Lunch in the Gump has gone to the dogs!

"Psst. They have seafood in a gas station. Pass it on"

To: Current Lunch in the Gump Facebook Administrators:

We, and we know who we are, formed our snarky little Lunch in the Gump blog with a loose recipe of a cup of promotion of local restaurants, a half-cup of commentary on current events, a tablespoon of actual food reviews and a pinch of satire.  The goal was to entertain but not lower the IQ of our readers…measurably… while writing the social history of Montgomery, Alabama from 2009 to 2013. 

Unfortunately we could not leave well enough alone. One of us, and I cannot remember which one (but I am sure Obama or Bush or Karl Rove had some hand in it), thought it might be good to start a companion Facebook page because at the time Facebook was a hot poop IPO that claimed billions of users.  The fact we figured out a way we could maintain our anonymity and use our blogspot nom de plume’s to create fictitious characters like Shadow Pup on Facebook, was also a plus.  It was also FREE.  Well, sure enough, we rocked along for a few years with our usual 20 or so hits on the blog every day unless we had a new post and once or twice a week someone would ask to join the Facebook page where all we did was promote the blog.  We even got some thoughtful comments from our readers, like George.  Our primary reward was to be in crowds where someone would occasionally ask if we had read a “Lunch in the Gump” post on their favorite restaurant.  At such times we could smugly smile and feign ignorance while we listened to someone try to explain what we were trying to do to us, the chefs of irony.  

Our initial recipe was to us like a warm chocolate cookie right out of the oven.  Then something happened. It wasn’t sudden like Alien popping out of that English actor’s stomach or Jason popping up behind you with a hockey mask on.  It was insidiously gradual like global warming and, like everyone else, we blame it on you…and global warming…and Obama or Bush.  You could say we have our own laziness to blame but that would be insensitive.  The fact is that once we hit about 2000 members we both got tired of having to cull “Join Requests” from people from Italy who then tried to sell us ugly shoes.  So, foolishly, we turned it into a “closed” group and shared administration rights  with you two yahoos.  We did not understand that “closed” meant more people could join.  Our mistake.  Now our warm little tart of a Facebook page has gone viral and the recipe has morphed into something else altogether.

We blame you. You let in everybody with a pulse and a Facebook account.  Now it appears the “membership” is approaching 4,000, there are a hundred posts a day asking: “I’m hungry. What should I eat?” It has turned into a lunch crisis helpline: "Help me, I have to eat something and I have forgotten how to chew."  Reading these cries for help has not only cost me by gag reflex but I have experienced the temporarily loss of my ability to read while reading some of these inane posts on the Facebook page. What's next: Reviews of water fountains and public restrooms?  Really?

Yes, there is occasionally very good information about new restaurants that most would have missed. There is some intelligent banter.  But the Facebook page is a now a rogue recipe with a mind of its own spoken in one liners.  We are afraid that our warm fried pork chop has turned into Frankenstein and beans. There is even talk of making money from LITG and shows on local TV about the “founders” but we—the founders—are not on the screen. The Facebook page is lowering our IQs and contributing to global warming.  Why shouldn’t we put it in the compactor before we contract Facebook poisoning? I ask you, what is the socially redeeming purpose of Lunch in the Gump now that it has become as vapid as Entertainment Tonight?

Sincerely,

Darla Jean Pupanovich

a/k/a and a/k/c registered as Shadow Pup

Old School Sunday NFL Lunch at Buds

Years from now men will wax nostalgic about "back in the day" when you could eat unhealthy but awesomely good hamburgers with a draft Pabst Blue Ribbon breathing second-hand smoke while watching pro football players trying to cause concussions. This past Sunday, after watching my first "Breaking Bad" episodes which caused me to have dreams that I had lung cancer,  I decided, instead of cooking crystal meth, that I would indulge in epicurean and visual gluttony with a drinking man's pro football lunch at smokey Bud's bar deep in the Gump at Old Cloverdale.

To those few of you who do not know about Bud's, let me give you a warning: This is not your hip, light, kid friendly, airy, slick, shiny sports bar with a full menu, peppy wait staff and dozens of flat screen TVs and cool sports memorabilia on the walls.  Bud's is the opposite of all of that. The idea of "heart healthy" fare would make a Bud's customer laugh until their smoker's hack kicked in.  Children--even your precious snowflakes--are held in the same disdain as vegetarians.  The place is dark and lit only by the CRT's of the fat TVs that display a variety of sporting events with absolutely no "closed captioning" for those not watching the only game connected to the sound system.  Smoking is not prohibited--it is encouraged.  Even cigars are allowed.

Bud's in the daytime ready for customers.

There is no neon sign out front, no matchbooks or napkins with a "Bud's" logo and certainly no web page or Facebook page to "friend."  The folks at Bud's don't want Facebook friends.  They want a friend with a match and an extra unfiltered Camel.  There is a land-line phone, but if a neglected wife or girlfriend calls, the bartender will look right into the eye of the offending patron and deadpan: "Haven't seen him." ("Eye" singular was used intentionally).

For the true sport's fan there are actually plenty of TV's and they are connected to the NFL network. This means that as you smoke your cigarette and sip your cold mug of draft beer at the bar you can watch at least six football games at the same time.  As you do, you will sit next to those with the jersey's of their favorite players in far off cities like Minneapolis or Baltimore. Why, if you hold your mouth right, they might even tune one to the Premier league.

There are also some healthy activities.  There is shuffle board and pool on tattered, well-worn equipment for 50 cents a game.  There was a "Golden Tee" in the corner, but it has not worked in months and, at Bud's, they do not consider that routine maintenance.

So why would a guy dreaming of lung cancer go to this throwback sports bar filled with smoke?  There are three reasons: (1) I do not want to "Break Bad;" (2) They have PBR on tap and (3) They serve a delicious, big, greasy, bacon cheeseburger with real fries that will clog your arteries faster than the smoke can kill you.  The burger is said to be made with Wagyu beef and seems to come in a around 1/2 pound and served with melty Swiss or cheddar cheese.  Whether or not it is Wagyu or not does not really matter.  It is old-school delicious.  Deep fried potatoes, tomatoes, pickles and lettuce provide the other elements of the food pyramid.  My suggestion, cut the thing in half and take some home for later if you have the stones to ask for a "to go" box.  There are many good burgers in the Gump and we have rated them all.  But the Bud's burger is right up there with the best of them and on a dreary winter Sunday afternoon, there is nothing quite like having a cheeseburger chased with a Bud at Bud's.

Yes, there is a place where consenting adults can destroy their health while watching consenting football players try to knock each other out.  It is called Bud's and you should enjoy it while it is still legal.