Explorations

Thoughts, notes and memories about my travels. Written by Marshall Manson.

[marshallmanson]

50 years ago today, human explorers walked on our moon for the first time.

It was a moment of achievement that brought the world together, and demonstrated vividly what humans are born to do:

We are made to explore. To push boundaries. To learn. To discover.

The Apollo programme taught us, as countless other generations had done before, that we are constrained only by our imagination and our will.

Since Apollo, we have relied more and more on drones and probes. Human trips to space have been limited to low earth orbit.

We lost the will, at least for a while.

When will resume our explorations? And how? Will it take a bold visionary to lead us? Or a cooperative effort among nations?

I don’t know. But I am convinced that it is time to get out there once again.

There’s no question that humanity is facing big challenges. We have to find a way to save our planet. Many of us need food and shelter.

But these things mustn’t limit our ambition. We have to find the will to continue to explore – and understand – the universe beyond our world. We have to find a way to do both: To explore and to fix our world.

Many others have made the rational arguments. Scientific research from space exploration has unlocked huge volumes of knowledge and the more we understand, the more we can use that knowledge to help solve problems here on Earth.

A big step forward in space travel requires big leaps forward in energy production and storage, a deeper understanding of our physiology, and clearer insight into the dynamics of the universe. All of these have practical benefits here on Earth.

But the most important reason to go isn’t rational. It’s emotional. Or, as my friend @rorysutherland says, psycho-logical.

We have to go because we have to go. We have to go because it’s next. We have to go because it’s out there, and we’re down here.

Yes, it’s expensive. Yes, it’s difficult.

Work underway to return to the Moon and press on to Mars is a good start. But we should think bigger, and farther. How will we live in space? How will we explore beyond our solar system?

We have to commit ourselves to answering these questions.

We have to take risks and recognize that it will cost lives and money.

We have to try.

But it’s worth it. Because we have to go. It’s what we were born to do. We know this because our imaginations are telling us it’s true, every time we look at a photo of Aldrin exploring the surface of the moon for the first time.

Something whispering to us that it’s time.

I hope we can use the 50th Anniversary of the first moon landing as a moment – a chance come together, to look to the heavens and commit ourselves to fulfilling our destiny, out among the stars.

Because it *is* time, and we all know it.

[marshallmanson]

Ranking the Restaurants

Now that I’ve been back a few days, I’ve had time and distance to reflect on my trip, and the amazing food odyssey that I experienced. As a part of that, I thought it would be interesting and fun to score the restaurants.

I decided to borrow my ranking system from the Washington Post’s Tom Sietsema. Here’s how it works:

First, any restaurant with a star is excellent. Just to make the list and be scored means that the place is worth a visit. The good news is that thanks to my research, I had very few restaurants come through with zero stars, but they’ve got their own space below. With that in mind, here’s what the various stars mean:

**** — Outstanding. Really something special. Usually marked by an interesting point of view, innovative or elevated approach to the food, technical excellence and great service. Among the best restaurant experiences I’ve had anywhere, beyond this trip. *** — Excellent. Great food. Great service. But not quite as distinctive or elevated as a four star place. ** — Darn good. A place that I’d be happy to visit again. * — Perfectly fine. Often these were places that I liked, and was glad to have tried, but wouldn’t go back. 0 — Crap. No good. I’m sorry I visited, and I discourage anyone else from going.

So, with the scoring system sorted, let’s look at the scores:

**** Stars Outstanding, innovative and elevated.

Peg Leg Pete’s Pensacola Beach, Florida

Michelin’s criteria for two stars is “excellent cooking, worth a detour.” I would happily plan a long weekend in Pensacola just to return to Peg Leg Pete’s. Yes, it’s a dive bar. Yes, the menu is almost entirely fried. Yes, the food was served on styrofoam. And I don’t care a whit. The seafood was fresh and perfectly cooked. The beer was local and excellent. The staff was kind and welcoming. And the Key Lime Pie was made by someone’s grandmother in her home kitchen. The bill was less than $30. For all of the high-end places I tried, this was the best meal of the trip.

Key Lime Pie at Peg Leg Pete’s.

Shagbark Richmond, Virginia

Chef Walter Bundy spent years creating high-end, French-inspired classics at Lemaire. Now he’s using those techniques to elevate southern cuisine, making the most of local and seasonal products, and delivering something that’s next-level good. If a Michelin inspector ever made it to Richmond (fat chance), Shagbark would be worthy of serious consideration for a star. Bundy’s food isn’t as playful and evocative as Sean Brock’s: The experience is more serious and considered. But Shagbark would be a great restaurant in any city. Richmond is lucky to have it.

Pimento Cheese and Ham Salad at Shagbark.

Fisher’s Orange Beach, Alabama

Fisher’s has pulled down big accolades. Like Brock and Bundy, Chef Bill Briand is elevating southern food, and using the best ingredients, plucked out of the sea and delivered to his kitchen from the fishermen who use his marina. I’m sorry I didn’t get to try his fine dining offering, but his ability to elevate a simple fish taco, reimagine sweet potatoes, and deliver it with a sense of humour across a bar tells me all I need to know. Like Peg Leg Pete’s, I would happily go out of my way to return to Fisher’s.

Fish tacos at Fisher’s.

Ajax Diner Oxford, Mississippi

Located on a busy town square in the middle of a college town, you could forgive the Ajax for turning out burgers and beers. Instead, they produce home cooked classics that you’d be happy to eat at your grandmother’s kitchen table. The Ajax was probably the most traditional place I went, but they embrace tradition all the way, revel in it, and turn out great food flavoured with love. If I lived in Oxford, I’d be a regular.

Meatloaf and sides at the Ajax Diner.

*** Stars Excellent. Great food and service.

Commander’s Palace New Orleans, Louisiana

High-class throw-back cooking in New Orleans most beautiful neighbourhood. What’s not to love? Great ingredients brought together into some of the south’s most iconic recipes. Service with a smile and laugh.

Gallatoire’s New Orleans, Louisiana

Cornerstone of the French Quarter. Stand in line with local residents and well to-do out-of-towners, then revel in some of the best cooking around. Trust your waiter. They know what’s fresh and tasty.

Husk Nashville, Tennessee

Sean Brock’s Nashville spot. His menu was playful and brilliant. The food was excellent. And I totally buy into his philosophy. I wish I’d been able to go for dinner, as I suspect that would have been a more elevated experience.

Indian Pass Raw Bar Port St. Joe, Florida

They harvest the oysters, then shuck them, then bake them, in just a few hours. Serve yourself. Pay for what you eat and drink. Settle in for the afternoon, or the evening. Worth a detour. You won’t regret it.

Le Bakery Biloxi, Mississippi

Vietnamese is now local cuisine across the gulf coast, and this is one of the best spots to find it. Fresh bread that a Parisienne would love. And you couldn’t find a better Banh Mi from Hanoi to Ho Chi Min City.

Monell’s 6th Avenue, Nashville, Tennessee

Home cooking around a communal table, making new friends over great food. What’s not to love? Ultra-traditional with fabulous flavours in big bowls. Another place that I’d love to be a regular.

Ravenous Pig Winter Park, Florida

Husband and wife team, James and Julie Petrakis doing their bit to elevate and renew southern cooking with a real emphasis on pork. From the homemade bread to the pork porterhouse, I left happy and full.

The Regional Kitchen & Pub West Palm Beach, Florida

Chef Lindsay Autry getting into the elevated southern game with her brilliant cooking. More homestyle than Husk or the Ravenous Pig, but building from underused classics like Devilled Crab. Homemade parker house rolls were a winner, too.

The Roosevelt Richmond, Virginia

Chef Lee Gregory’s place helped renew Church Hill and contributed to Richmond’s food renaissance. The Roosevelt manages to balance fine dining and neighbourhood stalwart, with great food I’d be happy eating every day.

Sally Belly’s Kitchen Richmond, Virginia

Nearly a hundred years old, and still delivering great food every day. If there’s better potato salad on the planet, I don’t know where to find it. Also, cupcakes. And egg salad. And, and, and. Visiting Richmond and missing Sally Bell’s should actually be a crime.

Spoonbread Bistro Richmond, Virginia

Stylish spot in the Fan by Chef Michael Hall. Another perspective on elevating southern flavours. Local and fresh. Great food driven by clever ideas. Another place I’d be a happy regular.

** Stars Darn good. Worthy of a return visit.

Allman’s Barbecue Fredericksburg, Virginia

Great Virginia-style barbecue. A classic. Huge portions. Yes please.

Blue & White Diner Tunica, Mississippi

Old-fashioned road-side diner with stellar Sunday buffet. The only place to eat in Tunica.

Cafe Bouchee Franklinton, Louisiana

Superb local fare with a cajun accent. Worth passing by.

City Grocery Oxford, Mississippi

Big reputation, but merely darn good. Chef Currence is evidently innovating elsewhere.

Dandguerre’s Nashville, Tennessee

Local meat and three that the tourists haven’t found yet. Definitely worth trying.

The Kitchen West Palm Beach, Florida

Weird atmosphere. Good food. Great coconut cake. That’s enough to bring me back.

NOLA New Orleans, Louisiana

Emeril Lagasse’s French Quarter spot. Cajun reimagined sort of works.

Obrycki’s BWI Airport, Maryland

Crab cakes in an airport. Are you kidding? No. If you’re in BWI, eat at Obrycki’s.

Pierce’s Pit Cooked Barbecue Williamsburg, Virginia

Great Virginia-style barbecue. An institution.

Puckett’s Nashville, Tennessee

Tasty breakfast. Favourite of local police. Good food and nice service.

St. Roche Market New Orleans, Louisiana

Food truck food behind permanent counters. Glad I went. Wish I lived nearby.

Taylor Grocery Oxford, Mississippi

Great catfish and other local delicacies.

* Stars Perfectly fine, but I wouldn’t return.

Apalachicola Seafood Grill Apalachicola, Florida

Local ingredients, but lacking the care and attention. Go elsewhere.

Away from the World Burger & Beer Bar Cedar Key, Florida

Decent burgers with a view.

Ballpark of the Palm Beaches West Palm Beach, Florida

Hot dog before the game, with a fixings bar that included sauerkraut. #winning

Brickhouse Barbecue Columbia, Tennessee

Perfect adequate barbecue if you’re just passing through.

Cafe Beignet New Orleans, Louisiana

Good beignets without the queues at Cafe du Mont. Next door to my hotel. Winner.

Champion Stadium Lake Buena Vista, Florida

Hot dog before the game. Yes, please. And darn tasty.

Cilantro Mexican Vicksburg, Mississippi

A much needed Mexican diversion.

Felix’s Oyster Bar New Orleans, Louisiana

No substitute for Acme just across the street. Go there.

Pancho & Lefty’s Tacos Nashville, Tennessee

Great tacos just off broadway.

Ruby Slippers New Orleans, Louisiana

Breakfast to battle the French Quarter hang over, just outside the Quarter.

Starlite Lounge Richmond, Virginia

Hangover cure: burger with chilli and a fried egg. Tastes better than it sounds.

0 Stars Dreadful and Disastrous. Avoid.

The Island Restaurant Cedar Key Florida

The infamous culinary crime. How could you serve clams and pasta with no sauce? I still can’t believe it. Catastrophic.

Mary Mahoney’s Old French House Biloxi, Mississippi

Frozen in time, but in all of the wrong ways.

The Grill at Libbie and Patterson Richmond, Virginia

Good sandwiches. Wretched service. Will never return.

Woolworth on 5th Nashville, Tennessee

Great idea. Amazing history. Bad food. Rooting for it to get better.

[marshallmanson]

Day 19-24: Richmond & Environs

I grew up in Richmond, Virginia, so it was natural that I finish my time in the U.S. with a stop there to visit family and catch up with old friends. But in planning my trip, I noticed something that surprising me.

Richmond, which I remember as a fairly typical, mid-sized city, albeit with a southern accent, is on a roll.

Conde Nast says Richmond is ‘The Southern food destination you need to know about’ and calls it the ‘city to visit right now.’ Well-regarded southern magazine Garden & Gun says Richmond is ‘the south’s best culinary secret’ and says ‘a new current is rising.’ Eater picked Richmond restaurant Metzer Bar & Butchery as the best in the south. Zagat called Richmond one of the ’30 most exciting food cities in America’. And just before I arrived, Southern Living named Richmond’s eclectic L’Opossum the best restaurant in the south.

Whoa.

As I researched culinary options and collected suggestions from local friends, I realised that I couldn’t begin to get to all of the exciting places now open and attracting accolades in the city where I grew up.

Luckily, I’d been to L’Opossum on a previous visit. But even then, I had to choose carefully. I wanted to balance getting to iconic places I love with visiting the new places that re fuelling Richmond’s renaissance.

So, on my first full day in town, lunch was Sally Bell’s Kitchen. This tiny bakery has been around for more than 90 years, although it recently changed locations. It specialises in baked southern classics and feeds half of downtown Richmond, from office-bound professionals to constructions workers, with its amazing boxed lunches.

I think there are options for the boxed lunch, but my boxed lunch is an egg-salad sandwich (crusts removed, obviously), a cheddar cheese cracker, homemade potato salad (the best ever), a devilled egg, and a chocolate devil’s food cupcake. I was so excited about getting back to Sally Bell’s that I forgot to take a picture, so here’s one from celebrity food genius Alton Brown. (He went for either chicken salad or Smithfield ham on a roll).

Fair to say that I enjoyed my lunch. And it set me up perfectly for an afternoon exploring another aspect of Richmond’s culinary rebirth: An explosion of craft breweries in parts of town previously ruled by industry. A crawl was in order.

Friday afternoon found me in a part of town called Scott’s Addition with my old friend Charlie, propping up the bar at Buskey Cider. Founded by a fellow graduate of my alma mater, who apparently developed his original flavours in his dorm room, Buskey was welcoming, wonderfully authentic, and home to great cider. From Buskey, we went down the block to Ardent Craft Ales. And after a tolerable pint there, we ventured around the corner to The Veil, which offered one of the best IPAs I’ve ever had anywhere.

The drink at Veil was the last of the afternoon, as it was time to head to dinner at The Roosevelt.

The Roosevelt was one of the first in the new generation of Richmond restaurants. It’s distinguished by two things: Its elevated southern food and its location, on Richmond’s Church Hill, which, when I was a growing up, was a place that white kids just didn’t go. (More on that in a separate reflection to follow.)

Needless to say, the food at The Roosevelt was divine. Starter was Brussels Sprouts with burrata and anchovies. Main was Mahi Mahi with cream corn and spicy greens. And dessert was the restaurant’s signature foie gras pound cake. The cake was a revelation — essentially using foie gras to replace some of the butter in the pound cake recipe. It gave the cake real depth of flavour and incredible richness, but managed to remain sweet rather than savoury.

Dinner was a little early, which provided an unexpected opportunity. Friends were assembling. It was Friday night. The craft beer crawl continued. It resumed at The Circuit, a combination craft beer bar and video game arcade. It was noisy, weird, and brilliant. A total throw-back to the early 90s, except with legal beer. From there, we found our way to Castleburg brewery, and finished at the Answer Brewpub. The Answer is an annex behind a well-regarded Vietnamese restaurant and, as it was getting pretty late, we discovered that craft beer goes very well with large quantities of steamed and fried dumplings. Perhaps the less said about that, the better. No photos of this part of the evening, either. They got blurrier as the night went on.

Reflecting on Saturday morning, I was blown away by the explosion of great craft breweries, and thrilled to find such a gem in The Veil. Saturday Brunch was at the Starlite Lounge, formerly known as Sobell’s — about 20 years ago. Doesn’t matter. It’s a perfectly excellent dive. I had a burger, smothered in chilli and a friend egg. It will be better for everyone if I don’t post a photo. Feeling much restored, it was time for afternoon of college basketball in front of the TV. There may have been a nap.

At it was time for dinner!

Saturday dinner was at Spoonbread Bistro. Starter was Oysters Imperial, which were beautiful — perfectly fresh oysters and crabmeat, perfectly combined.. Main was smoked duck. We were so full that we skipped dessert, which, I learned later was a major mistake. Oh well.

Sunday was more relaxed. A day with family, and a home cooked dinner at my sister’s house. After so many days of restaurant food, it was most welcome. Kansas beating Duke while we ate was also welcome.

Monday was USA shopping day. The outlet mall is in Williamsburg, about 45 minutes from Richmond. Luckily, there was a culinary excuse. Pierce’s Pitt Barbecue. Classic, Virginia-style barbecue that’s increasingly hard to find, even in Richmond. Pulled pork. Slaw. Beans. Hush puppies. Vinegar sauce. Spicy. Delicious. More please.

Shopping complete, dinner was at Shagbark, a project of fellow St. Christopher’s alumnus Walter Bundy. The dining room was packed, in spite of the fact that it was Monday. The menu was magical. Equal measures traditional and sophisticated, it offered the promise of great things to come. My starter was fried oysters served with Virginia hame and greens. It was miraculous. By far the best oysters on the whole trip, and possibly the best dish overall. We ordered some pimento cheese and ham salad to snack on, too, and both with superb. My main was scallops with Tasso ham. Also extraordinary. And again, too full for dessert. But Shagbark was definitely a contender for best meal. (I’ll do a whole post with some rankings and reflections later.) And it was the perfect last meal before I started my journey home the next day.

Tuesday, it was time to say farewell to Richmond and head for Baltimore to catch my flight. But there was one last moment to catch a bit of Virginia’s best food. A stop to Allman’s Barbecue in Fredericksburg was required. A last topping up with Virginia-style minced pork barbecue, slaw, beans, and hushpuppies. Allman’s has always been excellent, but never been my favourite. In transit to the UK, it was just right.

And so my trip came to an end. I’m still adding up the miles, but certainly, I covered a lot of ground. Proper reflections to follow, but in a word, it was amazing. The experience of a lifetime. I’m so glad I got the chance.

And I’m glad I got to finish by rediscovering my own hometown, to see just how far it had come, and experience its culinary achievements for myself. Hurrah Richmond. Well done.

[marshallmanson]

After three amazing weeks exploring the USA, it’s time to go home. I’ve learned a lot. Discovered great new places. And eaten very well. Reflections to follow. For now, back to Blighty.

[marshallmanson]

Day 16-18: West Palm Beach Round-Up — Baseball & Amazing Food

“Reading departure signs in some big airport Reminds me of the places I’ve been. Visions of good times that brought so much pleasure Makes me want to go back again. If it suddenly ended tomorrow, I could somehow adjust to the fall. Good times and riches and son of a bitches, I’ve seen more than I can recall.”

Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitude Jimmy Buffett

I wasn’t sure what to expect from West Palm Beach. Another place on this trip that I’d never been before. The cliches are abundant: Retirees. Shuffleboard. Shuttle busses. You get the idea. And my expectations for spring training were low.

As it turns out, all of these cliches are wrong, and my worst fears about spring training were wrong too.

West Palm Beach was great. My spring training experience was everything I could have wished. And the food was stellar.

I hustled across from Orlando in the morning, aiming to be at the Ballpark of the Palm Beaches by 11a. I made it.

The Ballpark is the spring training home of both my Washington Nationals and the Houston Astros, who won the World Series last year.  The facility is divided in halves, with the main stadium in the center. The Nationals side had six full size baseball field, and a an-infield only diamond for specialist fielding practice.

But the surprise was the access. Fans were welcome to go just about anywhere. On the back fields with the minor leaguers. Hanging on a backstop to watch batting practice. Standing at a short fence to watch infield practice. It was great.

By game time, I was settled in the main stadium. Lunch was, again, a hot dog. The hot dog at the Ballpark weren’t quite as good as the one I’d had in Orlando, but it was still pretty good. And there was free sauerkraut and good mustard. So I was happy. It was about 90°F, and I was sitting in the sun, so I was also pretty hot.

The game was entertaining with star pitchers on the mound for both teams. Scoring came in later innings. But the whole atmosphere was relaxed and comfortable. Exactly what you’d want from spring training.

After the day in the sun, and lots of sun screen, dinner was at The Kitchen. Developed by Chef Matthew Byrne, who used to cook for Tiger Woods, it offers a range of styles rooted in local ingredients. It was lovely, but by far the best dish was the coconut cake, which was truly special. I’m a he fan of coconut cake — it was my cake of choice for birthdays when I was a kid — and this was the best I’d had in years.  

The next day, I was up early. Fans are allowed into the Nets spring training facility when the parking lots open at 9:00 a.m. I was the fifth car in. And for most of the morning, I was one of just a small handful of fans hanging around. Major League practice started at 930a. Fielding practice was at 10a. Batting practice at 1130a. I found spots close to each, watched and listened. Through the morning, I managed to have little chats with a couple of the players, including Ryan Zimmerman, one of the best known and longest standing Nationals. I snagged a ball during batting practice, and took lots of pictures.

Here are a couple of things I noticed: * Spring training includes every player at all levels of the organisation, which is more than 250 players. About 55 were in major league camp the days I was there. To tell everyone apart, the team makes sure every player wears a shirt with their name and number. No exceptions. And the coaches carry lists of every player and schedules showing where every individual in camp is meant to be at any time. * The easiest way to tell the difference between major leagues and minor leaguers was their trousers. Major leaguers wore white. Minor leaguers wore grey. * Nats Manager Dave Martinez had a DJ in camp the day I was there. The music was, errr, awful. * Practice drills were for everyone, and aimed as much at team building as skill building. At one point, I saw high-profile outfielder Bryce Harper taking ground balls at first base as part of a pitchers’ bunting drill. * I watched the Nats pitchers take batting practice for a while. Surprisingly, they can hit.

Dinner the second night in West Palm was at The Regional by Chef Lindsay Autry. It was one of the best two or three meals of the trip.

It opened with a nice cocktail and some homemade oyster crackers — which I hadn’t had since I was a kid. They were nicely seasoned and delicious. My starter was devilled crab. And oh my God, it was delicious. The crab was with homemade Parker House rolls, which were light and heavenly. My main source was shin of beef served with creamed corn and greens. Again, the dish was breathtaking. Great combinations, executed perfectly. A nod to tradition, but elevated and perfected. Dessert was a homemade strawberry hand pie. Which was, again amazing.

The Regional was the top new restaurant in south Florida in 2016, and I’m sure it’s going to pull down serious accolades in the coming years. For me, at a minimum, it’s worth of at least one Michelin star.

The next morning, it was time to pack and head north to Richmond, and the last stop on my trip.

More reflections on the road portion of the trip to follow. But it was certainly hard to say farewell to south Florida, with its warm sun, great baseball, and superb food. I sure can see the appeal.

[marshallmanson]

Day 15: Manatees & Baseball

And there’s that one particular harbour Sheltered from the wind, Where the children play on the shore each day And all are safe within.

Most mysterious calling harbour, So far but yet so near, I can see the day when my hair’s full gray And I finally disappear.

One Particular Harbour Jimmy Buffett and Bobby Holcomb

Today was one of those days that I’ll remember years from now. I got to snorkel with West Indian Manatees. It was amazing. A snorkel, a wetsuit, and lots of floating around. The photos tell the story much better than I can.

The venue was the Crystal River on the west coast of Florida. Specifically, we visited the Three Sisters Springs, which are warm springs where the manatees gather when the weather is chilly and the water is cold. They can get hypothermia when the water temperature falls below 17.0°C. In another week or two, they’ll disperse out into the gulf for the summer, where they will eat 10% pf their body weight, each day. And that’s a lot, considering that they can weigh up to 3,000 pounds. 

Manatees are a great story of environmental and species protection working, similar to the recovery of Bald Eagles. In the 70s, there were just a few hundred. In 1991, there were fewer than 1,500 manatees in Florida. Today, there are more than 6,300. Much of that is down to slowing boat speed in inland waterways where manatees congregate. They’re still threatened, and we still need to look after them. But instead, idiot politicians — mostly Republicans — in Washington have proposed weakening the Endangered Species Act. If you like Manatees or Bald Eagles or lots of other threatened wildlife, I hope you’ll agree that this is stupid.

The Manatee expedition set out at 6:30 a.m., an hour before sunrise. We finished up a little before 9:00 a.m., and I hit the road for Orlando. I hadn’t planned on being so early, and I only starting thinking about things to do on the way. Then it hit me: Spring training. I could add a bonus game. So I did. Google found one for me. The Braves and the Blue Jays played at 1:00 p.m., and I was in row D, right behind the plate, sitting just in front of the scouts.

Lunch was a hot dog. With mustard. It was perfectly prepared. That is to say that it was cooked and served hot. The bun was warm. The mustard was mustard. It was all delicious. I had a second one. It was also delicious. I didn’t take a photo of my hot dog. If this constitutes a failure to chronicle my meals adequately, I apologise to both of my readers.

The game was also great. A real pitchers duel. After 6 innings, the score was 1-0, and the time elapsed was an hour and 15 minutes. Then the pitching changes started. The next inning took 40 minutes. The 8th inning took 30 minutes. I left. But I was thrilled to see some baseball. A worthy appetiser before my two days in camp with the Nats tomorrow and Wednesday.

For dinner, I linked up with my friend Todd who lives locally. (He suggested the Indian Pass Raw Bar which I visited two days ago.)

His choice was the Ravenous Pig, which was amazing. Another James Beard nominated chef, building on traditional southern techniques and favourites, blending them with the best local ingredients, to create something elevated, new, and intriguing. I went for the Pork Porterhouse for my main and the Rice Pudding for dessert. Both were excellent. 

It was an amazing day. One of the best on the trip. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings

[marshallmanson]

Day 14: Apalachicola > Cedar Key -or- the Great Clam Debacle

“Travis McGee’s still in Cedar Key, That’s what John McDonald said. My rendezvous so long overdue, With all of the things I’ve sung and read. They still apply to me, they all make sense in time,

“But now I’m incommunicado, Driving by myself down the road with a hole in it. Songs with no bravado, Takin’ the long way home.”

Incommunicado Jimmy Buffett, M.L. Benoit, and Deborah McColl

Another early start. Nearly four hours on the road planned for today. The longest stint on the trip. But a destination that excites me. An old Florida resort town, at the base of the “bend.”

But today, the going on the road was boring. The first bit, right along the coast outside of Apalachicola, was lovely. But then U.S. 98 met U.S. 19, and it was 4 lanes and 70 miles an hour through some pretty flat country. So I hoofed it.

The reward was a sunny spot with a sea breeze, a local band within ear shot, a passable burger and a beer for lunch with a view of the sea. In other words, it was a all worth it. A local told me over lunch that Cedar Key is “a drinking island with a fishing problem.” That feels about right, and it’s certainly an appealing corner of the world.

Then came dinner.

In preparing for this trip, I did lots of research to identify the best places to eat along the route. I got amazing suggestions from friends, reviewed lists from Eater and others, and surfed through Tripadvisor and Google reviews. But along the way, I’ve also been asking locals for their suggestions. “I’ve only got one night in town. Where should I make sure that I eat?” has been my usual approach. Mostly, the responses have lined up with my research. In Cedar Key, they surprised me.

I was eyeing a place by the water called Steamers. My back-up was a place famous for chowder called Tony’s. But the unanimous recommendation of the five locals I asked today was to eat in the restaurant in my own hotel: The Island Hotel & Restaurant. It’s the local stop for birthdays and anniversaries, and everyone I spoke to said I needed to eat there, especially if I only had one night.

Needless to say, it was a disaster.

Made all the worse because it began with such promise.

Cedar Key is one of the leading producers of clams in the U.S. Mostly, they turn out the common variety — Little Necks — which are used in restaurants all over the country. Tonight, The Island had a special treat. Freshly harvested Sunray Venus clams, said to be smaller, sweeter, and more intense than the more common Little Necks. I love clams. I’m in. “How are they served?”

“We’re serving them over pasta.” It’s perfect! Spaghetti alle Vongole — Clams with white wine sauce — is one of my favourite dishes. So simple. Perfect with fresh ingredients. Especially local clams.

The dish that appeared a short time later looked promising.

As you can see, there’s a festival of clams, perfectly opened and well arranged. The pasta looks like it’s cooked okay. But what’s with the bowl of butter in the middle?

As soon as I took my first bite, I knew.

The clams were overcooked. Badly. They were so rubbery that they would make bicycle tires. You know what I mean — the consistency of a silicon spatula or a pencil eraser. But their flavour was sweet and interesting, and I could have overlooked the overcook, if it weren’t for the pasta.

There was no sauce.

None.

Yes, the pasta was cooked a nice al dente. But it was completely and totally unsauced. I couldn’t believe it. And, as I ate some of it, I reflect on the missed opportunity. The clams had been cooked in something. Where was the liquor? Had the kitchen run out of garlic? I was drinking a Pinot Grigio, so I knew there was wine.

I couldn’t believe it. This was a total failure. An utter missed opportunity. I couldn’t believe that a professional kitchen would serve such an abomination. I actually wrote to an Italian foodie friend of mine to proactively apologise on behalf of America for this complete travesty.

And this is my problem. To serve a perfect dish, the kitchen had to do almost nothing differently. Just pour the cooking liquor from the clams over the pasta. Sure, some garlic and a little red chilli flake would be interesting. Using some wine to cook the clams would have been a bonus. But the same work and the same materials cost would have produced a winning dish. And to ruin such wonderful clams, notable, according to my waitress, because they are so difficult to farm and harvest, only compounds the failure.

It’s a culinary crime.

I’m writing this in my room, upstairs from the crime scene, wondering what to do. The dining room was quiet and busy, and I didn’t want to make a scene, so I snuck out. What should I do? At the moment, I’m leaning towards sending a letter to the chef via the hotel, but I fear that would be pompous, to say the least. Any ideas would be welcome.

I started this trip because I wanted to reconnect with the food of the south. This is a good reminder that some of the food of the south is awful. Here’s hoping I can avoid the awful for the remainder of the trip.

[marshallmanson]

Day 13: Pensacola > Apalachicola

“Now, away in the near future, southeast of disorder You can shake the hand of the mango man As he greets you at the border, And the lady she hails from Trinidad, Island of the spices, Salt for your meat and cinnamon sweet, And the rum is for all your good vices.”

Son of a Son of a Sailor Jimmy Buffett

I loved Pensacola Beach. It managed that seemingly impossible balance for beach towns: Enough bars, restaurants and shopping to be interesting, but without the madness of an overdeveloped tourist mecca. There were countless local joints I could have picked from, and even more just across the bay in town. Even my hotel was great. I booked a Hampton Inn because it was cheap, and still ocean side, but it was comfortable. with great amenities and a pleasant staff. I hated to move on.

But storms were threatening, and I wanted to get ahead of them to the east if I could. So I followed the little county road, along the beach and through the state nature preserve. The island was so narrow in some places that I could reach both the beach and bay simply by falling out of my car. But it was also a gorgeous landscape, with shifting dunes and a morning mist.

At Navarre Beach, the road turned back across the bay, and I resumed U.S. 98 east. A parade of Florida beach communities followed. Mary Esther: Beautiful. Destin: Soulless. Miramar Beach: Lovely. Laguna Beach: Posh. And of course, Panama City Beach: Shithole.

I’d never been to Panama City before, and I was keen to see this spring break mecca, even though the locals have now taken steps to reduce the drunken madness. Signs indicated that no alcohol was allowed on the beaches, and the police presence was significant, even at 10:00 a.m., when I passed through. I followed the beach road, and with the exception of one or two interesting looking spots, I could find nothing redeeming about the place. It was the polar opposite of Pensacola Beach. Even the beach seemed in need of a tune-up. Every restaurant was a chain. Every spot seemed to have a contrived story rooted in a bad marketing strategy It reminded me, starkly, of Myrtle Beach, SC, which I despise. Why anyone would want to spend even a minute in Panama City Beach, I simply cannot understand.

So I moved swiftly, continuing south through the federal nature reserve that also houses the massive Tyndall AFB. I was still right on the coast — a bad accident would have m upside down in the bay, so this sign came as something of a surprise. I can report that I saw lots more of these signs on the way to Cedar Key today. I guess the Florida bear population is doing okay.

I was glad to be out of the beach madness now, following the coast around St. Joseph Bay, and through the little town of St. Joe’s. Turning off 98 onto a little county road, I found my way to the Indian Pass Raw Bar, which looks out over the Bay, and specialises in, quite simply, beer and oysters. I indulged.

A further 20 minutes took me into Apalachicola, a fantastic town that modern tourism seems to have forgotten. That’s a shame, as the town is lovely, and unlike some of the beach towns up the road, is fully in touch with its soul. Apalachicola was a boom town in the late 19th and early 20th century. The river was a key outlet for produce from Georgia, and, at one point, had more working boats operating than the lower Mississippi. The Bay has always been famous for its oysters, and a remains a commercial lifeline for the town even today. So much so, that it proved hard to find local oysters because they are all being shipped to restaurants and purveyors up north for higher prices than could be had locally. (Managed to find some though.)

The town has been loving restored over the years, and each building has its own plaque outlining its history, role in the boom, and its path to restoration. Although there were still enough ruins around to suggest that the town isn’t quite thriving.

For dinner, local consensus was to try the Apalochicola Seafood Grill. It was friendly, casual, and the food was great, especially the hushpuppies. I tried the Keylime Pie as well, just to see if lightning would strike twice. The pie was good, but didn’t reach best-I’ve-ever-had levels of the night before.

As it was St. Patrick’s Day, I felt obligated to stop into one of the local drinking establishments for a nightcap. I can report that the locals would have held their own on the streets of Dublin and, having learned this, I decided to go to bed. So I turned in, having seen some of the best and worst of the trip during this single day, and ready for the longest road stint the next morning.

[marshallmanson]

Day 12: Biloxi > Pensacola

“Lola loves Frank, Frankie loves Lola On their second honeymoon in Pensacola Tryin’ to find a little privacy, oh me.

“There’d been too much screamin’ fussin’ and fightin’ The doggies were yellin the children were bitin’ Frank and Lola tryin’ to get together again.”

…

“So they strolled along the highway, they walked along the beach They stopped at several raw bars where they slurped a dozen each Bought a bunch of popcorn from the fat man on the dock Baby, turn back the pages, turn round the clock.

Frank & Lola Jimmy Buffett and Steve Goodman

I was up and gone early from Biloxi. In my planning, I intended to follow U.S. 90 all the way to Pensacola. This would take me northeast through Mobile, a southern port city that’s surely had better days. Luckily, Google offered an alternative. A different route, down some small roads to Dauphin Island, and across the Mobile Bay Ferry to Ft. Morgan. From there, I’d follow little state roads along the coast, through Gulf Shores, cross the Florida line at Perido Key, and stop for lunch in Orange Beach. Then it was through downtown Pensacola, and a final run across 3 Mile Bridge to Pensacola Beach.

The drive along the Gulf coast was, once again beautiful. Gorgeous beaches, punctuated by big, protected wilderness areas. The beaches near Mobile have probably done a better job protecting their character, whereas the beaches near the state line and into Florida have totally embraced the tourist thing, and by the time I got to Orange Beach, there were high-rise hotels and condos by the dozen.

Still, Orange Beach holds a secret. A big Marina on the back of the island which is home to Fisher’s, one of the best restaurants in the South according to Eater and Southern Living. Unable to pass on such a promising spot right on my route, I stopped for lunch. I’m incredibly glad I did.

Fishers has two restaurants, both served by the same kitchen, led by well regarded chef Bill Briand. According to their website, “Upstairs is timeless. Dockside is relaxed.” Upstairs is only open for dinner, and I wanted relaxed anyway, so I settled in Downstairs with a view that took in both the marina and the basketball.

Lunch was Fish Tacos accompanied by cole slaw and sweet potatoes cooked in root beer. The fish tacos the best I’ve ever eaten. Fresh fish, lightly fried. Fresh, crisp vegetables. And a creamy sauce with just the right amount of spice. The slaw was homemade and perfect. And the sweet potatoes were a revelation. An imaginative twist on a traditional dish, they managed to elevate something familiar into something great. Indeed, that really goes for the whole meal. And I left feeling that Fishers was my best meal yet.

After lunch, it was a short jaunt through Pensacola to Pensacola Beach. Sadly, my plans for a long beach walk were ruined by rain, so I settled for an afternoon of hoops and golf. (As an aside, I’m thrilled to see Tiger Woods competing at the highest levels after so many problems over the last few years.)

Dinner was at Peg Leg Pete’s, a local beach dive that’s earned a reputation for great seafood.

It delivered. The wait was an hour, so I shuffled my way to the Underthere bar. I started with Oysters Imperial: Baked Gulf oysters, caught fresh, topped with local crabmeat, and served with drawn butter. Paired with a local beer, it was perfect. A local band played Tom Petty covers, and I felt like a native and had been coming to Peg Leg Pete’s all my life. My main course was fried local oysters, fried local shrimp, french fries, and homemade slaw served with homemade cocktail sauce. It was all astonishingly good, but the oysters in particular were award-caliber.

Dessert  was homemade Key Lime Pie. I learned later that the pies were made by a grand mother in Gulf Breeze who cooks them in her kitchen at home. The problem with Key Lime Pie is that most people make it much too tart. This wasn’t. It was perfect. Tart for sure, but balanced with sweetness and creaminess. Absolutely the best Key Lime Pie I’ve ever tasted.

It was a superb dinner. Exactly what I was looking for when I planned the trip.

As it turns out, history was made last night. For the first time ever, a 16 seed beat a 1 see in the Men’s NCAA Basketball tournament. And I discovered a beach restaurant that wasn’t shit. And, in fact, does homemade food any critic would love.

Today, it’s off to Apalachicola, after a long drive along the gulf cost.

[marshallmanson]

Day 11: New Orleans > Biloxi

“Beaumont to Biloxi Sea breeze at your door Gypsy rains, dang hurricanes White silver sandy shores.”

Stars on the Water Jimmy Buffett & Rodney Crowell

I haven’t spent much time on the gulf coast. Really just previous trips to New Orleans, and passing through at speed along I-10 once or twice. But I’ve never really experienced it up close.

The trip from New Orleans to Biloxi wasn’t especially long. About an hour and half, mostly along U.S. Highway 90. But the whole trip was beautiful. From the causeway that separates Lake St. Catherine and Lake Pontchartrain to Bay St. Louis and Gulfport, the coast was lovely, dotted with shrimp boats and picturesque inlets.

But the real eureka moment came on crossing the bridge over the mouth of Bay St. Louis, into the little gulf community of Pass Christian. If there’s a prettier spot on the gulf, I haven’t seen it yet. Huge, classic houses, set back from the water and the road, with huge front yards. Each house could have been a postcard.

The Beach in Pass Christian

From Pass Christian to Biloxi, the towns each had their own character. Some were less exclusive. Some were downright gritty. But each had character, and was compelling in its own way.

By lunchtime, I was in Biloxi, and I had a destination in mind.

Since the early 1970s, when they fled the war in their own country, a big Vietnamese population has grown up around the Gulf. Nowhere more so than Biloxi, home of Le Bakery Cafe. Run by the same family the first wave of immigrants arrived, it’s a French-Style bakery that any Parisian would approve of. But at lunch time, it also offers an assortment of Banh Mi, renamed Po’Boys to suit the local vernacular, that are as good as any I’ve had anywhere.

Perfectly made fresh bread, soft and not too crusty. Perfectly cooked chicken, with a fabulous coconut curry flavour. Fresh, crisp vegetables. And all of the spicy sauces you’d care to add. I also went for a Vietnamese Pork Pie. That’s just puff pastry, filled with deliciously flavoured ground pork. It was all superb. One of the best meals of the trip, and one of the most popular spots. The Bakery was full of troops from the nearby Air Force base, and nurses from the nearby hospital.

After lunch, I explored Biloxi, which was, well, pretty much abandoned. A walk down the main commercial street found 80% of retail and professional slots vacant. Across the water, Ocean Springs was better with a thriving village centre. But it’s interesting to consider the impact of the significant local casino industry on the city. Is it helping? Or hurting? I really don’t know.

After my wander, I checked into the Margaritaville Resort, and immersed myself in Jimmy Buffett for the afternoon.

For dinner, I headed to Mary Mahoney’s Old French House. When Mary was still around, the cooked for President Reagan, and the restaurant, which is in an old manor house, barely survived Katrina. It’s a local institution, with a reputation for great seafood. My experience was just about okay. The place was predictably old fashioned — I love being asked what dressing I wanted on my salad. My crab cake starter was very tasty and well prepared. But main was a disappointment, and I left feeling like I’d wasted a meal. Oh well.

Today, it was on to Pensacola, and one of the best meals I’ve had yet.

[marshallmanson]

Defining Terms: Jimmy Buffett

In previous posts, I’ve identified a couple of themes for my trip through the south. First, rediscovering southern food, as it exists today, in all of its amazing forms. And using food as a vehicle to reconnect with the south, its people and its culture.

But its time to confess that there’s another, far more subversive theme. It’s Jimmy Buffett.

Now, I’m conscious that most of my non-American friends won’t know who Jimmy Buffett is, so, like my earlier posts defining biscuits and grits, I wanted to give a little background. Otherwise, some of what you’ll see over the next few days will seem even madder than usual.

Jimmy Buffett is an American musician. He started in country, but during the 1970s, he developed his own musical genre, which he originally called “drunken Caribbean rock’n’roll.” He later came to call it “Gulf & Western,” a play on Country & Western, and expressing the influence the island and gulf coast lifestyle has on his music. He’s released more than 30 albums over the years, and is one of the strongest, most consistent concert draws in the U.S. HIs devoted legions of fans call themselves “Parrotheads”. He’s also a best selling author, and one of only a handful to have bestsellers in both fiction and non-fiction.

If you live outside of the U.S., the songs you’re most likely to have heard include “Margaritaville,” “Come Monday,” and “A Pirate Looks at Forty”.

I first encountered Jimmy Buffett in school, and found some real poetry in his lyrics. Much of his writing sticks with me these many years later. You’ll be seeing some of these lyrics in the next few days as I explore the gulf coast.

This part of my itinerary has Buffett laced throughout, and his songs and lyrics helped shape the itinerary.

Start with New Orleans as an example. 

He loves the Big Easy, having spent time busking there before he got his first record deal. One of my favourite references to the city is in his song “The Wino and I Know.” He says: 

“The coffee is strong at the Cafe Du Mont, where the donuts are too hot to touch. But just like a fool when those sweet goodies cool, I eat ’til I eat way too much. Because I’m living on things that excite me, be they pastry, or lobster or love. “I’m just trying to get shy, being quiet and shy in a world full of pushing and shoving.”

I first heard this shortly after I visited New Orleans for the first time, and I remember burning my fingers on those amazing beignets. (As I did again on my recent visit.)

Gulfport, Biloxi, and Mobile, where he grew up, all feature in various songs, as well. Later, I’m spending a night in Cedar Key, Florida, partially because it’s the opening line of “Incommunicado,” one of my favourite Buffet songs.

And tonight, in Biloxi, I’m staying at the Margaritaville Resort which, I admit, is entirely crazy of me. But I needed a place to stay in Biloxi, it’s pretty cheap, and there’s Buffett everywhere. So I’m lovin’ it.

So, if you don’t know Buffett, take a few minutes and listen to a couple of songs. Here’s a big Spotify playlist, but I’d start with these six:

Margaritaville

Pirate Looks at Forty

Boat Drinks

Changes in Latitudes

He Went to Paris

Cheeseburger in Paradise

It’s very likely that by the end of these songs, you’ll be ready to fly to St. Somewhere and lose yourself in a world of margaritas and cheeseburgers. I urge to give into that instinct, and I look forward to seeing you soon.

By the way, even at this level of fandom, I’m not sufficiently zealous to count as a parrothead.

[marshallmanson]

Day 7-10: New Orleans Round-Up

On Monday, we drove down from Vicksburg to New Orleans. Avoiding the interstates meant we took in some of the prettiest parts of rural Mississippi and Louisiana. We also managed a super lunch at Cafe Boulee in Franklinton, LA.

By Monday afternoon, we had reached the Big Easy.

I hadn’t visited New Orleans since before big hurricane Katrina devastated the city in 2005. Despite my reading and research, I wasn’t sure what to expect. What I found is a renewed city, reborn with new energy, and very much on the up.

New Orleans has always been one of America’s great food cities, with its magical fusion of global cuisines, lately influenced by new forces like Vietnamese and Honduran. We tried to strike a balance between the traditional and the intriguing, but the whole experience was just as outstanding as you might expect.

We started Monday at Commander’s Palace. A New Orleans institution, Commander’s Palace has managed to deliver consistent greatness for decades, in spite of suffering extensive damage in the 2005 hurricane. Our experience was no different. Chef Tony McPhail’s menu delivered interested twists on classics, elevating dishes and experimenting with new approaches. Its success was not unlike Sean Brock’s Husk — taking the best from traditional southern (or, in this case, cajun), and pushing further, using the best ingredients.

My starter was an intriguing Crawfish Gnocchi, which represents an innovative twist on cajun cooking. My main was uber-traditional crusted gulf fish. And dessert was a heart-warming, miraculous bread pudding soufflé.

On Tuesday, I took in the sites, visiting the WWII museum and walking the length of Magazine Street, home to New Orleans’ most interesting local shops.

Lunch was Po’Boys at Felix’s Oyster Bar, which was fine, if a poor substitute for Acme Oyster Company across the street, where we were defeated by the queue, and my friend’s need to get to the airport for his afternoon flight.

Dinner that night was at NOLA, Emeril Lagasse’s newly remodelled place in the French Quarter. Now,  can already see the eye-rolling, but I was a fan of Emeril way back when, and I’d heard good things about NOLA. It didn’t disappoint. Like Brock and McPhail, Emeril builds on tradition, keeping the most heartwarming, evocative bits, and pushing hard for big flavours. I enjoyed an intriguing pasta dish, and an outstanding tuna dish that amounted to a cajun twist on Salad Nicoise. After a week of rich souther food, it was just what I needed.

Wednesday, I started the day with iconic beignets, and then spent the morning walking them off. I found my way to the French Market, which was pretty disappointing, with the exception of a stall or two still hanging onto the old ways. Then I walked up Frenchmen Street, home of locals’ bars and great music venues. I felt like I had found the essence of New Orleans which once inhabited Bourbon Street, but had been pushed out by tourists looking for a cheap Hurricane.

Lunch was at the new-ish La Roche Marketing, in the Faubourg-Marginy District. Long a run-down area abutting the Quarter, Marginy is now fashionable, and rapidly gentrifying. La Roche Market is a small collection of food stalls in a reclaimed building on the edge of the neighbourhood. The stalls are full of interesting, young cooks doing fascinating things. I got in touch with my inner cajun Canadian by going for Crawfish Poutine at King Creole. It was fantastic. And I left wishing I had 5 or 6 stomachs so that I could have tried more.

Another long walk took me to Louis Armstrong Park and, eventually, back to the hotel for a rest.

I saved my final night in New Orleans for a trip down memory lane. It started with a Sazerac at the Carousel Bar, and continued with dinner at Galatoire’s, which I first visited on New Years Eve 1990 for one of the most memorable meals I’ve ever experienced. I arrived expecting to wait in line, but went straight in. After learning that my favourite waiter — who looked after me on my last visit about 15 years ago — had recently defected to Brennan’s, I was seated at a great table in the back, with a view of the whole restaurant. I was pleased that nothing had changed. Oysters Rockefeller were perfect. Lovely and warm. Nothing too overwhelming. Then came Red fish, smothered in a crawfish meunière sauce. Dessert was Pecan Pie.

A walk down Bourbon Street followed, and a cheeky cigar to celebrate the end of this segment of the trip. Today, it’s onto Biloxi, and the start of my journey along the Gulf Coast.

[marshallmanson]

Day 6: Tunica, the Delta & Vicksburg

We spent Saturday night in Tunica, MS, home of Mississippi’s biggest collection of casinos. Gambling has been an essential part of the story of the big river since the first Europeans appeared hundreds of years ago, and it remains so now. Tunica was developed in the ate ‘90s to attract gamblers from nearby Memphis, and it’s had a couple of refreshes in the years since. We exercised ourselves at the craps table for a while on Saturday night, and on Sunday morning, hit the road again. It was, well, a rather late start.

So Sunday morning found us in the old town of Tunica, about 10 miles from the casinos, in the Blue & White Diner, at lunch time.

Luckily, the Blue & White is a classic road-side diner, and their big draw on Sunday is an all-you-can-eat Sunday buffet. Come early before they run out of cobbler.

Needless to say, I did my best against the buffet, but was ultimately defeated. Fried chicken, chicken casserole, beef pot roast with gravy, and every side imaginable. It was the perfect antidote for whatever poisons the casinos might have inflicted the night before. And it was all delicious. We arrived about 1115a, and were one of the first. (The buffet starts at 11a.) By noon, the Blue & White was rammed, and people were waiting outside in the chilly overcast for a table. It was a great find, and the kind that you really only have a chance to visit on a trip like this one.

From the Blue & White, we set out into the Delta.

Now, if you’re like me, the term “Mississippi Delta” can be confusing. Usually, when we talk about a river delta, it’s the spot where a big river meets a bigger body of water. Often, that’s the river meeting the sea. But the Mississippi Delta is something different. You don’t find it where the river meets the sea. That would be New Orleans and points south.

The Mississippi Delta is the area between the Mississippi River (on the west) and the Yazoo River (to the east). These two great rivers meander south through an area that’s been flooded and drained over countless centuries and, as a result, remains one of the most fertile areas of land on the planet. Fertile for crops, to be sure, and fertile for music, art, writing, and food.

We drifted south, first down U.S. 61 to Clarksdale, then across to State Highway 1, which took us south along the river to Rena Lara, Waxhaw, and Rosedale. East again to Cleveland, the home of the Delta Blues, then south again to Greenville, home of Does Eat Place and iconic Delta cooking. Then east again, crossing the Delta entirely to Indianola, south to Belzoni, and south again to Yazoo City, perched high on the eastern escarpment. (Photo credit.)

From there, we followed the Yazoo to Vicksburg, where the two rivers meet, and the geography begins to morph from the great, flat plain of the Delta to the flooded swamps of Louisiana.

Vicksburg, situated on a great cliff top, commands the two rivers, and, as such was also the site of a great siege during the American Civil War that represented the beginning of the end of the Confederacy. Thanks to General Ulysses S. Grant’s determination, combined Union army and naval forces took the town and gain control of the whole Mississippi River from New Orleans to St. Louis, thus splitting the Confederacy in two, and depriving Confederate forces in the east of critical food and materials. The date of Grant’s victory was 4 July 1863. Overshadowed at the time by Union victory at the Battle of Gettysburg the day before, the two victories represented the critical turning point in the war.

In Vicksburg, we found a spot for a beer with a view of the rivers — which suddenly changed course in 1879. They came with a platter of deep fried pickles, a true souther delicacy, which were amazing.

Sunday is a tough time to eat local in the Delta, so we fell back on a local Mexican joint, which was brilliant, and a welcome change of pace. I went for enchiladas verdes, and enjoyed every bite.

All in all, it was an amazing day. I loved the Delta. There’s nowhere quite like it, and I know it will be some time before I get back.

[marshallmanson]

Day 5: Oxford

Oxford is one of the most picturesque and appealing places that I’ve ever been. The town square is a throw back to when most Americans lived in towns the size of Oxford, or villages that were even smaller. There’s a thriving department store, a brilliant men’s shop, and countless other local merchants. The University obviously helps fuel this, but so do growing communities of artists and retirees.

The restaurant scene is a novelty, too. After training at Bill Neal’s iconic Crook’s Corner in Raleigh, Chef John Currence opened City Grocery in town in 1992. Building on Oxford local traditions, he created a modern, appealing restaurant that would have been first class in anywhere in the world. Together with local favourites like Taylor Grocery, Oxford now has a brilliant blend of food choices that any city would envy.

It helped that I was visiting with life-long friend Caston, who lived in Oxford for four years while in grad school.

So, after a leisurely morning, we dug right into lunch. The destination was Ajax Diner on the square. and the food was amazing. I went for meatloaf with green beads, sweet potatoes, turnip greens, and jalapeño corn bread. I’m writing this in New Orleans a few days later, and I can report that the lunch at Ajax remains one of my favourite meals, as yet, on the trip. Everything was homemade, with its own character, the cooks taking the best from the traditional recipe and giving a twist unique to the Ajax. The meatloaf was seasoned with some italian-style spices, giving it a flavour more like the world’s best meatball. The green beans were almost spicy. And the sweet potatoes were the perfect balance of sweet and savory. There was real love and care in this food, and it showed.

The afternoon was an exploration of William Faulkner, icon of the south, who lived and worked in Oxford for most of his life. We visited his house and saw his study, where he liked to outline his latest work on the walls. Following local tradition, we toasted him over his grave.

For dinner, it seemed essential that we try the iconic City Grocery. I started with Brussels Sprouts, and then turned to the Grocery’s signature Shrimp’n’grits. All in all, the experience was great. Service was lovely. The food was well conceived, well executed, and very tasty. But compared to Husk, or even Ajax, City Grocery seemed a bit lost. To be fair, they’ve been open since 1992, but in spite of having a seasonal menu, the food doesn’t seem to have evolved much at all. It feels like the same sort of stuff you could have gotten when the Grocery first opened. So it doesn’t have the traditional feel of Ajax or Taylor Grocery, its in-town rivals, or the elevated style of Husk. I’d heard that Currence’s energies are focused on his newer places, so perhaps there’s innovation to be found elsewhere. But the bottom line is that while City Grocery was excellent, I left feeling a little disappointed.

It didn’t help that we walked out of the restaurant into a driving rain, which followed us all the way west, to our evening stop-over in the casino valley of Tunica, MS.

More on that in the next post.

[marshallmanson]

Day 4: Nashville > Oxford

(Sorry for the delay in posting. Wifi has not been my friend the last few days.)

We left downtown Nashville late in the morning, and headed southwest.

Our route took us through the Vanderbilt campus, and right past Nashville’s full size replica of the Parthenon. Built for a grand exhibition at the end of the 19th century, it’s the only full size replica of the Parthenon anywhere in the world. That’s understandable, because the thing is mad. It’s gigantic, and reproduces everything from columns to friezes. It’s not convincing; The stone and colours are all wrong. But it certainly captures your attention.

From there, we found the start of the famous Natchez Trace, and started towards Mississippi. The Trace is the ancient trading route that connects Nashville and Natchez. It’s 435 miles long, and passes through some beautiful country.

We stopped in Columbia, TN for lunch. Craving barbecue, we found our way to the Brickhouse for pulled pork, slaw, and beans. The barbecue was moist and well seasoned. The beans were delicious. The slaw was a little weird.  But it was all capped off by a heavenly, homemade banana pudding.

From there, it was back to the Trace where, a short while later, we stopped at the burial site of Capt. Merriweather Lewis, the commander of the famous Lewis & Clark expedition to map the Louisiana Territory. After surviving that journey and serving as Governor of Louisiana, Lewis likely committed suicide near the spot where he is buried. The state of Tennessee erected a monument on the spot in 1848 centred on a broken column which, apparently, represents life cut off too soon. Lewis was in his mid-30s when he died.

After crossing briefly through Alabama, we entered Mississippi and left the trace in favour of state route 30 headed west. Late afternoon found us, finally, in Oxford, wandering around the picturesque town square.

For the evening, we headed out to visit a friend of Caston’s who lives near Taylor. After a tour of his amazing collection of classic Ford cars, we picked up catfish, hushpuppies, and sides from Taylor Grocery, and enjoyed it all it’s attended: In styrofoam containers, with plenty of tartar sauce, and a supply of beer.

The road between Taylor and Oxford was overrun with deer, but I managed to survive the drive back to town, and enjoyed a restful night at the Graduate Hotel.

The day was a great start to the road trip.

Saturday, it’s a day around Oxford, and an evening in Tunica.

[marshallmanson]

Day 3: Husk & Ryman

When I started planning this trip back in December, this was the day I was most looking forward to: A day exploring Nashville, capped off by an evening of country classics at the home of country music. It’s fair to say that my expectations were high.

Nashville didn’t disappoint.

It started with bumping into history over breakfast, which I’ve covered in more detail separately.

I spent the morning walking around town, mostly to work up an appetite. My lunch booking was at Husk.

Sean Brock has arguably done more to refresh southern cooking in the last ten years than anyone else, and Husk is his Nashville outpost. Brock’s ideas centre on finding the best, local ingredients and understanding their relationship to the ground. He’s funded the rediscovery and redevelopment of heritage vegetables and breeds of pig. He’s immersed himself in old southern cooking. He’s got a deep instinctive understanding of southern home cooking, and the ability to blend all of those ideas into great cooking.

He also loves Waffle House. Trust me. You need to watch this clip of Brock taking Bourdain for a first-even Waffle House experience.

My lunch as Husk started with Devilled Eggs with Smoked Trout. Now, I don’t normally like smoked fish, but these eggs were amazing. They managed to evoke memories of enjoying devilled eggs during football tailgates as a kids, but they were also elevated, genius cooking. My main course was Fried Catfish with homemade tartar sauce served with cabbage and a fresh greens salad. And dessert was a chocolate pie with peanut butter ice cream — a combination that Elvis himself would have gladly blessed.

Needless to say, the food was amazing. But it was the perfection and elevation of everything — even as the atmosphere was chill and welcoming. Like so many great places, i was the little touches that mattered most. Butter for bread was mixed with honey and pork lard. The wine list included a ‘regional sodas’ section featuring soft drinks from across the south, many of which are hard to find these days: RC Cola, Nehi, both grape and peach varieties, Ale 8 from Kentucky, and, of course, Cheerwine.  

All in all, my visit to Husk Nashville just makes me want to experience more of Brock’s ideas.

Following lunch, it was more walking, and a few honky tonks before heading to Ryman Auditorium.

Ryman refers to itself as the Mother Church of Country Music. For me, it was more a feeling that John Denver’s captured in one of his songs: That I’d come home to a place I’d never been before.

Me, obviously, with the Ryman stage just about visible in the background.

I saw a Opry Country Classics show, hosted by country legend Larry Gatlin. He was entertaining and hilarious. The other acts were Jimmy Fortune, who was the tenor for the Stadler Brothers for years, Jeannie Sealy, a fabulous old-school country queen, Natalie Stovall, a brilliant up-and-coming vocalist and fiddle player, and Craig Morgan, a more recent vintage of country legend. They played a range of classics, but two moments stood out. The first was Stovall playing Devil Went to Georgia, and it was clear she could give Charlie Daniels a run for his money. The second was the Gatlin Brother playing stump the band. They invited the audience to throw out any gospel song, and they would be perform it. They said that they hadn’t been stumped in at least 10 years, but the first song nearly did it. They caucused for a while, and then sang a perfect version, a capella, using hand signals to keep together. It was fantastic.

When the show ended at 9:15, I remember thinking distinctly that I could easily have done another hour. It was an experience I’ll treasure. That’s for sure.

Friday, it was off to Oxford.

[marshallmanson]

Day 3: History for Breakfast

While I was walking around on Wednesday, I noticed a restaurant in what looked to be a restored Woolworth’s. It looked big and interesting, and the menu looked really promising. The biggest attraction was the huge lunch counter along one wall.

When I was a kid, my grandmother used to take me to the Woolworth lunch counter in Richmond. It was one of the last Woolworth’s in existence, stashed in the corner of a strip mall called Willow Lawn. I was tiny, but I recall good food and friendly people. So the idea that someone had invested in reproducing such a counter was pretty interesting.

I decided to pop in for breakfast. It was only after I ate that I noticed the historical marker right outside. The store was, in fact, the key site in a series of sit-ins, led by now-Congressman John Lewis, then a student at nearby Fisk University. The sit-ins resulted in the desegregation of lunch counters in Nashville, and made Nashville one of the first southern cities to desegregate its counters. (You can read a couple of amazing accounts of this story here and here.)

The space is breathtaking. Set over three floors, it’s huge. The lunch counter must be 50 yards long. The whole thing feels incredibly authentic, right down to the floors. It’s only missing the shop floor displays behind the counter.

Sadly, the food was awful. It turns out that the restaurant has only been open for about two weeks, so we’re going to give them a pass, and hope that it improves. The proprietor runs a couple of other Nashville places, and has a great track record, so I’m sure he’ll sort it out.

But I really admire the idea.

In an earlier post, I quoted John T. Edge from Potlikker Papers talking about how food brings southerners together, even in the face of our history. Woolworth on 5th brings that idea to life, and invites us to experience it for ourselves. I hope it’s a big success. I wish I had time to get back for lunch or dinner, or to visit the cool looking cocktail bar upstairs.

More on Day 3 to come in a separate post.

Further reading: 

The Tennessean on Woolworth on 5th. The owner explains his concept.

Nashville Easter says Woolworth on 5th is the most important restaurant to open in Nashville for a long time.