"Nobody knows the truffles I've seen...." or The Trouble with Truffles.

Truffles have twidges

The rumors of the death of our blog are exaggerated. I personally admit, however, to being distracted for months by my introduction, at an advanced age, to real fresh white truffles from Italy and the resulting obsession they have created.  I have been the victim of a delicious distraction from the important work which is blogging about lunch in the Gump. Why, most of my retorts to statements about the "fiscal cliff" are usually: "What does this have to do with truffles?" or "How will this affect the cost of truffles?" or "Can truffles be grown at the bottom of cliffs?" While it is somewhat of a blessing to be addicted to something so rare and expensive that a high-level "Statey" could never afford enough to ever need rehab, the realization that there are no restaurants in the Gump actually serving them does bring on the need for excessive amounts of Rye Whiskey and maudlin recollections of "American Pie." Such is a life of perpetual trade-offs.

Scallops, black garlic, "truffle" and mushroom risotto at La Jolla.

This post is not only about truffles, but about a dinner at La Jolla where they purport to serve "Pan-Seared New Bedford Scallops with Black Garlic, Truffle and Mushroom Risotto" for less than $30.  I was a little skeptical. After all, truffles are the most expensive food in the world.  They cost up to $3,600 a pound.  So, although a part of an over-large group of loud locals, I specifically asked the waiter whether the dish "really" involved truffles.  I was assured that it did and that the truffles cost $50 per oz. I decided to put my doubts aside, and order the scallops.

Now, had I not just returned from San. Gimignano in Tuscany, perhaps the meal would have fooled me. It was quite good and certainly worth the price. But, once you have tasted a dish cooked with fresh white truffles from Italy or France, you are unmanned and ruined.  Nothing else tastes like truffles.

"The Trouble with Truffles" which aired on 60-Minutes in January 2012, laid out the scandal which is the infiltration of Chinese and Oregon truffle knock-offs into American cuisine.  I would wager that the "truffles" used for my dish were not Italian or French white or black truffles but rather were the relatively tasteless variety from China or Oregon.

And don't get me started on truffle oils.  Although I have heard that oils from Urbani or Antica are genuine and a great way to introduce yourself to cooking with truffle flavor, many so-called  "natural" truffle oils are usually not made from real truffles but from chemical recombinations derived from one of the main components found in real truffles.  High price is also no guarantee of the use of real quality truffles.


Truffle hunting dog before a truffle hunt with an interesting band of truffladours

How can I write of truffles without paying homage to the talented beasts that find them?  Allpots used to bore me with his whiskey-infused memories of his pet truffle-hunting pig Mortimer.  Not any more.  Not since my senses were awakened. But I will tell you that the pigs are no longer the hunter of choice for serious truffle-hunting.  Why you ask? Well, the same reason one should never trust me to hunt them: The pigs eat them unless you stop them immediately when they locate a truffle.  Very intelligent reaction I say. Dogs, on the other hand, although less intelligent have great noses and can be trained not to bother the truffles. Indeed, there is a 'Truffle Hunting Dogs' website in the U.S. for dogs "worth their weight in gold."

Preparing a young Gumpund Shedder for a hunt.

You may also find it interesting to know that by far the best truffle hunters in the world are a breed which originated in our area.  Indeed, the noble Gumpund Shedder*--a breed of which our own Shadow Pup belongs--has shown terrific abilities to find truffles without damaging them.  Apparently, it has something to do with spending their young puppy weeks in the Humane Shelter that gives them a sensitive nose.

So now you know a little more about truffles than you knew before you stumbled upon this blog.  If you ever enjoy the real thing, you will savor true truffle joy not to mention that you can have fun with the word "truffle" because it sounds funny and rhymes with trouble.  Trouble indeed is what you will have if you enjoy truffles too much for, at the very least, you will risk plunging over the "fiscal cliff."

As for me, see you at the bottom of the cliff.....

Whiggin a/k/a "Whiggy B in the Velvet Undershorts"

*Shortened version of the full name: American Gump Pound Shedding Mutter.

Atypical Luncheon Conversation Between Gumpy Old Men at Roux (with apologies to Saki).

[Alas, they were too late. Roux is now True.  The silver lining is that True--and I dined there last evening--is hitting on all cylinders. I enjoyed my lamb loaf with sweet potatoes and I normally don't eat sweet potatoes. Ed. 10/20/2012]

The Archives Office clock reached eleven with the respectful unobtrusiveness of one whose mission in life is to be ignored until 4:59 p.m.  Without so much as a “Tah” to his assistant, our career management level Statey, one Whiggin Blanquet, rose from his calculations of his DROP payment at his faux-wood desk, grasped his walking stick and strode out the door to his near-by reserved parking spot. He quickly drove off toward his favorite lunch spot in Cloverdale—Roux—where he was to be treated to lunch and to a rare conversation with his foil/counterpart, one Chase N. Allpots, the decayed gentleman from Ireland.

“I’m starving,” Whiggin Blanquet announced, making an effort to sit down gracefully and read the menu at the same time.

“So I gathered,” said his Irish host, “from the fact that you were nearly punctual.  Perhaps I ought to have told you that I am now on an Atkins diet.  In your absence I’ve ordered two bowls of gumbo and rice without the rice and a truffle pasta salad without the truffles and pasta. I hope you don’t mind.”

Blanquet pretended afterwards that he did not go white above the collar line for a fraction of a second before he realized Allpots was trying to make a joke.  He was saved when he saw the waiter approaching with two cups of gumbo with rice piled above the rim and his favorite truffle pasta salad that he one day hoped would be named for his boyhood pet and beloved truffle-hunting piglet: Mortimer. (For a prior post mentioning dear Mortimer, click here.)

This little pig could hunt

Whiggin Blanquet breathed a sign of relief.

“All the same,” Blanquet said, “you ought not to joke about such things. There really are such Atkins people.  I’ve known people who’ve met them. To think of all the adorable things there are to eat at this restaurant and in the world and then to order and go through life munching tofu and being proud of it.”

“These Atkins people are like the Flagellants of the Middle Ages, who went about mortifying themselves,” Allpots sniffed.

“They had some excuse,” Blanquet said. “They did it to save their immortal souls, didn’t they? But as for these Atkins dieters, you needn’t tell me that a man who doesn’t love pasta and bread and truffles has got a soul, or a stomach either.  He’s simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed.”

Blanquet and Allpots relapsed for a few golden moments into tender intimacies with a succession of rapidly disappearing shrimp and truffles.

“I think shrimp and truffles are more beautiful than any religion,” Blanquet resumed presently. “They not only forgive our unkindness to them; they justify it, they incite us to go on being perfectly horrid to them.  Once they arrive at the lunch-table they seem to enter thoroughly into the spirit of the thing. There’s nothing in Christianity or Buddhism that quite matches the unselfishness of a shrimp or a truffle.  Do you like my new tie? I’m wearing it for the first time today.”

“It looks like a great many others that I have seen lately, only worse,” said Allpots.  “And you really should try to avoid marginalizing religions by comparing them to shrimp or truffles.”

“Touche,” said Whiggen Blanquet once again mindful that the skin-flint Allpots was actually treating him to lunch for a change.  “To what do I owe the honor of this fine occasion?”

Allpots became apparently serious and lowered his voice saying: “We may not agree on much—or even enjoy each other’s company for that matter—but we do agree on one thing: Roux for lunch.  And those of us with the sense to know True Banh Mi from a Taco Bell burrito must patronize our fine lunch spots to keep them here when we need a Shrimp Ceasar Po’boy or Tuna “Nicoise” Salad with a Pimm’s Cup.”

Dear me, Blanquet thought to himself, Allpots has found something worth supporting with his purse and the old boy had a point.

“Well then, “ said Blanquet finishing off the last bit of pasta, “I shall show my support for the cause by ordering one of those divine Shrimp Caesar Po’Boys and a Vodka martini.”

Allpots wiped the trace of gumbo and the beginnings of a smile from his lips, and slowly lowered his dexter eyelid.  Which, being interpreted, probably meant, “Not on my tab.”

(For info on Saki: http://www.online-literature.com/hh-munro/)

No Bread in the House

We proud Gump Guinea Pigs have seen a lot of strange things in the service of Lunch in the Gump fans.  We've taken gastronomic risks no patrons of lunch fare should have to endure.  We've been starved, sat upon and thrown out on our ears. But the last thing we expected to face when a squad was sent in to sample the chicken salad sandwiches offered by "The House of Bread" in Old Alabama Town was they were out of wheat bread by 12:15.  Yes, you read that right: No bread at House of Bread.

House of No Bread
(Photo from Montgomery Advertiser)

Normally we discount anecdotal accounts of the foibles of new restaurants because we all know a very good restaurant can have a bad day or a bad meal or two.  But "House of Bread" has been open about four months now and not only did they have no wheat bread, they ran out of the chicken salad after serving one of the GGP's this tiny portion--a mere melon ball scoop--of chicken salad with three packs of saltines.  At least, because they originally thought they were going to be able to serve us a sandwich, there was a bag of chips included which, as you can see below, was devoured before the entree arrived.

A daub of chicken salad with a few leaves of lettuce and three small tomatoes.
(Photo from secret GGP iPhone)

The chicken salad was more finely ground up than we usually see in restaurants this day and age but what was of it available was tasty for the three bites it supplied. The "unsweet" tea was also good although it came pre-sweetened.  It was a good thing one of the squad tasted it first or he would have enjoyed super-sweet tea.

All in all it was not an auspicious performance. But, that is what the GGP's are here for: checking places out and twitching their noses.  On the bright side, the building is quaint, the waitstaff is willing and the menu offers traditional light lunch fare. I understand the catering side of the business is what propelled them to open for lunch.  We emphasize this is only one visit and one item ordered.  We believe it is worth a visit to see if others catch them on a better day.  For a more favorable reviews click here or there. The location is, at the very least, an interesting place to visit.

Lunch is Served in Gump Central

Finally! We have a true replacement for The Elite where you can enjoy fine dining for lunch in the Gump: Central at 129 Coosa. I know that is saying something, especially to those of you old enough to have actually experienced a business lunch at The Elite. And I also know I am very fond of the Olive Room. But I dare say I do not exaggerate when I say that Central is a very good choice for a lunch with clients and colleagues because it has some interesting spaces that can provide various levels of appropriate privacy with attentive service and an interesting selection of variously-priced entrees.

Why, just the other day I was invited to lunch with a group of financiers to discuss why I was wanting to teach my loans to roll-over when my dog was not house-broken. They were kind to include lunch as part of the cordial reminder that eventually you have to pay your debts back (or resign yourself to the status of a nare do well like Whiggin Blanket).  By the way, that reminds me of an e-mail response from a listener who was a former navy seaman who took offense at some comment to the effect that Congressional Republicans spend money like "drunken sailors" and Congressional Democrats would spend  money like "drunken sailors on crack."  His point was well made when he wrote: "I take offense at the comparison of Congress to drunken sailors. At least even we drunken sailors stopped spending when we ran out of money."  I, your humble servant, have taken heed that I need to stop spending but, as we are wont to do, I digress.

The point of all of this was that Central is now open for lunch and I enjoyed a very fine lunch there.  I had the Central version of a gyro sandwich which is actually called a grilled chicken pita with feta cheese, tabouli and a Greek vinaigrette ($10).

(For the correct pronunciation of Gyro see this link.)

My only possible complaint pertains to the portions. Notice the New York City style portions and glasses. Anyone heard of what NYC is trying to do about portions? Perhaps you like the idea, but I, for one, am squarely against a city telling me what size portions my favorite restaurant can serve food and non-alcoholic beverages. Why, I would never want a 42-ounce tankard of Diet Dr. Pepper, but by goodness I have and do occasionally want the chance to devour a 42-ounce sirloin and win a free meal.  Again, at Central recently my meal was delicious and well-prepared.  My only constructive criticism would be for Central to enlarge the luncheon portions. I must of consumed six glasses of water where one larger glass would have probably sufficed. Not asking them to "Super Size Me," mind you.  I am just suggesting a larger water glass, a few more vegetables in the side dish and a pita that can hold a few more ounces of chicken. "Just saying" as you natives and Josh Moon say.

You see, I just don't buy the idea that the government needs to be involved in my dietary choices in a free lunch market. If you believe government should do something about the fact we are the fattest people on earth then just tax the fatties by the pound and it will all work out in the marketplace!  Ooops.  Did I step over the line a bit there?  Well, if I have offended any of you "Biggest Loser-Types," I humbly apologize because I know your life choices are actually the fault of the city's failure to regulate the number of french fries you can sneak off from work and order at the Wendy's drive-thru between your five other normal feedings. At least, that is what they say in enlightened New York City. Today it is no sodas over 32-ounces. What's next: No triple Whoppers? No extra mayo? Gee, thank you Mayor Bloomberg.  Who said Republicans don't like expanding the role of government? Leave the fatties alone. Sock it to the thin. And lunch at Central!

Don't blow a gasket over the portions (and mind your head at Central).

Gump Dynasty: Chophouse Vintage Year

Call me "Lamb Commander!"

[Ed. Note 9/4/2014: We sadly announce we have learned the Vintage Year closed. Hopefully it will reopen soon.]

My Robertson cousins from Louisiana (who have a TV show I think is called "Duck Dynasty") visited me last weekend while they were meeting with Buckmaster Jackie Bushman and Willie Robertson said they wanted to take me to dinner "Somewhere's nyace."  I decided to think outside the swamp and began to pick the place that would impress these yahoos with its fine cuisine. Why? Because they were paying and there is no place in the Gump where you can get squirrel brains (their favorite delicacy) and I am not fond of frog legs (their second favorite food).  My choice was Chophouse Vintage Year, long a favorite of the LITG gang.  In fact, I had last dined there when we met to divvy up our ad revenue from Google Ad-Sense which paid for one appetizer.

I guess I was not prepared for what happened after Willie called.  You see, I did not know Si and Phil would be there along with Jace. Normally, cousins Si and Phil don't like to leave the swamp and Jace is always hunting. I thought Willie, with his MBA and country club memberships, would be able to fit in quite well at VY, despite his "mountain man" beard, bandanna and cammo blazer. But I feared Si and Phil in cammo might give other diners the wrong impression i.e. that they were swamp people instead of self-made duck call millionaires. Well, actually, they are both. But that is another story.

In any event, our waiter "Will" was very professional despite having to field questions like: "Got any squirrel?" or comments like: "My favorite part is the head."  Of course, there was the usual banter about being poor country guys not knowing which forks to use and ribbing me about how I had forgotten where I came from. When Will reviewed the specials, the "Berkshire Porterhouse Pork Chop" garnered a few giggles from the Robertsons. "Berkshire Hathaway pork chops?," Jace asked.  "They should be on the Buffet (which he pronounced Buff-Ett)."  They giggled like rubes that probably own several shares of BH stock.

Willie, smiled and said, "No you uneducated dope.  Berkshire pork is what they call Kurobuta pork. Its from the oldest known pig breed: the Berkshire. It is not like white pork but is more marbled like steak."

Si added with a straight face, "There's two kind of people in this world: the educated and the 'unducated.'"

The Filet Commander with "cake"

However, when the dust settled Si ordered the steak and cake (filet and crab cake), Jace ordered the Berkshire Pork chop, Phil ordered the Snapper and I ordered the lamb special (shown above). the three generous lamb chops were served on a bed of green stuff on top of potatoey stuff that tasted like butter stuff. Together It was outstanding and cooked medium rare just as I ordered.  I shared a bite with Jace and Si and they admitted I had out-ordered them this time.

Si on Ninja Beavers.

The boys actually minded their manners and Willie showed some prowess with the wine list pairings for the entres. I particularly liked the Silver Oak he selected for me.

As we ate Si, Phil and Jace regailed me with the "Showdown at the Beaver Corral" they had just conducted and imparted to me some of their best pieces of advice and other swamp witticisms. For example, Phil remarked: "You need to be able to take a leak in your yard without someone saying "Hey, what's he doing?'" And Si, seeing my car outside opined: "First it's pretty tires, then it's pretty guns....the next thing you know you're shaving your beard and wearing Capri slacks."

They ate rather fast and I asked Phil what was the rush. He held up the wrong fork, smiled and told me: "When you don't know what you're doing, its best to do it quickly."

Phil on Bees and Women.

Despite their ragged appearances, these Robertsons know good food and they raved about Chophouse Vintage Year.  They even signed a few autographs, which surprised me because I doubted anyone who frequented the VY would also watch Duck Dynasty.  It is wonderful when two worlds converge in harmony over finely cooked steak, pork and lamb with brain cells marinated in a fine Cabernet. I thought to myself, why even Whiggin Blanket and Chase N. Allpots would have enjoyed this dinner and perhaps a chuckle or two.

Although my guests are the "Duck Commanders," Friday night, with the help of Chef Skelly at Gump Dynasty Vintage Year, I was the "Lamb Commander."

Quack, quack!

The Snappermaster

Scallions and Litres and Bears, Oh My!

This is what it looks like when you've been out-ordered...

Some of you, no doubt, have probably figured out that this blog is as much an unvarnished chronicle of life in the Gump in the early 21st Century as it is about lunch. Decades from now it is possible that this blog will be taught in the history classes of some charter schools and, perhaps, in some ASU sociology classes studying the remnants of the "Old South" and the beginnings of the new. Along these lines we have previously explained the connection between the Gump and the beaches along FLA 30-A in So-Wal. Today I will discuss the "Highlands" connection between the 'upper crust' of some in the Gump and the mountains of North Carolina.  We will, as usual, try to use food as the glue holding the narrative together. But, as you have also probably noted, the glue we use here at LITG is sort of like the glue they use on Post-It Notes® or the bonds between movie stars and their spouses. Capice?

Think of this as as a journey to the Emerald City a/k/a the verdant Appalachian forests of Highlands N.C. along the Yellow-striped road called I-85/75.  It is a trek that the upper crust and hoi polloi of the Gump have made for decades to escape the heat and humidly at 325 feet above sea level for the cooler temperatures of life at 4,000 feet or so.  Many Gumpers own homes in the Highlands/Cashiers area. There, during football season at snobatoriums like Highlands Country Club, gentlemen wearing their Harvard and Penn club ties sip their scotch with their pinkies in the air and sniff when "ruffians from Montgomery" hoot and holler over news of a Bama touchdown. "Hey," one Gumper watching the game said to the ivy league crowd huddled around the fire, "anyone have the Penn-Temple score?" Of course, they didn't.

Personally, I am easily enticed to weekend in beautiful locations where they have fine restaurants. Recently, I tagged along with a group of native Gumpers to enjoy a long weekend in the Cashiers/Highland's area.  It was a little early in the season and the weather was cold at night.  But after litres of fine wines before a roaring fire in an outdoor fireplace overlooking the mountains I was in mini-vacation mode. This vacation, however, also involved a mixture of terrific food made with local vegetables and meats, as well as an element of danger in the form of the black bear.

A typical mountain lake view near Cashiers

In Highlands, based upon the wares at shops and the decor of mountain chalets, one would think that the local mascot is the black bear.  Carved images of them are omnipresent as are warnings not to feed them or  leave food outside.  Elaborate child proof garbage containers can be found all over town and at most parks designed to keep Yogi and Boo Boo out of the "good stuff" that humans throw away after their "Pick N Nick" baskets are empty. I dreamed often of meeting up with a hungry bear while staying in Cashiers. Thankfully, my dreams did not come true.  In fact, I never saw one of these so-called bears once during my stay.

Putting the bears aside, I want to draw your attention to a particularly fine meal we enjoyed "On the Veranda"  located on beautiful Lake Sequoya near Highlands. OTV is celebrating its 30th year of fine dining inspired by the extensive travels of owners Andrew Figel and Marlene Alvarez. They use fresh ingredients grown locally--like their scallions or "ramps" as they call them in the mountains. The photo above shows one of the specials--a filet atop a bed of smashed potatoes--covered with a delicious sauce and vegetables.  Not only tasty but attractive and colorful. Wine Spectator Magazine highly rates the place and I can confirm--wine snob that I am--that the wine list was extensive but, fortunately, the prices were not outrageously high. Why, I, tightwad extraordinaire, actually purchased a round of wine by the glass for the table (after learning someone else would be picking up the check for the meal).

There are many other fine places to eat up there.  I have enjoyed very enjoyable meals at Paoletti's in downtown Highlands and at Lakeside on Harris Lake. The Orchard in Cashiers has some fine fresh cuisine (although you need to BYOB).

One thing all these places have in common, besides the scallions, litres and bears, is the fact that on a Friday or Saturday night in season you can't throw a napkin without hitting a Gumper up for the weekend.  Indeed, so many of us go there so often that they speak Gumper there and accept our money.

Scallions and Litres and Bears! Oh my! What a weekend!

Bottoms Up Beer and D' Road Cafe

Unlike some Gumpers, I did not give up adult beverages for Lent. As a pooch with opposable dew claws, if I were so inclined I would have to give up something more canine appropriate such as sniffing butts or eating yummy pressed chicken jerky. So in the unexplained absence of Allpots I am filling in with a couple of reviews that may be of interest to those of you who occasionally venture outside of the Gump.

Fresh Venezuelan/Italian Fare

First, I want to give a shout out to D' Road Cafe which is located in the same strip center as Mr. G's Italian and Greek Restaurant (see our prior review here). It's run by a nice Venezuelan couple who emigrated to the U.S. to live the American Dream of owning their own business. Janet, I believe her name is, runs the kitchen and sets the menu. They provide a traditional meat and three steam table for lunch that always has something special influenced by their home country which, I have learned, is highly influenced by Italian cuisine. Why that is I do not know, but Janet told me it was true so I believe it.

The "Pepito": It's a Dandy.

Our friends on Facebook mentioned the place some time ago and the descriptions of the Pepito Sandwich drew me like a puppy to a chew toy. This steak sandwich is served on homemade bread and served with fresh spices, onions and green stuff. Its a real treat that travels well on the to-go. You might want to call ahead to make sure they have not exhausted their fresh buns before you get there. When you pick up your Pepito, ask Janet why they named the place D'Road Cafe.

Notice the petite fan in the plaid kilts.

My other contribution involves an invention I was told was dreamed up by two Colgate or Cornell college students and, as you would suspect, involves the efficient delivery of beer. While visiting my cousins Beau and Maui--two Westies who rule Cen-Flo--I happened to find myself at a Phillies Spring Training Game in Clearwater, FL being played on St. Patty's day. I learned two things: (1) Phillies fans take St. Patty's day very seriously and (2) they serve beer there in cups that fill from the bottom and do not leak (except when a drunken fan sticks his finger in the bottom to see how it seals). Hard to describe how it works but I did take a video that is posted up on YouTube with some of my favorite videos of me playing and doing my tricks. The link to the video is here. We've got to get one of these in the Gump soon, I say. It would be very cool if they could get them at Riverwalk before the Biscuits opener April 15. No spills no foam.

The best thing since adding wheels to luggage....

And, if anyone sees Allpots hiding from the crowds but eying their adult beverages, give him a message from me: Come April 9th we will welcome you back with open forepaws.

Lent in the Gump: Week 3: Sunday Blues at the Capitol Oyster Bar, Tuesday Night Cantina Baseball and a Saturday Fall From the Wagon.

Yes, they serve PBR at the COB on feast days.

My head is throbbing as I write this.  I have always known that one should never blog with a hangover.  But since I am probably still a bit tipsy, I have paid that no heed. So here goes:

Sunday is a feast day, I am told. For those who observe Lent, that means you can have whatever you gave up for Lent.  As you know by now, for me that was alcohol.  I understand I am not alone.  I have heard that a Methodist pastor with a large flock challenged them all not only to give up alcohol for Lent but to donate the church the money they would have spent on booze during Lent.  I do not hold with the latter part of that equation.  It would be very embarrassing  for someone like me to write that check.  "Wow," the bursar would exclaim when the check arrived at the church office.  "Mr. Allpots just sent in a Lenten check for $[Here you can fill in some obscene number indicative of a slight alcohol problem]!"

No other restaurant in the Gump can offer this view....

Sunday at the Capitol Oyster Bar.

Anyway, back to the fable.  Where was I?  Yes, that's right. Sunday is a feast day. It is also "Blue's Sunday" at the Capitol Oyster Bar which is now located at the Montgomery Marina on the Alabama River. So it was with great pleasure that I accepted Precious's invitation to accompany her to a birthday party for one of her friends.  Normally, at such functions, I would serve much the same role as a parrot on a Pirate's shoulder.  But as the women huddled and completely tuned out the presence of the menfolk (except when their glasses were empty), I bellied up to the bar for a nice cold Pabst Blue Ribbon only to learn that if I could survive the women until 5 p.m., I would be able to enjoy live music by Bob Margolin. "What a capitol idea!," I remarked to the bar wench with a wink.  Alas, she did not get my pun so I took my cold bottle and strode the premises.  That is where I found the PBR sign near the basketball court. See picture above. It was a fine Sunday afternoon. A clear sky and mid-70s temperatures reminded me why I prefer the Gump to the County Down.

While waiting for the three-man band to assemble and set up, I took the opportunity to snag one of the best cheeseburgers in town.  I know the COB is known for its fried seafood and po-boys, but I have always been partial to their cheeseburgers and fries.  When the order arrived I was there in a corner (away from the prattle) with a cold PBR in my left hand and a warm juicy cheeseburger in my right gazing out across the Alabama River toward downtown.  My dream was disturbed only by a tap on the shoulder from Precious wanting another beer for herself and also wanting to know why I had not ordered her something to eat.  Oh well, back to reality.

Stealing Gasoline by Bob Margolin

I did prevail upon her to remain to see the show which featured some really fine blues guitar and harmonica playing. Why, I was so taken by the event that I actually reached into my own wallet for $20 to buy the CD "Stealing Gasoline." What a better way to spend a beautiful Sunday afternoon (after going to church of course) but to eat a fine cheeseburger, quaff a PBR and listen to some gritty blues at a bar on Shady Street.  Sounds like the makings of a good blues song title to me.

Tuesday at Cantina! and Riverwalk Stadium:


They have this little rivalry here in Alabama between two universities and they force you to choose which one you will support. They also have a game called baseball which they refer to as a national pastime.  And here in the Gump, they have a beautiful baseball stadium called Riverwalk near a pretty decent entertainment district called "The Alley." All of these are combined once a year when Auburn and Alabama play the Max Federal Credit Union Capitol City Classic.

I prevailed upon Precious to go with me.  A poor old Irishman trying to understand the local culture and just wanting to see his "first" baseball game?  Tears formed in the corner of her eyes...as she began to laugh.  "You don't fool me you old coot," she said. "I saw that Evan Longoria Montgomery Biscuits bobble head on your shelf."

 Foiled again!  But she agreed to go anyway.

Although the food at Riverwalk is surprisingly good (they have burgers cooked on a grill and some pretty mean bratwurst), Precious said she would like to try the Cantina which is located in the heart of the Alley.  I recalled that the LITG had been rather hard on the place when it opened but I agreed that we ought to try it out to see for ourselves.  It was a good call.

The Alley itself was bopping.  I mean high energy like Bourbon Street bopping.  Not only was the pre-game crowd hanging out drinking beer at the outside bar for Dreamland and AlleyBAR, but there was also a crowd in the Alley eating before a performance by Ed Asner impersonating FDR at The Davis Theater. (I can't picture him as FDR myself.  Maybe John Adams or some other short, fat, bald president but not FDR).  Heard he was very good though.

The Cantini Cuban with garlic fries...Muy Bueno.

But back to the Cantina. I liked ordering at the bar and paying first (which is the way they do things in many civilized countries in Europe) and the food comes very fast, which is important when its only 30 minutes to the first pitch.  The Cuban Sandwich with garlic fries were the bomb!  Very fresh. Made to order. I do not understand why more places don't serve garlic fries here in the Gump. Would have tasted even better if I could have had a beer...like Precious with her fancy nachos.

Oh yes, Auburn won.

We even made it to our seats for the first pitch which I should more accurately describe as the "first pitches."  They were a hoot. Apparently, sponsors were allowed to designate persons to be recognized as they threw out a pitch 60 feet from the mound to home plate.  A child and teenage girl did well.  But poor Rich Thomas of Channel 12 did not.

Rich almost bit off his tongue during his attempt to hurl a small object 60 feet.

Not only did he look goofy, but he didn't even get the ball to the dirt surrounding home plate....a three-hopper. Threw like a girr.... (Ok, that sexist). Threw like a retar....(oops, insensitive). Let's just point out that some professional heckler, after seeing Rich's 45-foot pitch yelled in one of those voices that carries even in a crowed stadium: "Take her out coach!"

Again, the weather was perfect and the sell-out crowd was all happy until Auburn began pounding the Alabama starter and in the fifth inning the Alabama coach came to the mound. At that moment the same heckler, who must have been an Auburn fan, yelled: "Leave her in!" Even the Bama fans giggled.

Watching a game with friends at Riverwalk cries out for beer.  But I was good. I bought Precious her souvenir cup of Bud Light and I selected that farce of a beer called O'Douls.  As the urban dictionary says: "O'Douls is made for that poor suckka at the company Christmas party who can't be trusted with a real beer."  Actually, it was a waste of money and valuable stomach space which could have been better spent on some freshly-popped popcorn!  Regardless of my beerlessness, it was still a very enjoyable evening. The fireworks were spectacular.  Which reminds me, the Biscuits open April 15th and I've got to order a ticket package again this year.  Yes, Precious, you were right. I am a season ticket holder.

Saturday Engagement Party Ends Badly....

Which brings me to the end of this sad tale and the reason I am writing this with a headache: The Engagement Party.  Those of you natives know that the Gump is steeped in the tradition of hosting engagement parties for their children who actually bother to get married and do not elope.  Precious was hosting just such an event Saturday evening for The Younger and his ballerina bride, and she insisted I come not knowing that I would have gone to support one of our LITG gang members regardless.  Of course, I let her think she made me go and acted the part.  That was my first mistake.

My second mistake was striking up a conversation with a few party goers about our decisions to give up alcohol for Lent.  Soon we had convinced ourselves that we could substitute the Sunday feast day for a Saturday evening party with an open bar stocked with top-shelf selections.  What a brilliant idea.  Yes, they even had Crown Black and the "Big Fella."

After the first two whiskeys my lowered alcohol tolerance began to take its toll.  I do not remember much after that but it appears my mistakes began to cascade over the falls.

It is said that although I was not invited to give a toast, I insisted and proceeded to give a bawdy Irish toast in my native language. Unfortunately, the dirty words sound much the same in English. If that were not bad enough, I am told that I insisted in taking the Michael Collins bottle home with me only to find this morning that it was empty.  Hopefully I was not the only person drinking from that bottle.  However, my head tells me otherwise.


Oh. I should also add that one of the sure signs that you have been over served is waking up in your bed with your feet at the headboard or assbackwards as you say.  Another is to see the answering machine blinking with an unusual amount of messages from Precious.  I hope the Dear Lord disabled all video capable cell-phones at the party and that I do not appear shortly as a viral video on YouTube. I can just see the caption: "Drunk Irishman Gives Dirty Toast in Gaelic."

Perhaps Precious will take me back and The Younger will forgive me.  I am, after all, suffering today for my misdeeds and steadfastly trying to climb back up on the wagon.  Wish me better fortune in week 4.

Oh no. I just realized that Saturday March 17th is St. Patty's Day.

Put me on your prayer list.

Lent in the Gump: Week 2 (Continued): Dinner at Central, Lunch at Green Papaya and the COA Men's Prayer Breakfast

Best breakfast for $2 in Gump is served here every Thursday.

As my mind clears from the effects of abstinence, I am more convinced that the practice of giving up "vices" for Lent is more ego-centric than it should be.  "Look at me," I say to the Cornbread Carp, "I have given up whiskey for Lent! (at least so far)."  Cornbread looks at me and replies with his trailer park wisdom: "Lent is not about you Allpots.  Have a beer."

"My word man, its 8:30 a.m.!" I say.

To which the Carp, cocks his head and raises his eyebrows and asks: "Scotch?"

Actually, I learned to think about this more clearly at the Church of the Ascension Men's Prayer Breakfast which occurs every Thursday at 7 a.m. in Ascension Hall.  It is relevant to these pages if for no reason other than it is where you can enjoy the finest breakfast in the Gump for $2.  Fresh biscuits, grits, sausage, cheesy eggs, all the coffee you can drink and some thoughtful conversation at no extra charge. Each visit confirms my belief that common men (i.e. untrained amateurs) are experts at only one meal: breakfast.  This one is cooked by attorneys, accountants and like-minded professionals and it is always delicious.  For $2 it cannot be beaten.

Yes, this is the River Jordan...which is nowhere near Lake Jordan.

Anyway, seeing pictures of the actual "wilderness" and the Jordan River brought home to me that 40 days in a desert is a true challenge and that the Jordan River looks a lot like Pintlala Creek except that after 40 days in a desert it would appear to be a most welcome sight. Giving up alcohol for Lent pales in comparison, although I do feel a tinge of joy as a walk near a bar.

Central decor compares with fine restaurants anywhere....

Speaking of which, on Thursday night I received a call from Precious (my new girlfriend), who invited me out to dinner at the new "Central Restaurant" in the Alley Station area of downtown.  I had previously received the following report from King Cotton about his visit to Central:


"Ladies and Gentlemen (and you too Allpots),

The missus and I went to Central last night.  It is the new restaurant downstairs at 129 Coosa (which is where we were married).  They have done a great job of decorating using old wooden beams from the building to make all the tables and such.

The atmosphere is dark but there is a good bar and a way to look into the kitchen from your table...seems to be the rage now.  We saw a lot of folks we know there...seems everyone is trying it out.  A Balch Bingham attorney was eating at the bar...he had been working late and had come over...his office is in the same block.

Entrees priced about comparable with other places in town.  Drinks were fine.  I had the hamburger which was okay.  Of course, the nice thing about a dark atmosphere is you can't see their mistakes.

We inquired about being able to seat our group and there are two options..one on the main level and one downstairs in the cellar which could be fun.  (Very clean and we saw no mice)

I would call for reservations 517-1155 and the preferred seating would be tables 52-56 which are round banquettes on the side where you can see everything going on.

I am amazed and encouraged by the rejuvenation downtown centered around the Alley.  The restaurant has an entrance from the Alley and now there is also a cut through from Coosa St. to the Alley.  As for how this restaurant compares to the other options in the Alley area...I would consider it the best place downtown...definitely better than Olive Room (and cheaper)

King Cotton"


Even on a Thursday night, this place was very crowded and it was fortunate we had reservations.  I tried to make an American funny (in homage to Yogi Berra) and said to Precious "Nobody comes here anymore, the place is too crowded."  But my remark soared over her head into oblivion. She looked puzzled and replied.  "Looks pretty popular to me."

Popular and cramped compared to other restaurants in Montgomery (except perhaps the bar at Chophouse VY) but I like cramped. It is the way restaurants are in Dublin, New York and New Orleans.  The decor here rivals restaurants in any of those cities.  What about the food?

Well, the food is a work in progress, as is the service.  But I must say there are clear signs that the food will soon exceed expectations at very reasonable prices.  The complimentary bread was warm and the butter/cream cheese spread was different and delicious. Precious had the beet salad and raved about it. I chose the "wedge" (which is actually about a 1 1/2 slice of lettuce laid on its side) which had a very nice bleu cheese dressing with fruit slices on top.  Much easier to eat served in this fashion rather than when you receive a wedge-shaped quarter of a head of lettuce.

Precious was concerned she had made a mistake ordering Amberjack because it is not her favorite fish to begin with.  However, she devoured the ample portion and gave the presentation and flavor high marks.  It is easy to overcook Amberjack and she reported it was perfectly prepared.

I ordered my favorite dish in general: The duck breast.  As for temperature I ordered "chef's choice" because I find the usual requests for medium or medium rare do not do duck justice.  I was not disappointed. The duck breast came sliced to reveal the tender red center which turned out to be the perfect temperature for that particular duck breast.  The potatoes were also prepared well.  So, as far as the food is concerned, we were very pleased and the tab (she had one Martini and I sampled the non-alcoholic and freshly prepared Ginger Beer), came to a rather reasonable $72 without dessert.  Thankfully, she picked up the tab although I reached with T-Rex arms in a show of possible payment.

The only real negative point was that conversations (and you know I am not a great favorite of having them with women) sounded like this:

"How was your Amberj...chowder is not right?"

She looked up and said: "It's delicious...send it back."

You see, the seats for two are so close together that your conversations combine with those around you to they form a cacophony of babble.  The couple next to us overheard Precious tell the waiter the decor reminded her of a restaurant in New York she had just visited and the male member of the couple began having a conversation with Precious about other neighborhood restaurants in Soho.  Of course, I tuned them out and pretended to focus on my duck so as to avoid having to speak with the woman next to me who could not possibly hear the conversation from her vantage point.

Next time I will take King Cotton's advice and request tables a little further apart.  However, there is no doubt I will go back to Central and may,  I said may, actually offer to pay.

Green Papaya offers a variety of Lao and Thai cuisine.

Friday for lunch the Gumphone rang for a gang visit to Green Papaya.  We have reviewed this popular Forest Hills restaurant before in 2010 and it was time for a quality control follow-up review.  The Younger and Squeak ordered staples like Pud Thai.  I however, saw the garlic pepper stir fry and went for it "Medium" spicy with beef.  What a meal. It cleared my sinuses and forced me to drink about a gallon of water during the meal but it was soooo good I ate every bit.  The group confirmed that we consider Green Papaya to be one of the best places for lunch in the Gump.

The only real problem was that Precious, whom I am almost sure has never actually smelled a goat, complained Friday evening while at her lake place that I, Chase Allpots esq., smelled like one.  After two showers and multiple flossings, the only thing that "cured" the problem was a large glass of milk.  I guess the moral is ...why I can think of not a single moral.  The point is that when they say something is spicy or has garlic at Green Papaya, they are not kidding.  Apparently Laotians don't play around.  Its the meal that keeps on giving, if you know what I mean.

Which gets me back to Lent in the Gump.  Week 2 almost in the book and so far so good.  I have stopped feeling sorry for myself and am looking forward to a Sunday respite from abstinence.

Lent in the Gump: Week 2: The Saga Continues at Commerce Street Soda Shop and Bushwood

Shakes for the shakes.

Monday Lunch: Lent Week 2:

Astrophysicists have located a black hole at 15 Commerce Street that has sucked many a new restaurant into its spinning vortex down into oblivion and beyond.  Remember Bama Bistro?  Gone.  Santa Fe Express? Kaput. Uncle Bimbos Bar-B-Que and tattoo parlor? Poof.

As my efforts to move past the shakes continued (see first post below), I, along with several of the gang [BBMAK, The Younger, Big Easy Slim and Finnekey Eater] passed the Commerce Street Soda Shop (spelled Shoppe in some advertisements/news reports) Monday looking for lunch in all the wrong places. (The Olive Room no longer serves lunch).  So what is more appropriate for a drying-out Irishman with the shakes?  Why a chocolate shake at a soda shop of course. So, we decided to try it out.

Although other wags, like Bama Bing or Tojo, have set the "over and under" life for any restaurant in this location at 150 days, we noted as we waded into the narrow space that the "first dollar" on the wall was dated December 11, 2011, which means this place has already passed the 90-day mark.  Time to load up on the "over" for this place.

BBMAK ordered the Philly cheese steak.  One thumb up.

The Younger placed a complex order for chicken fingers and a cherry coke.  Despite his demanding and refined taste, he was pleased with the results. Two thumbs up.

Big Easy Slim, who is in the midst of some humiliating thing called "boot camp" ordered a salad.  Our ambassador from New Orleans declared it "outstanding."  Three for three.

As for myself, the old Irish prose, I ordered the steak fajita wrap with blue cheese and homemade chips.  Wow!  The chips were right out of the fryer and very good.  The wrap was ample and the blue cheese sauce a different but pleasant flavor combo.  But the cherry on top was the chocolate shake with a real cherry on top of some whipped cream and chocolate sauce.  A very tasty treat and meal for just a few cents under $10.  Four in a row.

Finally, all eyes turned to Mr. Finnekey.  There was a hushed silence, except for the hokey 50's tune running in the background.  After devouring the "special" (a chicken sandwich on Texas toast covered with chipolte sauce) with french fries, Finnekey looked up and announced: "You may put in your little blog the following: 'My companion marveled at having a fresh tomato on his sandwich in February.'"  Well, that's about as high a rating as he ever gives thus making it official: One for the Thumb!

As we left, I made a mental note to pay a visit to 'my man' and lay some on the over for The Commerce Street Cafe.  They may be the first success story in this location in a long time.

Monday Evening: Annual Meeting at Bushwood CC:


If you are trying to cut down on your alcohol consumption, or are a recovering alcoholic, the last place you should visit is an open bar with complimentary prime rib banquet at Bushwood CC.  Monday was their annual meeting and, of course, I ignored my own advice and attended.  After learning that more members had died than joined during the past year, I scurried into the buffet line for some really fine salmon and prime rib both cooked to the correct temperatures and delicious.  At my table were the captains of the legal, securities, real estate and civil engineering professions all enjoying either ice-cold beer or vodka drinks from an open bar nearby.  Fearing temptation, I wolfed down my meal and quickly departed for the festivities in the "Men's Grille" downstairs from the meeting.

There one could enjoy some friendly wagering on dice and cards among other members (for amusement purposes only of course) while our local Doctors of Mixology kept everyone's glasses full.  Cigar smoke filled the air along with the laughter of those whose tongues had been loosened by the truth serum being dispensed from an open bar.  It was not the temptation of the wilderness, but, for a besotted old Irishman who could see the lonely unopened bottle of Michael Collins Irish Whiskey on the top shelf, there for the asking, it was some temptation nevertheless.

To fight off the urge to say: "Reggie, just one of the 'Big Fella' for me my good man!," I immersed myself in a game of Texas Hold-Em with an "Arnold Palmer" as my only liquid refreshment.  Soon I found myself thinking more about what was on "the river" than what was in the cabinet.  My pangs subsided and, actually, I found myself playing cards slightly better than normal.  I actually won some....chips.

After the game broke up I even enjoyed an Arturo Fuente on the porch during a lovely Montgomery evening for a February.  All in all a fine evening for one proud to have stared a small temptation in the bloodshot eye and bested it.  Perhaps it will be downhill from here.