FOOD REVIEW-OUTBACK CRAB SHACK, ST AUGUSTINE

My adventures in government travel continued last week with a trip to St. Augustine, Florida for a training course--as one might expect, you cannot work the entire time and a body has to eat...

This food/restaurant review was dictated to me by Jay McNair, Esquire, who likes to eat as much as i do..he was also my traveling companion last year when we went to the frozen tundra of New Hampshire....Jays' voice is similar to any that you would expect to find announcing the color commentary on any Fall Friday night of a Georgia High School Football game.

"We are at the Outback Crab Shack at along 6 Mile Creek--est 1973. We drove a route (elbow to a-hole) to get here---it is situated along the rivers edge and filled with "locals"--some of which chose not to bathe (I believe)-or they just got through fishing--I can't tell.... There are three taxidermed alligators in the front of the place, the smallest of which is about ten feet long, sitting up on its tail and fashioned into what looks like a bookshelf of sorts--The tea is sweet and comes in a take home cup-a bonus..they have a website (outbackcrabshack.com) and I am certain to look it up before my head hits the pillow tonight....The place is huge and the tables are ALL picnic tables--the floors are concrete in one area, wood in yet another, with big spaces between the floorboard big enough to fall through--and of course go "right straight to hell" like the Jimmy Buffett says--the menu contains a varied assortment of sea bounty--fried, grilled, blackened, and it does traditional barbecue as well. The waitresses--all young'uns, but all equipped with the three "T"s-tank tops, ta-tas, and tattoos--(Jay points out emphatically that) a good set of knockers offsets a not so great face..."

The gift shop boasts all kinds of t shirts-to include the tank tops the waitresses are wearing, and in the fashionable camouflage design-- both Mossy Oak and Real Tree.

Not impressed yet?

Well, for all you sinners out there (Cardinal, Mortal, and other) there is regular Sunday service by the Providence Bible Church on Sunday morning at 0830 where their motto (I swear this is on the napkin holder) "NO SHIRT NO SHOES NO PROBLEM"...

Out front is a revival type sign proclaiming "HOLY MOSES" with none other than Charles Heston, the original Moses-- holding up the Ten Commandments...Glory!!!

The meal? Jay had blackened salmon with sweet potato french fries and red potatoes--I opted for the grilled mahi-mahi with cole slaw and broccoli--inasmuch as my colon has been rejecting my body for the last couple weeks I gotta play it safe. The only flaw we saw was no cheese grits..but neither of us had the guts to ask anyone about it for fear of getting our butts kicked by either the employees or the patrons.

The verdict? as my ex Rachel Ray says--"DEELISH!". When I like something I say it makes me hunch. I asked Jay did it make him hunch and he said no but he was considering coming back for church on Sunday.

Amen.

Rachel Ray Dog food--Really, Let me go.

It is no surprise that I "dumped" Rachel Ray for Sarah Palin--I was upfront and honest about the entire thing, and my wife Sue can attest to that.

Well, Rachel is obviously having a hard time "letting go"--in the mail today i received from her via Kroger a sample of her new dog food--I suspect that, even though theres no direct reference to me, that she is doing this as a way to get even with me for breaking her heart.

Rachel-Baby, Honey, Sugar, love bug, Dumpling, Angel.....Let it go. It is better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all. We still have 30 Minute meals...And I still have your cookbooks.

Time heals.

This is POOT!

Dear Christopher Riley Fisher, aka "POOT".

I didn't give you that name, your Momma did. In fact, she called me from the hospital the day she brought you home and said "Daddy I decided to call him "Poot" because that's all he does."

I told her she should be careful because a name like that could stick. Well, you turn one year old in a couple days, and the name has stuck. She has tried calling you a variety of other names, and when shes around other folks she will call you Chris, or Christopher. Sometimes when you are digging in the dogs food or water bowl she will call you Christopher Riley Fisher--she does that to impress your Grandma and I that she can show "Tuff Love" when she needs to. Truth is she is a cream puff when it comes to her Pootie. She adores you and you adore her back. She is a good mom, too (Grandma said so). You two are quite a pair. But you're the POOT. I apologize for any trouble this will cause you in later years.

Its hard to believe you have been with us a year already. You have been a good boy and you keep us all entertained. You also make us complete. Aunt Lyndsay thinks you're tops--Uncle Joe will never admit to it but he thinks you're a rascal. It just may be--that you are a Grandmas boy...That's a good thing, because I was a Grandmas boy too. I hope you love your grandma half as much as I loved mine.

And now, a year later, and you are crawling all over the place, playing with the dogs, getting into everything, and even beginning to talk real words.

Hold on, Poot. It gets better. Remember a few things along the way, though.

1) Red White and Blue, Forever. These colors don't run.

2) Baseball Rules!

3) The Army gets it done. All other branches of service are merely "Helpers".

4) The remote control is your birthright.

5) Never eat "healthy" cereal.

6) If you ever need anything, all you have to do is call "POPs"--that's me.

We wouldn't take a million bucks for you. Thanks for being here.

Happy Birthday, Poot!

Love, Pops

Half Naked Cheerleader (Mans Best Friend?)

Joe Fisher, forever known as Mans best Friend, is now 16 years old and his favorite pastimes besides baseball and electric guitars is wrestling his middle aged father to the ground until he says Uncle---or threatens to ground him.

A Full fledged High schooler at newly formed Howard High, he was recently coerced into membership as a half naked cheerleader at the homecoming football game. (the skinny "S" third from left)

His mother and me have done some studying on this, and figured out why he and the rest of his cohorts all were so quick to become HNCs (half naked cheerleaders)..It is because young ladies perform the ritual of painting on the letters. When we dropped him off at the stadium with his buddies, you could smell the paint as it was being applied to bare chests of teenaged boys. On second thought, maybe the smell was testosterone. Ah, youth.

Coldest State- Hottest Governor

I admit to you openly and without shame that I think Sarah Palin is the hotness. I tried to listen to her speech on the issues at hand, but I am distracted by her good looks, quite frankly. When she was officially was announced during the McCain Veepstakes, I immediately sent word to my real best girl wifey Sue that, "From this moment on, I am officially kicking Rachael Ray to the curb.."

She hunts, fishes, and has a houseful of kids. She would fit right in here in Georgia. We could do a damn site worse in Washington. Maybe what we need is a womans touch.

I am smitten.

3 minute Rule

Subject: Ravioli---

The floor in the break room is clean.
It had some dust and grit on it a little bit ago. I know this because I had ravioli for lunch.
My ravioli was good except it had some grit in it.
It had grit in it because it came in contact with the floor.
Having retrieved it from the microwave, my paper plates' internal structure became compromised and in the ensuing 500ths of a second gravity took over. Approximately eight of my one inch by one inch beef filled raviolis became one with the pergo.
I am instantly reminded of the Hindenberg crash. OH THE HUMANITY!
I am a trained professional, however...I remained undaunted. I was undaunted for about 15 seconds while i wove my tapestry of profanity.....
Thank goodness for red kool aid. It helps with the grit.
By the way, the refrigerator door is clean too.
I'm gonna go brush my teeth.

You Can Tunica a Piano, but you cant Tunica a Fish

Ah, Travel. Temporary duty, or TDY as we government employees call it.

For me, it’s a chance to put another pushpin onto the world map of places I have seen and hope to see.

This time, a week is to be spent in Tunica, Mississippi, a place I have never heard of. I mean, I had heard of Mississippi, and been there countless times, just not Tunica--I guess the same goes for a Mississippian who has been to Georgia but never been to Hahira or perhaps Cairo.


In the Mississippi River delta region of Mississippi (I hope to hell that isn't redundant), just south of Memphis, lies Tunica- Tunica sounds like something you wear on your head when it gets cold. "Little George, its cold outside make sure you got your tunica on and keep that damn thing fastened!"

At one time the poorest county of Mississippi, Tunica is now a destination for folks who like to gamble. As one leaves the Memphis Airport and heads south on Route 61, things become really rural really fast. Then, all of a sudden, where one would expect to find a roadside vegetable stand with boiled peanuts, or perhaps at the very most a Stuckeys selling Pecan logs, these casinos arise smack dab out of the middle of the corn, cotton, and soybean fields. It doesn’t look natural. That’s because it ain't.

It is, quite simply, a good drive spoiled.

These casinos are surrounded by water irrigated in via the Mississippi river which is a good two miles west as the crow flies--I think theres some law about having them be in, near or on the water---

One thing I did enjoy was that the place where we stayed (Harrahs) there is a Paula Deen restaurant. Some folks are addicted to booze or drugs, some folks to gambling. My addiction to Fried Chicken is legendary and I had already mentioned to my traveling and TDY buddy Charlie "Dude" Discher that I needed Fried Chicken soon lest I go into the DTs and end up being taken away to a nuthouse someplace where I would end up begging nurse Ratchett for cigarettes.

We got checked into our rooms and with quick dispatch made it to Paula Deens buffett--I know what you're thinking--to have to go pay and eat for the food we grew up eating is indeed a sin, but one must get a "fix" whenever one can--We had not ventured out far enough to find the Krystal and Waffle House.

So, we paid the 10.99 and stood in line with the rest of the tourists to eat Paula Deens buffet.

The restaurant is divvied up into 5 sections-Smoked Meats, Seafood, Comfort Food, one I just forgot and then the desserts . Charlie Dude, who is a master in the art of dining out, had planned a strategy to where he would hit all the different sections. Myself, on the other hand, made a beeline for the comfort food section and got in line with an enormous crowd of fat ladies to get my plateful of fried chicken. I still contend that when I am having a craving I would walk right past fillet mignon and possibly a naked woman to get ahold of Fried Chicken.

My first pass at the fried chicken netted me only a back and a half of breast. They were still cooking another batch of chicken so I finished the first run with some collards and rice and gravy and butterbeans. Charlie Dude came back with what appeared to be some samples from the salad bar. Lightweight, I thought to myself.

Fast Forward 15 minutes.


I have made my two passes, had about 4 pieces of chicken, some black eyed peas and some corn. I saw the final coffin nail disguised as a piece of caramel cake at the dessert station and as I sat at the table about to cuss the day I was born, I see Charlie Dude---still eating-he had hit every section-- and now was headed towards the dessert. I just sat there in awe-there was no way I could keep up, for I would have exploded or really done some kind of irreplaceable damage to my insides. I did consider going outside and purging myself in the moat that surrounded this behemoth of a casino.

For the record, the Fried Chicken tasted just like my Moms.

Afterwards, we stumbled back out into the casino, where wouldn’t you know it they had Paula Deen penny slot machines. I lost a dollar in about one minute. Charlie Dude watched me while working his toothpick, his eyes still aglaze from his 5 station blitzkrieg.

Undaunted, I figured that I would raise the stakes, so I reached for a sawbuck and promptly lost it in the quarter slots. Evidently the big meal I had was having an adverse effect on my ju ju--my gambling mojo, if you will. I had won 27 dollars on the slot machines back in 1981 in Vegas, so I knew a little about how this thing works out.

Three minutes later, I have been thoroughly "entertained" by the 25 cent slots.

The roulette table, I figured, would be a way to recoup some of my dollars. I reached in my wallet for an Andrew Jackson. I cashed in for some chips. The minimum bet was 5 dollars. I got a quick brush up on the game by the lady working the machine. I had a 50/50 chance betting on red or black, odd or even. Simple Math. I put 5 bucks down on Black. I won. I put ten dollars on Black and Odd. I lost. I reversed the next bet by going Red and even. I won. Then ditto, I lost. I maintained these shenanigans for about 5 minutes then walked away. Andrew Jackson stayed there too.

I was done with Paula Deen and with gambling in Tunica, and it was still the first day.

Next on my list of things to do was people watch. I had made the statement to Charlie Dude on the way to the restaurant that "If we don’t see old folks in wheelchairs sucking on oxygen tanks and smoking all at the same time I will kiss your ass on the square in Tunica (if they have one) and give you three days to draw a crowd!"

Before I got to the Fried Chicken we had seen all that to include a one legged woman.

It is, as COL Steve Joyce puts it, "Simply amazing". Simply amazing, as I found out last week, is the professional careerists speak of saying how something is really "EFFED UP"---Normally when I see something that is, well, EFFED up, I say it just that way--"Hey, this thing is as 'Effed up as a soup sammich! WTF?" I think we all know what "EFFED" refers to--certainly anyone that has been in my presence for more than two minutes has a good idea...

It is simply amazing to watch the deer in the headlights stares as these folks sink dollar after almighty dollar into the slot machines, the black jack and poker tables, and the roulette wheel. I normally go thru my money at a high rate of speed, when times call for social activity-- A perfect example would be two nights later when we went to Memphis and Beale Street, where the Blues, Big Ass beers, and Barbecue are all well worth whatever price they are asking for. But when I lose one dollar in the slot machines I feel like I would be better off taking a matchstick to my money and burning it, or maybe even wiping my ass with it.


Oh, yeah--Beale Street. What a wonderful place. Charlie Dude, Colonel Joyce and myself all went for an early supper barbecue, blues and beer. Just so happens that Wednesday evenings on Beale is motorcycle night, where they let anyone on a two wheeler come inside the barriers and park on Beale Street proper. Of course, some of the Motorcycle folks are quite the eyeful, while others are simply amazing. Is all good while youre wiping the barbecue sauce off your mouth. Since Charlie Dude was the driver of our rental car he anointed himself designated driver-we assured him that as a return favor we would purchase him his first round and all the breath mints he wanted or needed prior to the drive back to Tunica.

So there you have it. You can tunica piano but you cant tunica a fish. If you should find yourself in this part of the world you will find it like I did- Simply Amazing.