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.

 

Lent in the Gump: A Continuing Tale of a Search for Temporary Sobriety at Wahoo's Grill, Sinclair's and Michael's Table

Begging your pardon, but we do not take Mardi Gras very seriously in this here Gump.  Down in Mobile and NOLA they have been on holiday for almost a week with nothing getting done from the standpoint of serious business which is slightly less than what normally is accomplished there. Let them continue to take perverse pride in making a mockery of themselves, the solemn approach of the season of Lent and fine neckware. We concede their long tradition of excess and debauchery regardless of which city truly originated copying "Carnivale" in the Northern hemisphere. They win at Mardi Gras celebrations preceding Lent. We give them that.  Good for them.

We here in the Gump, however, have perfected an approach to surviving the Lenten season which has no equal among mid-major markets. Here in the Gump we observe the "Montgomery Rules" of Lent.  Rather than give up frivolous things like chocolate, candy, popcorn or poker, those observing the "Montgomery Rules" give up something that Whiskapalians hold dear to our livers a/k/a "The Devil's Brew of John Barleycorn." For those of you in Wetumpka, that would be alcohol.  For those of you in Tallassee, that would be beer, wine, whiskey and moonshine. To our friends on Fairview, that'll be drank.

Yes, despite the positive effects of the "Oil of Conversation" which can turn a comely but affable lass into a bombshell and a boorish fool into a self-proclaimed genius, true Gumpers choose to shun alcoholic beverages during the forty dark and dry days of lent which begins tonight at midnight and runs through April 8th. An eternity for a serious drinking man or woman but, more importantly, a true sacrifice to remind us of the reason for Lent.

During this time there will be Spring Training baseball games, the opening day of Biscuits Baseball, new fine restaurants to visit (such as Central) and at least six Friday happy hours at The Pine or Alley Bars where almost interesting people will gather to enjoy adult beverages while those observing the Montgomery Rules of Lent will sulk away, alone, to try to engage their better half in a game of Canasta or, worse yet, clear-headed conversation.

But there is hope in even a strict adherence to the Montgomery Rules of Lent.  Established back in the dark past when the Enchanta missionaries tamed the natives on the shores of the Alabama River where the Renaissance now stands, the Montgomery Rules have helped many a flawed soul survive the 40 days of Lent giving up alcohol being the principal penance.  For those of you unaware of this time-honored tradition, I will enlighten you as to the rules of the Montgomery Rules of Lent. They are fiendishly simple:

During Lent one must not touch a drop of alcohol for 40 days...except as follows:


1.  During Sunday.
2.  While outside the City Limits of the Gump i.e. at Lake Martin or the Beach or on business travel.

The origin for Rule 1 is simple.  One takes communion during Lent and at most respectable churches, real wine is used for communion in conformance with the scripture.  Accordingly, it is reasoned that on that day, on Sundays with communion, one can enjoy a tot or two or twelve to brace oneself for the next six days of abstinence. There is also the argument that Sundays are excluded from the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter (so that the actual number of days can exceed 40).  Many theologians ascribe to this view of Rule 1. Pardon me but I may have been being caned by the Sisters when this subject was being discussed in school.

The origin for Rule 2 is shrouded in the murky dark of stark murkiness.  No one claims to be or know the source: Beach or Lake or Business travel.  But it is oft said during the first boat rides of April, when the sun is warming and the water is rising at Lake Martin, that enjoying a beer is not a repudiation of Lenten vows but rather a recognized exception which has become known as Montgomery Rule No. 2.  Granted, frequent visitors to the Beach and Lake may reduce the total number of days of abstinence by a dozen or more during lent but, as with so much we see from our political friends, its the thought that counts.  And, you will have to admit that it makes a heck of a lot more sense than hiding the eggs of a Bunny to celebrate Easter.

At least two of us will endeavor to complete the mission and will be keeping you updated with our successes or foibles. Reginald and I will report on almost a daily basis.  Come back for more content as we progress.

So join us, literally or figuratively, in our observance of the Montgomery Rules....of Lent in the Gump.

We hope we are better off by April.

Cheers!

First Week of Lent:

Wahoo's Grill, Friday Night:

Although outside the city limits I chose to try the Wahoo's Grill near Lake Martin without the aid of wine or whiskey. After all, my date assured me that she had visited this place a few months earlier and had enjoyed delicious barbecued shrimp. Also, when I called for reservations, I was informed that they only accepted them on Friday nights between 4 p.m. and 6 p.m. because after then, all hell broke loose and it was every man for themselves. Accordingly, I was secure in the thought that I was in store for a decent seafood feast. Boy was I mistaken.

I should have noticed that the menu provided no ability to order wahoo, grouper, snapper or other variety of gulf seafood.  I should also have noticed that the "Catch of the Day" involved chicken gumbo.

Nevertheless, tempted by a "Special" described as chicken gumbo, cornbread and fried shrimp, I bit...hook, line and bobber.  Unfortunately, I decided to forgo my own fortification as did my lovely escort who ordered the aforementioned barbecued variety of shrimp.

So it was I, stone cold sober, who (after what was too long a wait) was presented a bowl of what can only be described as "soup" surrounded by about five lightly breaded fried shrimp and a square of lukewarm, corncake. The "soup" consisted of a tasteless concoction of onions, green peppers (not okra) and a few shapeless gray globs of egg-drop soup-like tofu bits that I can only presume were supposed to be the ingredient represented to be chicken.

Who ever said that alcohol increased the enjoyment of food must have eaten at the Wahoo Grill--or some semblance of such a place. Without the assistance of a glass of even a cheap chardonnay, I was left to experience the full and vast waste of protein that comprised my "Seafood Special."

In all fairness, the pre-made and almost frozen salad was edible and the fried shrimp was decent--if not meager in size and quantity. And my date did recommend the sauce for the barbecued shrimp while decrying the fact that the garlic toast was missing.  However, the meal--although reasonably priced, left such a bad taste in my mouth that I had to stop by "Nails" on the way home to obtain a "Blue Bell" ice cream bar to neutralize the bland taste lingering in my palate.

When we paid at the Wahoo's Grill I was presented with a coupon that said that after another 11 meals I would be entitled to one free. While I desperately want to see more choices up at Lake Martin, unfortunately I must report that the Wahoo's Grill needs to get their act together if they expect this old Irishman to return anytime soon.  If you want my coupon, you are welcome to it.

Saturday Lunch: Sinclair's at Kowliga:

That's poor old Kowliga in the glass box on the front porch.

After a morning of clearing brush and other types of honest labor, I enticed my date for a lunch at "ole-reliable" at Sinclair's at Kowliga overlooking beautiful Lake Martin.  I have enjoyed many a decent meal there but, honestly, all involved large quantities of beer or whiskey either before, during or after, as well as the company of the heiress or one of my other previous female entanglements.

It was a beautiful clear and cold day at Lake Martin. A few brave souls were boating on the lake despite the wind. Again, I kept my vow to avoid alcohol during Lent.  No ice cold Bud Lite or vodka and water for me as I ordered the shrimp po'boy available only during lunch on Friday through Sunday. Hopeful for a good meal but wary of a mediocre one, I poured the remoulade sauce upon the shrimp and folded over the hoagie into the eating position.

Damn!  The hoagie was stale.  Damn, damn, damn.

Perhaps a heavy dose of vodka would have masked the inadequacies of the meal I was presented.  But, alas, I had not chosen that path.  All I was left to deal with was what was there before me on the plate overlooking a beautiful lake panorama. And it was not great, not good, but very average. Very average.

As we left, unimpressed, we saw the throng of bikers pile in for their reward for a short trip from some city over winding roads in fairly cold weather. They were happy. They were ordering a round of ice cold beer.

We left, unfulfilled.

However, unlike the Wahoo Grill, we will return. Because we know that as the weather improves and the lake fills, the quality of Kowliga at Lake Martin improves.  There is a rule in the restaurant business that goes like this: With quantify there is quality.  High turnover means better food quality. Of course, I am positing that McDonald's should have high quality.  That is not what I am saying. I am saying that McDonald's has fresher food than a local restaurant with low turnover that does not rotate its stock religiously.  Perhaps, that is the only problem at Kowliga this Saturday at lunch. I sincerely hope that was the case.

In any event, we headed back to the Gump for some decent food.

Saturday Night: Michael's Table:

I could look but could not touch....

My current date and I invited some friends to join us for dinner back in the Gump.  We tried getting reservations at the new Central, but saw the earliest available seating was at 9 p.m.  Way too late for experienced diners of our age. Therefore, we chose a steady purveyor of fine food: Michael's Table in Z-Red.  We were able to obtain reservation for 7:15 p.m. and found our old-favorite well-attended but not crowded. Although some of the specials were already exhausted, our waiter was very knowledgeable and helpful.  My companions chose from the very reasonably priced by the glass wine list while I held to my Lenten promise secure that good food would triumph over the absence of wine.

I was not disappointed. I ordered the wedge salad.  I would argue that Michael's Table has the best around, if not anywhere else. Do not be concerned that it comes with a dressing that appears to be Thousand Island.  It is actually a very fine blue cheese with some sort of mix that compliments the normally lighter dressing color you would be expecting.

The delicious jager schnitzel saves the week!

As an entree I went with a dish I had enjoyed previously: The Jager Schnitzel.  Outstanding!  For $18 it is a fine dining experience regardless of your culinary persuasion.  Even without the aid vino it was primo.  My belief in fine dining was renewed. You do not, after all, have to imbibe a delicious wine to enjoy a well-crafted meal. There is hope for me yet.

Conecuh Ridge Brunch at Hank Williams' Grave

My father was friends with Hank Williams after they both dropped out of junior high school. By that I do not mean acquaintances. I mean close friends. Earlobe thumping friends. So close in fact that, fortunately for me, Williams scolded him about dating any girl but (eventually) my mother when they double-dated. They remained friends through the short but brilliant music career that tragically ended in a baby-blue Cadillac convertible January 1, 1953 at 10 a.m. This is written in the context of respect and affection for the man that made it possible for me to be here writing this blog about a visit to his grave on January 1, 2012 at 10 a.m. with the Lunch in the Gump Gang.

In case you did not know, there is a ceremony sponsored by the Hank Williams Museum every New Year's Day at 10 a.m. at the top of the hill in the 'new' or 'annex' part of Oakwood Cemetery. Hank Williams' fans from all over the world attend. It occurs at Hank Williams' grave which sits overlooking north Montgomery immediately beside the graves of the British and French officers and enlisted men who died in Montgomery during WWII trying to learn how to fly planes at Maxwell AFB.

It is a moving service they hold. A brief sermon and then the crowd sings "I saw the light" accompanied by old Gibson guitars strummed by talented musicians.



At the last "amen" our gang pulled cups filled with Conecuh Ridge from under our jackets and slugged them down in unison. It was a nice pairing for the occasion.

You see, our LITG entourage was there not only to pay homage to my father's friend, but to ensure that all of us would have good fortune in 2012. It is a strongly held belief among some members of LITG that having a shot of Bourbon on New Year's Day at Hank Williams' grave will bring you good luck in the new year. For proof you will have to accept anecdotal evidence.

Two years ago one of our member was invited to attend the ceremonies. Like for many of us, it had been for them a bad year, financially and to some extent personally. Having your name in the paper related to a foreclosure notice is never pleasant and rarely ends well. However, he believes the bourbon that burned his throat on Jan. 1, 2010, turned his luck around. There is no doubt that his fortunes have improved since then.

So, this year, we all piled into his SUV at 9:15 a.m. and rode up to Oakwood to see the crowd standing before the grave of a departed country music icon who grew up on Conecuh Ridge in Conecuh County but whom we in the Gump claim as our own. We poured our shots of Conecuh Ridge-Alabama's Official Whiskey-in our shot glasses and somberly joined the multitude. There, after the refrain of "Praise the Lord, I saw the light" rolled over the headstones of 18-23 year-old "only" British sons containing the engraved messages from their parents, we toasted the Gump's own Hank Williams and we wished each other and all of you a prosperous and happy new year for 2012.
It was a brunch in the Gump unique to the Gump.

Gump Soup: Cleaning Out the Clipboard File for 2011

Our Dear (and expendable) Leader

Things are a bit hectic this time of year.  Following world events today is like watching a drunk chase a balloon near the edge of a cliff. Alas, we must remain focused on the things we can change. Our role at LITG is to constantly work behind the scenes to ensure the enjoyment of the lunching class in Montgomery. We visit many places you will never see reviewed. Sometimes it is because they do not inspire our creative gravy. Usually it's just because we are too lazy or busy to compose. Although I hear there are several reviews in the works (which is sort of like hearing "the check's in the mail"), I thought that on this rainy/dreary afternoon as our office staff thins out, the phones stop ringing and the e-mails stop pinging (because other folk have already shut it down for the holidays), I would spend my last few non-productive hours before Christmas cleaning out my clipboard and photos for 2011. So here goes....

Yes, the tablecloths remind you of Gateway computer boxes...

Back during the competition for the best hamburger in Alabama contest, which was sponsored by the Alabama Cattleman's Association (a huge conflict of interest), we heard the Stockyard Grill was one of the finalists. A fun Irish joint in Mobile (Callaghans), places we've never heard of in Tuscaloosa and Tuscumbia, and our own Hamburger King were in the running. We had never tried the Stockyard Grill so the GGP's went in. Coincidentally, Channel 12 was filming that day (so we had to remain in disguise). The Stockyard Burger was large and Totted (served with Tater Tots). But as Yogi says: "Nobody goes there anymore because it is too crowded." It was hard to get a seat that day at least. But, we definitely would go back. By the way, Callaghans won the contest.  I highly recommend you visit them when in Mobile.

Stockyard Burger and Totters

We also visited Red's Little Schoolhouse in Grady Alabama. The Carp reported great "Ho-Cakes" and he wasn't trying to be funny nor dis the local females. Unfortunately Red's black cat lives under the stairs so if you are prone to superstition, this might not be the place for you. Interesting photos of all of our Presidents adorn the walls like the old elementary school it used to be. (Obviously, the photos of the early guys are paintings.) I would tell you where it was but I would have to shoot you. Suffice it to say it is WAY outside the Gump and only worth a trip if you are lost in southern Montgomery county and ravenously hungry.

Note the Black cat at Red's.  He's a Georgia Bulldog fan...

At the risk of being accused of trying to be punny, after hearing some interesting radio commercials we tried some "BJs Famous Hot Dogs" on airbase boulevard. You know, the radio spot where "my darling wife makes the slaw." I went in alone to find a very clean and well run family operation. The BJ's were very satisfying except for the buns. I like mine steamy and they toast them. In any event the BJ sauce was homemade and tangy. It's not up to Chris's Hot Dogs standards, but it is worth a try if you are out near Maxwell Country Club and need a quick BJ's.

Cafe Louisa has almost a cult following and fared pretty well in last year's LBCS. We finally gave in to the "Occupy Cloverdale Road" crowd and paid a visit during lunch only to find a listless wait staff serving a plain-Jane chicken salad "sammich" which looked like I had made it myself from a loaf of Colonial wheat and a tub of Public's tarragon chicken salad. No fruit. No garnish. No chips. Just two pieces of bread with some chicken salad listlessly spread in the middle and served on a bare plate. And not cheap. Not a bad sandwich just nothing special. Next time in the Big "O" I would opt again for Tomatino's.

So. That about wraps it up for 2011 and LITG. Our clipboard is now empty and waiting for a new set of reviews in 2012. Again, our mission is service. In 2012 perhaps we will solve the Man-Made Global Warming Debate along with the proper temperature to order Duck. Anyway, we at LITG wish all of you a very merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah (however the hell you spell it) and a better 2012 than you deserve!

By the way, voting for the 2011 LBCS championship is still ongoing. Don't forget to vote!

Dining with a Badass Honey Badger Who Doesn't Give a ....

During this holiday season many of us are invited to events where we share our table with others which usually offers us the joy of meeting new people or, at the very least, getting to know casual acquaintances better.  That is not always the case, however.  Not, at least, when you dine with a honey badger.

Sharing two for one steaks at Gumpwood CC with a honey badger is, to say the least, an ear-opening experience because, as you will read, Honey Badgers don't care. They say and take what they want. Nothing is too ridiculous, scandalous or pompous for a badass honey badger to tackle. (For a funny video on the honey badger narrated by Randall click here .  After you watch that, read what happened at Gumpwood recently):

While enjoying some very well prepared dry-aged  steak a la William, our Gumpwood Honey Badger enjoyed his 2009 Kosta Browne  Pinot Noir and filet mignon (for one for some reason) and, after very little prodding, began first to announce how he had figured out women while in college in the 60s. Most honey badgers are well-known horn dogs. But our local Honey Badger had the following secret: (1) Learn to dance well; (2) Wear nice clothes and (3) Listen to them (which is funny because the Honey Badger did not listen to any of the women at the table the entire evening). Of course, after hearing these ideas, the women within earshot were nodding in agreement like King Cobras about to have their heads bitten off. To break his spell I decided to make a joke.

"Well, why don't we talk about something non-controversial...like politics?"

Did the Honey Badger get the hint?  Hell no.  The Honey Badger don't care. He's pretty badass. No, he dug right into that subject like a honey badger tearing into a angry beehive. After first suggesting we needed another Lee Harvey Oswalt to take care of business (which was a joke) our Honey Badger proceeded to announce his distaste for all Republican candidates except nutty Ron Paul who thinks we should allow Iran to have nukes. He pounced on Newt because of his prior infidelities much to the glee of the women.  But despite their stings of indignation concerning the Honey Badger's attack on Mitt or Michelle, the Honey Badger kept on going until he had offended about everyone--twice! Then he said: "Anyone who is still a Democrat or Republican today is a dumb f*ck!" Aloud. Out loud and LOUD! Honey Badger don't care.  Honey Badger don't give a sh*t.  He just says what he wants. He then hit his conspiracy theories on about any subject you can imagine: The Kennedy assassination, AIDs and the CIA, the Siegleman Trial, City Grill moving to Hampstead etc.

Despite the expected futility of my actions, I tried now to take the heat off the Honey Badger which was palpably growing around him.  "Heh, heh, that's rich.  Say, why don't we move on to polite conversation on a subject like....religion.  Heh heh...."

The Honey Badger just blinked his cold black eyes, grinned with his pointy incisors like the Cheshire Cat and then tore into the subject with all the aplomb of Gingrich declaring that Palestinians were a made-up peoples. Obviously, the Honey Badger don't give a sh*t.  Baptists were "prudish priggs," Catholics were "pedophiles" or "pederasts," "greedy" Jews were "the cause of our recession," Episcopalians were "whiskeypalians," and atheists were "godless devils." Did I leave anyone out?  No, I don't believe he did. He may not have mentioned Buddhists or other so-called religions but I am probably mistaken. By the end of this rant, everyone at the table was wishing the Honey Badger would finish his No. 1 in 2011 wine and move on to plunder another beehive. Then, apparently because of his own mention of pedophiles, the Honey Badger hit the sordid Penn State/Sandusky mess with the finesse of a sledge hammer and the detail of a college sex-ed class.

After gorging on the sensibilities of those around him, the sated Honey Badger eventually left for another group of people to regale with his knowledge and wisdom and profane witticisms.

After he left, I raised my glass and proposed a toast: "As Morgan Freeman said in 'Bruce Almighty': It's Hell knowing everything."
 
My unspoken addition was: "And why in the world would an LSU defensive back want a nick-name like 'Honey Badger'?"



 
Honey Badger Takes What He Wants!