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: 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.

 

How the Irish Saved Western Civilization...and Whiskey Making

St. Patty wondering if you can make whiskey from a shamrock (he actually wore blue you know).

On St. Patrick's day I dined at the Gumpwood CC and Snobatorium where they served an very fine Irish Whiskey dinner. On the menu was a wedge with Jameson Blue Cheese followed by a corned-beef brisket simmered in Jameson Irish Whiskey. Both were positively superb. During the dinner we sampled 12 and 18-year-old Jameson and a single-malt Michael Collins. Dessert was a divine chocolate cheesecake served with hot Irish coffee. After dinner I enjoyed Arturo Fuente 8-5-8 cigars and a ride in a new Porsche Panamera S which was unfortunately not mine. Why am I telling you all this?

Because, my dear, we would be speaking Arabic now but for our dear Irish ancestors and their perchance for copying and hiding historical manuscripts along with making what we now know as Irish Whiskey from barley, yeast and water.

Being a decayed Irish gentleman and our resident snob, I offer the following history lesson as a public service to those of you protestants who wrongfully drink Scotch out of ignorance or spite.

You all probably know that between the fall of Rome and the rise of medieval Europe Irish monks hid the famous manuscripts from Rome and Greece, as well as the new testament from the mongol hordes during the dark ages.  They also copied them adding beautiful illustrations by hand.  My alma mater, Trinity College in Dublin, is the home of the Book of Kells which is one of the earliest such preserved copies of the New Testament. Most copies of historical manuscripts that we have were saved from destruction by the Irish monks.  By the way, the St. Patrick we celebrated today was the former slave who lead the scribes who copied the thousands of Greco-Roman and Judeo-Christian manuscripts which served as the repositories for our culture. Without their brave and devoted service, there is no saying what we would be boring our schoolchildren with today nor what language we would be jibberbabbering. But enough about that,  on to my personal favorite: The Story of Irish Whiskey!

In the middle ages there were over 1,300 distilleries in Ireland making whiskey.  By the end of the 19th century, Catherine the Great of Russia confirmed the general belief at that time that Irish Whiskey was the finest whiskey in the entire world.  Unfortunately, because of prohibition in the U.S. and elsewhere, most of the distilleries in Ireland failed and due to our dust-up with Britain, Irish products were banned from England during WWII so that the American G.I.s were only allowed to drink that disgustingly peaty and smokey product from Scotland.  Hence, millions of G.I.s returned to the U.S. with a taste for Scotch unaware that a finer and smoother whiskey was available across the Irish sea.

Today, there are only three distilleries in Ireland and only one is still owned by an Irishman. Bushmills Distillery (located in Northern Ireland and not something any respectable Catholic Irishman would drink) is the protestant distillery. Middleton (Jameson) Distillery in County Cork serves the good Catholics. The Cooley Distillery in County Louth is still Irish owned and produces the brand Michael Collins, who was a leader in the Irish rebellion which lead to Irish independence from Britain in 1921. The English would call him a terrorist but he is revered in the Republic of Ireland. Michael Collins is generally less-expensive than Jameson or Bushmills and is now available in our state-run liquor dispensaries oddly called ABC Stores.

Scotch and Irish Whiskey are made with exactly the same ingredients. But because Irish Whiskey is made with barley that is mostly* malted in gas-fired ovens (i.e. not fueled with that smelly peat-moss), it has a smoother and less smokey taste. Most Scotch drinkers given a choice and a blind taste test would choose any blended Irish Whiskey over any blended Scotch, I mean those with functioning taste buds would.

*The single-malt Michael Collins is "slightly peated."

If you are currently a Scotch drinker and take nothing from this post I trust you will show some humanity and gratitude for the hard work of St. Patrick and his monks and put in an order at your favorite pub for a spot of the finest whiskey in the world.  And that would be a spot of the Irish Whiskey!

Happy St. Patty's day to the lot of you! Sláinte! (Cheers!).