A Winter's Tale at the Railyard Brewing Co.

While walking from my office to the parking lot recently a snowflake landed on my cheek and, like most Southerners, I immediately forgot how to drive.  I came upon the lot where I saw several things with rubber wheels and realized it would not be prudent for me to try to operate one of them when snowflakes were falling in the Gump and Rich Thomas had on his Depend's in preparation for a long night of “severe” weather.  So I did the only rational thing I knew to do: I walked straight for the Railyard Brewing Company across from Riverwalk Stadium and ordered a draft beer crafted right here in Rivercity and pondered “global warming” or as you now hear it described: “climate change.”

Mmm, how do you spell "Meister"?

As I sat at the bar gazing over the stainless steel vats out the window at the occasional snowflake, I listened as head brewer Kade Miller conversed about beers of the world with a military customer who had been in Germany.  They sampled several beers and “seasonal brews” with names I cannot recall but sounded like: Alvin Holmes’ "Uncle Tom Amber” or Scott Beason’s "Dark Aborigine" as I devoured my favorite RBC lunch item: the fried chicken club sandwich (which they may not still serve based upon the latest menu).  I felt a warm toasty glow as the yard bird and beer worked their magic in my gullet.  All seemed well.  I was safe and warm.  I bathed in the smell of hot specialty burgers.

But there upon on one of the flat screens above the bar stood a smiling Weather Channel “meteorologist,” wearing their North Face jacket with that unnecessary microphone firmly in hand excitedly pointing out the number of drivers sliding on the ice in Atlanta with cutaway shots of tires spinning and underdressed chubby people trying to push those big things with rubber wheels. The closed captioning streaming below read something like: “The Polar Vortex is the result of global warming….”

I ordered a “Flat Tire” or "Fat Tire" and pondered the years of over exaggerated and breathless dire warnings I had heard from television meteorologists coupled with their recent inability to be able to accurately predict the arrival of one winter storm in Birmingham Alabama and the havoc that ensued.  “OK,” I said to myself, “Let’s say I buy the whole idea that we can change the climate.”  I then interrupted the brewmaster and customer and said: “Gentlemen, if we control the climate shouldn’t we take a vote on whether we want it to be warmer or colder.  I mean, who gets to screw with the thermostat?”  They looked at me and smiled so I finished my thought.  “By golly, if I get to vote on what we do to the climate, I vote WARMER.”  By then, the group around the bar had become aware of my pronouncements and smiled. “Hell Yeah!” said one guy with an Alabama logo on his hat.  But another guy said, “But hey, what about the sea level?” That was a question I was ready for.  “Man, didn’t you see they just found an ancient Cypress forest in the Gulf of Mexico in about 60 feet of water?  Looks like the sea level is always changing.  Even if I lived on the coast I would hope in 200 years I could adapt to a rise of a foot or two.”

Somebody bought me another beer, a “Butt Face Amber Ale”, the irony of which I appreciated as I turned my gaze up to Channel 12’s Rich Thomas telling me to stay off the roads.  That is good advice for Southern drivers 100% of the time. By this time, after a great sandwich and some fine beer, I realized that Rich was finally right.  Even a blind meteorologist finds a bad storm every now and then.

Riding Out Hurricane Irene at GianMarcos in the H'wood.

 Did any of you share a sick thought while watching the ubiquitous Weather Channel reporters trying to explain why it was foolish for listeners to brave the high winds and storm surge of Hurrican Irene while they stood a few yards from the surf hunched over like Quasimodo in the wind gusts?




"Only a fool or a brave weathercaster would go out in this storm...." (TWC's Jim Cantore shows us which direction not to spit.)

 

I thought for a second: Wouldn't it be very ironic if a stray piece of building material would fly from the side of the screen and conk Jim Cantore on the head during one of these now staple shots of him in his LL Bean attire buffeted by hurricane winds? Not kill him, mind you, just shut him up about staying indoors. A show of hands? I thought so. There are more of we sicko's than we care to admit. Especially the guy who mooned the entire nation in the background as some Weather Channel reporter tried to scare everyone to not do what he was in fact doing at the time: Standing near a beach as a hurricane was coming ashore.

"As you can see the storm is...WTF!!" (Wheeeeee!)

Which, logically, brings me to Lunch in the Gump. We have, for years now, warned you all about leaving the Gump to go "over the wall" into the nether worlds beyond the bypass for lunch just a stridently as the nerdy meteorologists at The Weather Channel harp on evacuating or staying "in your safe place." Yet, you have no doubt noted that we, as they do, often break our own rules to visit exceptional places like Spring House or Chez Fonfon or The Wishbone Cafe or to wander like a fool out into hurricane force winds.

I must admit that I too have ventured outside the safety of our little Gump-world recently. However, I had a good reason: A desire for fine Northern Italian food served in casual but white table-cloth restaurant where you do not have to use a bathroom the size of a cheap RV's water closet. The name Corsino's may come to mind because they have a cramped W.C. and grungy tables but they most certainly do not serve Northern Italian food.

Indeed, do any of you remember when the Gump had a really good local Northern Italian restaurant? I recall a very fine Northern Italian restaurant in the basement of the Downtowner with a chef named Ferrari but the name of the restaurant I cannot recall. More recently I remember Del'Amalia which was located where India Palace is now. I miss them both very much. They both served high quality and authentic Northern Italian food with excellent service and interesting wine lists. Why they closed I will never understand. I think they were ahead of their time for the Gump.

Unfortunately, to enjoy high-end non-chain Italian cuisine at a white table cloth restaurant with apron- clad waiters today you have to go north to the Hwood i.e. Homewood. So the other day, while I was in the Ham getting some required Continuing Legal Education and being lectured by young whippersnapperlawyers with 15 years of experience regaling me with information I have known for 30 years. (It was not even worth asking questions that would embarrass them.) So as the lecturer droned on, I checked Urban Spoon and found some pretty uniform and high recommendations for a place in Homewood named GianMarcos. I decided then and there to go out into the storm to try a place I could not enjoy in the safety of the Gump.

Rather than stay for a presentation on the ridiculous tax breaks offered film companies in Alabama, I snuck out early and, with the aid of my talking car's navigation system, found the nondescript little place located amid a very quaint little neighborhood in South Homewood.

Parking was a challenge even though I arrived around 11:45 a.m.. I entered the cozy bar area and noted the ample selections of Scotch behind the bar and the accolades from local magazines on the wall. When I entered the dining area to the right I saw the open kitchen on the left and a dark room with about 20 tables to the right. The place had the ambiance of Michael's Table (which is a good thing). Tall draped windows served as a backdrop to the candle lit tables and open kitchen-where servers stood awaiting the plates of food verses the food getting cold waiting for servers. Their motto at Gian Marcos is "People wait for pasta. Pasta does not wait for people." Incidentally, the name is a combination of the first names of the owners and operators: Brothers Giani and Marco Respinto. They are not from Millbrook.

Once at the entrance to the seating area I was quickly greeted by a professional waiter in a shirt and tie who sat me and brought me a basket of fresh Italian bread. A carafe of olive oil was already on the table along with the lunch menu.

The choices were many: A cheese selection, a prosciutto selection, pastas and sandwiches. I chose a sandwich with sausage, onions on Italian bread. Delicious! Wish I had the vocab to describe or the memory to remember all the ingredients. Left my phone in the car and could not get a picture. You will just have to trust me on this one.

And trust me on this: They only serve lunch on Wednesdays through Fridays and at night, a reservation is highly recommended.

So until the Gump attracts a quality Northern Italian restaurant I will occasionally ignore my own advice and venture into the dangerous storm that is Birmingham traffic--until a sign blows into my head or some texting "Ham"ster rear ends me.