Friday, February 1, 2008

You know it's the South when..

My laptop battery died, so my friend Betty told me to look for a Fry's Electronics. I googled for it and the only thing that came up around here are Fish Fry joints.

We landed at 10:30pm and Nympho's was closed, so we went to IHOP. Mr. and Mrs. Bennett are friendly folks and I was not shot on sight for being a Yankee. I slept in an RV in the driveway. Technically, a trailer. Stocked with beer, cheese, and summer sausage.

Visual proof:


Actually it was like a luxury hotel. Of course it is now 24 hours later and I am egregiously lubricated with a dozen different beers, but it is a delightful abode. Sarah came by this morning and asked why I didn't come into the house after her parents went to work. Because I'm in a comfy RV full of Abita Mardi Gras Bock and Restoration Ale beers, duh!

Today we visited the LSU campus and downtown Baton Rouge, which has a battleship beached on the muddy shore of the Mississipp, the USS Kidd. LSU has Mike the Tiger as their mascot. Here are Mike's balls:


Okay that's a statue but I swear there's a real tiger on campus. Here is proof, without benefit of bronze striped tiger testicles:


Yeah he's asleep. Like me, he had too much beer. But that happened later.
The LSU campus is sprawling and beautiful, including huge stadiums and some buildings of fine architecture. Also 2 burial mounds over 5000 years old. Actually, they don't know what they were used for, but I assume they cursed the campus for eternity by building on an Indian burial ground. That's why to win the championship they must sacrifice a virginal southern belle to the beastly tiger each year.

The mounds, also known as "the boobies"
According to the sign these mounds are over 5000 years old and it is not known what purpose they served, as no evidence of structures built on them has been found. I think it's where they bury the Yankees.

We bought some LSU merch so I can pass among the New Orlingians in disguise, lest I be sacrificed to one of their pagan elder gods in a terrible dark rite. A friendly local was nice enough to photograph us next to the Mike statue.

Mike did not take kindly to being touched by The Yankee, and tried to bite my head off:


Sarah was bitten after trying to bravely save me from his clutches:


Thankfully our injuries were largely superficial and proper application of coffee was able to speed our convalescence. We stopped at a Community Coffee shop, where the smooth tasty java was purveyed. I need to grab a few pounds to smuggle home, they kick Starbuck's ass and may even beat the Yankee juggernaut Dunkin Donuts.


After soothing our wounds with much needed caffeine, I scouted out the battleship the town is saving for when the South rises again. the U.S.S. Kidd is docked in the Mississippi by the Port Allen bridge. I will included detailed files on its guns and munitions if I make it back across the Mason-Dixon line.


We had to skedaddle to meet Sarah's family for dinner at Mike Anderson's seafood. They have a delicious selection of the fruits of the sea and we did heartily partake of them deep fried and cooked seven ways. We sneaked a few Abita Selects (a delicious alt bier) while waiting. I hope they ship some up north, it's a nice fruity refresher. Sort of like Nathan Lane in a bottle.
Sarah's sister Claire, her husband Russell, and their 3 children joined us, as well as her Memaw. She's a sweet old woman, who I must thank for saying "I do declare" and making me feel at home. We met her earlier at her home, and talked about family history and her writing, as she's written three novels.
Together we all ate a shrimp boat's worth of catch, lightly battered and seasoned as the Lord intended.


We headed home to digest, and I went out for a ride with Mr. Bennett. Auspiciously to fill the car with gas for our Mardi Gras trip, we pulled into a shopping center and drove next to a police car parked there. I thought, "This is it. I'm about to be caught and jailed as a Yankee spy."

I woke a few hours later with a bump on my head and realized the fruitlessness of my mission, I might as well join their side. Seafood properly spiced, Southern hospitality, and proper application of Abita Select will do that, and I warn any Yankee carpetbaggers headed here to point their peckers north and "git," as I am now fighting for Louisiana.

Later that night we met Sarah's childhood friend Catherine and went to The Chimes tavern for refreshment. To thank Catherine for being our Designated Driver, I took an awful photo of her and am disseminating it on the internet for eternity.

The Chimes is a fine pub, and I sampled their many, many beers on tap, including...
Abita Andygator, Abita Red Ale, Winter's Bourbon Cask Ale, which tasted delightfully of birch beer; Dixie Jazz Amber, Shiner Bock, Delirium Tremens, the strong Belgian most aptly named Ale in the world, Kelpie Scotch Seaweed Ale, which was like a smooth black lager, and Sarah had a Red Hoe.
A Red Hoe is Framboise, a Belgian raspberry lambic, mixed with Hoegaarden. I asked the barmaid for "a Red Hoe for this Ho" and she laughed with me and not at me, I am certain of that. Sarah was not amused. She was happy with the drink, though. It was quite tasty, and more lambics should be mixed that way, I think.

Their taps:

Their fridge, which I one day hope to sample all of. Over a year. Maybe.


On the way home we stopped at Raisin' Cane's, a chicken fingers restaurant. Yep, that's all they sell. Fingers, fries, and sauce. And they do them right. That was some of the best drinking food I've yet had, it rivals Rutt's Hutt back in NJ, the reigning champ.

We packed it in after a full day of enjoyment, and sadly I must resign my post as a Union scout.

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