shoot whomever or whatever is after me (unless it's Johnny Law, in which case hold your fire). But I digress, as always.

The Montgomery Dragon Boat Race & Festival was the most fun, best-organized community event I’ve ever been to in this town, and I can’t wait until next year. I’m telling you, that big-ass river is quite an asset for the Gump… a great place to drink beer and race gigantic canoes.

Hell, I had no idea. There’s a shady, paved walkway that runs, I don’t know, a half-mile down the riverside. And it’s paved with those rubbery sort of pavers that are easy on the feet. There are fountains and stuff for the kids to play in. The new riverboat is a big, fine riverboat, unlike that undersized dinghy of a riverboat we used to have. The permanent bathrooms at the amphitheater were kept very clean and the port-o-lets brought in by the City were… well, they were port-o-lets, and there were plenty of ‘em.

There was good food, plenty of cold beer and too many Kumbaya moments to list on a simple blog. When about 300 Montgumperians of varied sexes, races, religions, occupations and blood alcohol levels all got together in front of the stage and started doing the Zoomba Dance, well, I almost teared up. 

Well, enough about the Festival. What about the races?

Row Tide wins in photo finish.

By now everybody knows about the stirring victory by Row Tide, the team sponsored by the University of Alabama Alumni Association and the Red Elephant Club. Row Tide’s crew was mostly shyster lawyers, but there was also a lobbyist or two, several hot babes, a few recent parolees and me, Bidgood Bob, who, as you know, makes his living singing our National Anthem at cockfights.

None of the local news outlets picked up on the fact that Row Tide began the day as the #55 seed (out of 55 teams). On Saturday morning, Vegas had the odds against Row Tide at a staggering 10,000 to 1, which was not surprising given the fact that Row Tide had capsized the boat in its first practice. 

Ask any Auburn fan and he will tell you that the Red Elephant Club is not an innocent booster club but an elite, mysterious order, a sort of Crimson Templar that controls the world. They would be pretty much right about that. So it should come as no surprise that Row Tide’s diabolical team captain would hire some drunk from the marina to wake-swamp us at practice with his pontoon boat, just to drive up the betting odds (and to make sure everybody could swim).

Bama cookie and what's left of a Yellowhammer.
Nothing but the best for Row Tide.

With MCC’s Reggie McClure expertly monitoring our blood chemistry between races at the posh Row Tide tent, we paddled our way through the brackets, making the A Division Finals by the narrowest of margins. In the final, it was Row Tide against The Dominators (Maxwell Air Force Base), Nauti Krew (Montgomery Police Department), The Bravest (Montgomery Fire Rescue) and Accountants of the Caribbean (Wilson Price Barranco & Billingsley, a gang of bean counters who were, like us, wondering how in the hell they had made it that far).

Damn. Rowing against MPD, MFD, USAF and CPA? Surely we didn’t stand a chance. That was when we met our helmsman, a retired U.S. Marine Gunnery Sergeant who reminded us of that dude from Full Metal Jacket. I am talking about one rock-solid snake-eater who told every stinking member of Row Tide that we were going to win that race or he was going to plant those paddles in our asses and make us like it!!! We had no choice but to paddle like the Ghost of Coach Bryant was right there in the boat with us. Far as I know, he might have been.

So anyway, Row Tide beat the Police Department, the Fire Department and the United States Air Force. Think about that tonight when you lock your doors, put your children to bed and try to fall asleep.

On the way to the Big Trophy, we vanquished some solid teams. In addition to the aforementioned teams who supposedly keep you safe at night, here are some of the crews that rowed great (or at least have cool-sounding names):

Oar Eagle* – Montgomery Auburn Club

Episcopaddlers – St. John’s Episcopal Church

Livin’ Leviathan Loca – Montgomery Rowing Club

Whiskey River – The Alley Bar

Rowing Thunder II – Air War College

Star Oars – BB&T

Blue Dragon Warriors – MPD (pre-race favorites)

Holy Rowers – First Methodist Church
Crouching Cougars Hidden Dragon - Montgomery Adventure Boot Camp
Chix Ahoy - all-female team with a cool name

What about the also-rans? Here are some teams that didn’t fare so well:

Skid Row – Colonial Bank Board of Directors

Crack Oars – West South Boulevard Hotel & Convention Bureau

Boat Ways – Montgomery Bisexual Club
Ruh Row - China King Super Buffet
Ruh Row Raggy - Montgomery Scooby-Doo Fan Club
The Oars of Babylon - Wives of Excommunicated Former Members of the End-Time Deliverance Church of Prophecy & Rattlesnakes
Cirrhosis of the River - Bradford Health Services
The Stupid Puns – Montgomery Literary Society


* Note - Oar Eagle won the 1st Annual "Iron Paddle," beating Row Tide by a scant 3/10 of a second in the first round. Congrats to the Montgomery Auburn Club! Of course, the Row Tide strategy was to conserve energy for the long haul. Also, we stopped along the way to see if the fish were biting. That's our story and we're sticking to it. Row Tide paddle-spanked that orange bottom by a boat-length in the semifinals.