HRPC and the Big Easy

It's always interesting - I'll say it that way, "interesting" to go out with co-workers for happy hour. One learns a great many things whilst unwinding from the job, especially in the age of "HRPC," Human Resources' Political Correctness. Crown Royal, Shiner Bock and Vodka-Cranberries do a lot to encourage the types of conversations that dare not speak their names before the last bell.

On this occasion about seven of us had gathered at some Gaelic watering hole featuring a performance stage with different bands each night. A remark went around the table that every bar should feature a fireman's pole for the adventurous, the brave and the foolish alike to "take a spin" to amuse the assembled masses. No professionals unless the professionals themselves happened to be off duty and were merely out on the town like any other patron of said establishment. Outside of that, the pole would be just an attraction to draw a crowd.

Of course the obvious desire was enthusiastically supported by many at the table, the thought being the chance to see all manner of inebriated femininity doing their worst to the hapless pole. "You guys are obvious and boring," I said, to which they challenged me to come up with something far more interesting to watch. I told my story:

There was a tradition at a previous employer that called for taking the employee who was leaving the company on a bender to New Orleans. The lucky soul who was moving on with his life happened to be me on this occasion as we saddled up and flew down to the Big Easy. Not even for a weekend but an all-nighter in the middle of the work week, landing that early evening with plans to catch the first thing back to Dallas in the morning. To this day I still don't know why we bothered to take rooms at the Royal Sonesta in the heart of the French Quarter.

This fine August evening New Orleans was in good form as we wandered the back ways and by ways between Bourbon Street and Jackson Square. A jazz band with the standard heavyset songstress-on-a-stool turned in a tight rendition of Tracy Chapman's "Give Me One Reason," while the Lady on the Swing scissor-kicked the early hours away like a metronome to the band across the street. We ate Cajun, of course, and washed it down with enough "Hurricanes" at Pat O'Briens to set off storm warnings in three of the Gulf states. All the beignets at Cafe du Monde did little to slow the gale of alcohol blowing through breath and body as we staggered back towards the hotel to find something in the way of rest before our early and extremely red-eyed flight back to Dallas.

Kevin, one of the guys in the group, happened to spot a cabaret on Bourbon Street still doing very late business and insisted we all go inside to see and assess the talent. Turns out we were the fresh meat as the scantily clad vultures swarmed the new table; there wasn't much else going on at the time as they offered us the usual menu of delights while the featured dancer took the stage to set the mood.

"You're not doing it right," whsp-hiccup-burp-shouted Kevin who proceeded most unabashedly to take the stage from the veteran vixen who was more annoyed than surprised. Her treatment of the fireman's pole wasn't up to Kevin's expectations who went on a tear and schooled the entire staff on what really needs to happen to take the shine off of your standard issue 3" fire pole. When his tips started to exceed those of the staff the duty manager bowed to convention and his whining wombats, inviting us to leave the establishment which between fits of laughter we were all more than happy to do.

Exactly one hour of alcohol-induced REM sleep at the hotel and we were off to the airport for our 6:30AM departure for home. Thanks for all the hard work, they said to me, and best of luck in the future.

Only now, eighteen years later, smiling sideways at each other and scratching at the sky with "air quotes," none of my present day and presently boozed-up co-workers believe that my friend "Kevin" really existed.

Gotta go.

A Dog and His Chicken

As travels take one around the country there is the inevitable encounter with a previously unheard of chain of fast food restaurants that intrigue, entice and excite. Aw, c'mon, you say to yourself, it's fast foot for crying out loud. What's to get excited about? Ask anyone from California who hasn't had an In-N-Out burger in a while and stand back for the reaction is all I can tell you. Now imagine my own delight when a co-worker and I stumbled across a place called "Raising Cane's" while on business in Louisiana.

Founded in the mid-90s by a college guy out of LSU in Baton Rouge who named it for his beloved pet dog, it has since grown to numerous locations over 13 states from Nevada to Virginia, strategically near college campuses where customers the founder understands are plentiful with budgets he also is very familiar with. The concept is chicken fingers, pure and simple and nothing else. Chicken fingers, fries and drinks. In-N-Out would be so proud.
We decide to dine in and enter the bright and cheerful dining area with a smallish serving counter to the left; just two register stations but a manageable line of only three or four patrons in line while most of the business was happening at the drive thru. The menu is fairly straight forward...how many do you want, from two for a kid's meal to 100 for a tailgate party, and what do you want with it which, in its simplicity is astoundingly astute in helping customers avoid that amazingly annoying question of "Let's see...jeez, I haven't even looked to see what I want!"

I went with the standard "Box" lunch, four fingers, slaw, a dipping sauce reminiscent of Thousand Island dressing and a humongous slice of warm, buttered Texas toast along with a regular sized drink. Orders are taken and a numbered receipt returned to you after which you pour your own drink and choose a table in the dining area. If they don't have time to bring your meal to you they'll call out your name over the public address system within a few minutes.
I was surprised that there was any wait at all considering how easy chicken fingers are to prepare: there's no shortage of customers during the lunch rush and none of those customers come with complicated special orders since there are no toppings to choose from. I expect fresh and hot food at all times from restaurants but can easily see speeding up the process that much more with a well-trained crew that knows how many fingers to "cook up" ahead of the busiest two hours of the day.

When our order came it was indeed hot, fresh and plentiful. The fingers were hefty and clearly from whole breast strips instead of processed parts. The mildly seasoned flavor is not as compelling as KFC's Original Recipe, Chik-Fil-A or even McDonald's Southern Style but I guess that was deliberate to allow the dipping sauce a free hand in the overall taste combination. The crinkle cut fries were right out of a 50's style diner, hot and crisp with plenty of ketchup for dipping.

Having driven all the way to Monroe, Louisiana before seeing my first Raising Cane's I have since happily discovered that there are four outlets in Dallas/Ft. Worth for me to choose from. Of course, that's not saying much at the moment; for an area of 6.5 million people that's only two more than all of Monroe!

Gotta go!

The Best of Boudreaux's

It is amazing to me how driving through some random hamlet on the highway that one sometimes finds oneself right back in that same town later down the road of life. Monroe, Louisiana sits astride Interstate I-20 halfway between Shreveport and Vicksburg, Mississippi and about five hours from my home in Dallas, Texas. It's too big to blink and miss but only just. My father and I stopped for dinner at the Cracker Barrel in West Monroe on the drive from Maryland to Texas a little over two years before but on this occasion I was in town on business and wanted to try some local establishments.

Near the office on 18th Street and Tower is "Boudreaux's" which my co-worker and I noticed heading in that morning and had received rave reviews from locals and other out-of-town co-workers alike. Despite the strong recommendations our first disappointment was in simply trying to go there for lunch on a Tuesday. They were closed the first three days of the week, we discovered so made plans to try again Thursday night for dinner which was our last scheduled evening in town. Nice way to wrap up an enjoyable trip to this previously unexplored part of Louisiana.

It took a few ticks to notice the signing inviting us to seat ourselves as the pay-at-the-door cashier was working a healthy line of sated diners on the way out. Where some might consider Dallas laid back compared to cities up North, I began to wonder how laid back things were in Northern Louisiana. It took a bit longer than I was used to, including two stops at the table by the now free cashier, to finally have our waitress for the evening make her first appearance for drink orders. Sweet tea, of course, but hmmmm. We perused the two-sided laminated menu for their offerings but both pretty much knew what we wanted and merely skimmed the choices to make sure ours would be on the list.

Despite offering fried alligator as an appetizer my co-worker and I went with two orders of the "Cajun Sampler" which offered a plate of three choices and bread. I was on the watch by now to see if there was any delay in receiving our order but it appeared quickly enough at the table, plate hot and heavily ladled. Red beans and rice, dirty rice and jambalaya, plate hot and generously portioned and there all the good pretty much came to an end.

The red beans, including andouille sausage, had almost no flavor to speak of while it was harder to tell if the dirty rice or the jambalaya was the most dry. The latter specifically looked more like it was from yesterday's batch instead of simply having been under the warmer too long. Of the three selections on my co-worker's plate the crawfish etouffee was the most disappointing which was the death knell for "Boudreaux's" as far as a return visit was concerned: that was the dish she had been most anxious to try.

Another long line to cash out awaited me while the co-worker went outside for a smoke after dinner. We both agreed, sadly, that "Boudreaux's," if they weren't serving lefteauxvers were at least eauxver-rated.

Gotta go.

Bodacious Bodacious BBQ

If you're going to eat barbecue in Louisiana is it naive to wonder if at least a few selections on the menu might be swimming in a cayenne infused blend of traditional sauce? Is that a combination that either hasn't been considered yet or has been tried and failed miserably, never to be revisited again. My co-worker and I didn't know what to expect when we first walked in to "Bodacious BBQ" in Monroe, Louisiana other than the fact that it was a hole in the wall BBQ joint, the best kind bar none, and it came highly recommended by colleagues in the city.

The greasy auto-mechanic behind us in line quickly sniffed out that we weren't from around Monroe but was enthusiastically cheerful in telling us that Bodacious made the best fried catfish up and down Louisville Avenue, the main east-west drag in Monroe. "Better than Catfish Cabin," I asked incredulously, one of many places I'd spotted while searching for someplace interesting to eat but not stopping at. I'm not much on fried catfish but the mechanic was so cheerful that good conversation, at least, was a good thing. We allowed him ahead of us as he wanted the Five-Fillet special while my co-worker and I were still shopping the menu.

True to form I always look for a sampler plate of some kind, wanting to run an establishment through its paces across the three mains of any self-respecting barbecue house. The co-worker went with chicken and crawfish etouffee while I called myself eating light by going with the two-meat sampler instead of the three-! Orders were taken and cut at one end of a high counter, sides added in the middle and the whole heap rung up at the register to the left, assembly line style and very quick and efficient as well.

Beef brisket and pork ribs were my selection along with dirty rice and green beans. The brisket was fork tender, the ribs fell off the bone, the sauce was finger-licking good and, as if that weren't good enough, the dirty rice pert-near stole the show! Moist, tender, generously spackled with sausage, this was the kind of Louisiana soul food no surgeon general would ever recommend as a regular part of the diet; it was that good and the beans weren't far behind, tender, sweet onions and tasty bits of salt pork the way Grandma used to do, sho'!

We were lucky, having decided to eat relatively early in the lunch hour, beating the standing room only crowd by about 15 minutes and no more than that. There were hardly ten tables in the small dining area and there was an unspoken understanding among the patrons that said eat quick, bus and clean your own table and free it up for others. And there were plenty of others, all standing around, plate in hand and waiting their turn to enjoy the barbecue goodness.

Bodacious BBQ of Monroe, Louisiana is a husband-wife family owned business that works hard and takes obvious pride in its product. She runs the register and keeps things humming up front while the husband works the back, is most likely the pit master and certainly a skilled one at that. For eating "light" neither my co-worker or I ate anything else the rest of the day!

Gotta go!