By J Kirk Richards
(After John Ringo & Tom Kratman”s book “Yellow Eyes”:
The Colonial Room, The Station et al.
Transnational Progressivism is the successor to Marxism-Lennism and practiced throughout The West, esp. Europe and in both major political “parties” and mass media in the United States of what’s left (pun intended) America. At least one generation from pre-school to post-doctoral levels are so indoctrinated in what Ringo & Kratmen term Tanzis Plilosophy. No known treatment: The cure, however, is the implosion of state and federal Departments of Education, and a return to elected boards of education being closely monitored by individual schools’ faculty/instructional staff in conjunction with parents of ALL political persuasions and of course the object of the exercise, The Students Themselves – not school districts! – at its lowest levels: each school’s oversight boards get input opportunities. The endeavor includes schools choosing the books and not the publisher/state boards bowing to the publishing “industry” with an oft-noticed socio-political bent, not to be confused with Parent Teacher Associations, Parent-Teacher Organizations or other quazi (spell-helps say “quasi” but I will stick to Qiazi) pro-union socially responsible or politically/socially correct-think meldings of popular educational theory.
The Food Some Fit Some Not: an incomplete and highly subjective sampling
by J Kirk Richards
But I digress. And I ha’ other fish to fry this typing period. So: ‘Scuse Me while I go away and review some less-than-satisfactory establishments here in Lower (Town-Down) Snaffurd. And of course the almost obligatory nod to the place which to my oft-enfeebled mind defines dining here’bouts: The Colonial Room (even though displaced from its comforting side-entry from (was it Rexall or Touchton’s?) drugstore at the corner pf Magnolia Avenue and First Street {The other of the two occupied a similar perch on First but with a Park Avenue situation…and boasted a fountain almost as treasured as Macalls (sp?) on Park Drive just a long block from PineCrest Elementary where I would go to enjoy a Lime (not Vanilla? or Cherry? No: Lime!) Coke. Mom knew my routine so I was covered there since the store was a couple blocks off my usual bike path home. (I quit the school bus as soon as we all got switched from Southside Elementary to Westside Elementary and thence to PineCrest all during my second grade year. I walked home from PineCrest until I got my bike from Newfoundland running since the same Lucky Strike smoking fat bus jockey of cattlecar Number 64 who also had this route PineCrest . The only downside to the missed route was not seeing pal Jonathan Kelley (or Kelly? from Southside 2nd Grade) whom I next saw when I was home on a boot camp leave from Infantry training at Camp Geiger, Swamp Lagoon, North Kackalacki as I saw this blond-haired guy walking past The Pig And Whistle in Winter Dress Greens wearing Sergeant’s Stripes!). I suspect Mom also was acquainted with the lady who most definitely was Not A Soda Jerk. Got a half-lime/half coke for my high school graduation and wouldn’t you know it: the same moochers came by for a “hit” which then I’d refuse but then-Now I gleefully gave assent as I had a capped reserve of the same decoction as backup on a special belt holster which held up my cutoffs above my sockless Bass Weejuns in that Diety-Awful heavy bathrobe called a Graduation Gown.} Did ever I so enjoy the instant recognition of TART Tripled. Fish rise to the bait. I can not recall if I warned fellow PCE alum Bucky Smith of the proportions of Lime-To-Coke, but with that gentle soul I am fairly sure I proffered the warn.
But back to the subject at hand – or table, or rather chair.
I went to The Bayou when I first noticed a new place just near the new location of Mister Bill Painter’s Pride And Joy: The Colonial Room, now owned by his longtime second-in-command in its new site. Wasn’t really opened but I did get a ToGo Menu though I declined an offering of a seat and a sample. I shoudda took it! Then I wouldn’t have to report thusly: I got The Cup of Gumbo over a teacup of rice as a test of concept. Service was moderate. I, however, felt uncomfortable. The Diety Unblessed chair was a torture chamber for the Butt! I looked around. All the other chairs nearby were the same. So I hitched up my big boy shorts and soldiered on. I know how difficult it is to get gumbo right, especially when you have shrimp(s) inside. Too much heat and for too long turn shrimp into rubber. This gumbo lacked the heat I like when I make my own version but the sauce – gravy to a yankee from North Philadelphis when talking about spaghetti sauce – was damn near perfect. I like my veg a little larger because I use two additions of onion, Bell pepper and celery – with obligatory garlic!) after the first edition goes into the just chocolate-brown roux of flour and fat to build the base.
Bayou’s gumbo base was very nice. The addition of tasso and andouille (though it was cited as just smoked sausage and perhaps it was, since andouille is smoked Cajun-garlicky sausage) was a treat. Bot that uncomfortable chair put me off. Plus: there was no Abita nor even a Dixie beer to be had in the house. Shocking. No. worse than shocking – downright blasphemery to serve gumbo or even shrimp creole without a downhome beer. I can forgive the obligatory garlicky-buttery smll loaves of frenchy bread…but not THE BEER!. Said to have run out just before I arrived. Really. Really? Then don’t serve me the gumbo.
I realize this still was in Shakedown Mode and must make allowances/ But Gumbo without Abita or even Dixie is an Affront Too Far.
I shall go back…and ask for more combortable chair – one without torture devices instead of butt-holders in some degree of comfort. I even have made peace with the fact my fixed income has be far outstripped by alleged “Circumstances called Supply Chain Issues. At the height of Supply Chain Issues I was able to get a servicable Chilean red wine for $3 a bottle: drinkable though after two glasses with a decent ground chuck burger was all right – use the rest to make a wine vinegar….Braggs and later North Coast apple cider vinegar With The Mother pure and unprocessed except by water to get an acceptable acidity level when added to a still wine will given time turn into a very nice red wine vinegar at well below the price of a commercially available offering . But then Winn Dixie got smart and found up COVID and Supple Chain was a gift to the shareholders when priced at $5 a bottle….after almost five years of being Supply Chained. Born at night: yes I was. But not last night!
Next up: the space once touted as a million dollar renovation by its owner/chef and later due to his own misadventures has become The Station, in the space once occupied by Sanford’s fire station/jail complex. Went in to get a burger and fries. The french fried potatoes were nice. Not Hallalujah! but nice. The fried flat and looking more like a stomped-on hockey puck burger was touted as ground chuck and and patted. No offering “how would you like it cooked, sir?” just here it is. Unlike Colonial Room a few short steps to the West away with the same tout: ground chuck, hand patted with a smilin’ face asking: “And how would you like it cooked, sir? Had it medium and had it medium rare and had it well done at CR. I can attest The Station’s version was Well-Well done. And despite a serious lack of a crowd I still had a hell of a time getting a server to notice my need for a second beer(b).
I have been told – reliably I believe – Brix & Mortar next door does a good burger. I got sent to The Station when I sauntered into the craft beer black across t he street on Magnolia when I asked where I could get some fries to go with some dead cow and bread (No: I used hamburger instead of my usual phrase which I think charming).
I found out the craft beer place is for sushi which I call BAIT but have found it can be quite good when done right. I found a place purely by accident when I stopped in at whet began life as a What-A-Burger and then transitioned innto a hardware store before transforming itself into a Sanford institution: The Rib Ranch. I knew The Ranch was No More but didn’t figrte the next owner or two down the line would not keep soem ribs, some urgers, some fries, some, heck, FOOD, in the place.
turns out it’s Japanese or at least Asian/Japanese. A very nice Bento Box. Green Tea – iced? – looked a bit suspicious, but the bait was all very nice. Expensive. But nice. None of these places – except Bayou had menus available to study at home. I guess I have to upgrade my century and quit using my flip phone for a picket watch and “Get Smart.” Phooey!
Commentary, Outrages, Prose and Poetry 