Sylva Rena Grocery & Bait Store: Sylva Rena, Mississippi

Over ten years ago, when visiting Mississippi for our second time, dear friends took us for a drive out into the countryside north of Water Valley.  It was a quintessential southern day; the low rolling hills were lush and the sun was golden.  We pulled up to an old filling station that looked like a movie set.  As we approached the wooden plank on the ground that led to the front door, the sign became clear, "Lawler's Grocery and Bait Shop".  We entered and were surprised to see a half dozen locals, mostly older men, chatting over breakfast, surrounded by bait, tackle and hunting supplies.  Warm greetings from the patrons welcomed us, as we took our seats to order eggs, country ham and biscuits. 

That visit stuck with us, long since relocating to the south.  It was quirky, yet charming places like Lawler’s that drew us to the hill country of Mississippi.  Strangely, on a few occasions we looked for Lawler’s, but could not figure out where it was.  Then a few months back, Mark heard about a place out in the county near Water Valley that served up a mean burger and sure enough, Lawler’s had since become “Sylva Rena Grocery and Bait Store”.  Despite the name change and new owners, the original decor seems to be intact, down to the plank over the mud puddle leading to the front door.

Now that we have found our long lost haunt, we regularly take my Dad’s old Mercedes convertible out for ride along those beautiful country roads.  We park in amongst the trucks, which this time of year, all have attached trailers with hunting ATVs.  Every time we are warmly greeted by the staff and by the other guests.  They always ask if we want menus, as most people don't bother, and even though we know what we are going to get, we look anyhow.  Then moments later, without hesitation we order the burger, sometimes the regular, sometimes the mushroom Swiss -- always with the salad bar. 

The first time I visited as Sylva Rena, I took one look at the sad little contraption tucked at the back of the restaurant, sitting uncomfortably under a deer head and quickly refused what had to be a wilted iceberg lettuce spread.  But I have since learned to embrace the salad bar as part of the experience, and load my bowl up with surprisingly fresh lettuce, and pickled okra and smother it all in ranch dressing.  No awards will be won for this part of the dinner, but I promise you will feel left out if you don't partake. 

The burgers arrive shortly and remind us of why we travel here.  The best way I can describe the burger is that it reminds me of those that my family would have grilled back in the 80s but even better, before the foodie revolution became a thing.  The meat is flavorful, and a little charred and crispy on the outside from the griddle.  The lettuce and tomato are cool and the bun is heavenly.  Small and doughy and sweet, it completes the burger. The potato salad and other sides are all good but without a doubt we drive 60 miles round-trip for the burger.  

There is no alcohol and no brown bagging.  If you ask for a lemon for your water, you get a plastic packet of lemon juice.  Your silverware is served in a plastic bag.  Camo is welcomed, and while you are waiting on your food, you can pick out a new lure.  A real burger, "dressed" as they say in the south, and served on an outrageously perfect bun is the antithesis of the 15 ingredient small plate with a foam gastrique and I think that is part of what makes it so good

We later learned the original Lawler's Grocery was indeed owned by the kin of the Jerry Lawler, the wrestler best known for battling Andy Kaufman.  We met Jerry last year at his art opening in Water Valley and watched that Andy Kaufman footage with him in the back.  Going on seven years in Mississippi, what originally attracted us here, places like Sylva Rena, the warmth of the people, a feeling of home, random and special moments like the one with Jerry, continue to delight us.  Sometimes it is nice to just put your hair back in a pony tail, throw on some old jeans and boots and head south for a long country ride and a down home burger. 

Big Bad Pop-Ups, Oxford, Mississippi

I experienced the most divine cauliflower of my life, on Thursday evening, at John Currence's Big Bad Pop-Ups concept. Brilliantly, this chef and entrepreneur invited four top chefs to Oxford including Elie Kirshtein, Kelly English, and the team of Andrew Ticer and Micheal Hudman, to host week-long pop up restaurants in his catering space, the Main Event.  Already equipped with a full kitchen, the site hosts a casual culinary theatre, Wednesday through Saturday, allowing locals to taste the food of a variety of chefs, all the while driving revenue and employing staff during a month-long kitchen renovation at his City Grocery restaurant.  

The pop-up concept grew out of a London trend almost ten years ago and has been used by restaurateurs to test concepts, sell investors, and provide a hip, new brand for younger audiences.
This week Elie Kirshtein crafted Israeli street food, featuring small plates such as a Turkish hummus served warm with paper-thin slices of toasted garlic, butter and paprika.  Unlike the typical grocery store cousin, this hummus was light, almost whipped, and creamy.  Our poor server nearly received a hand smack, when he very politely tried to take our plate away, prior to us cleaning the last dredges of garlicky goodness from the bowl with warm pita slices.

The cauliflower, whose tips seemed dredged in tahini, which when roasted created a crispy crust, was then tossed with shaved celery, parsley and toasted pine nuts.  Determined to recreate this bright and slightly citrus infused dish, I have thought of little else since Wednesday.  

Vietnamese Phở

On a recent five-hour drive to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, I spent many of the hours pondering not the big philosophical questions in life, but rather the more immediate, 'what would I have for dinner?".  Visiting a different city, is to me an opportunity to explore the culture through food.  I craved fresh, raw oysters at Chimes, but feared they would not be carrying local oysters due to the BP oil spill.  Knowing there is a large Vietnamese community in this part of the country, I instead set my sights on a bowl of pho.
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I was first introduced to Vietnamese food in my early twenties when working at the University of New Hampshire.  There one of my coworkers and close friends, had moved to the states from Vietnam as a small child and happened to be an amazing cook.  She cooked two dishes that top my list of all-time favorites.  The first is a family-style dish, a beef fondue, where each person cooks their own thinly sliced beef in a vinegar, onion and garlic broth.  Then the beef is wrapped in rice paper with herbs, to resemble a fresh spring roll and dipped in a pineapple salsa type sauce.  As with most of my favorite meals, it is messy; inevitably you end up with juice running down your arms, a sure sign of a delicious meal.  The flavors were quintessentially Vietnamese -- the fondue broth was rich and tangy, and the basil, cilantro, and mint herbs were fresh and bright.  I also love that this dinner was an event, not just a meal.  There is no way to eat this fast, as you have to cook your beef to order for each roll and then build your herb salad to bed it.  Ultimately, all sorts of rolling contests, teasing fights over stolen beef from the pot, and lots of laughs ensued.

The second dish that my friend Thuy cooked is a rich beef noodle soup called pho which is pronounced "Fuh-uh", with the hint of a second syllable at the very end.  This dish is a little more mainstream and using my handy Urban Spoon iPhone app, I found a recommended pho house in Baton Rouge called Pho Quynh.  While I love the traditional rare sliced beef version, I decided to try, the "nothing-but-the-kitchen-sink" option with tendon, tripe, brisket, beef and meatballs.  Within minutes I was served a steaming bowl, which wafted the robust aromas of cardamom, cinnamon, star anise, ginger, clove, coriander and fennel seed.  The broth is thought to have some French influence. The bowl was laden with rice noodles, the meats, including the still pink beef, and green onions. Alongside the bowl, came a plate with bean sprouts, lime wedges, basil, mint, cilantro, sliced jalapenos, and a sawtooth type herb called ngo gai.  I loaded up my bowl with the herbs and then added some hot chili paste, fish sauce and hoisin.  My friend Thuy once told me that slurping was encouraged and actually was taken as a sign that the diner enjoyed the meal, so with that in mind, I picked up my spoon in one hand and chop sticks in the other and dug in.  What I love about pho is that it is both vivid and comforting at the same time.  While in the future, I could live without the tripe and the meatballs, the tendon was unctuous and rich, and the rare beef was flavorful.  I could barely finish the "small", as the only thing small about it was the $7.99 price tag.  

My return trip the next day took me through Jackson, Mississippi and having had my first taste of Vietnamese food in over two years, I was on a mission to find more.  Sure enough, Flowood, just outside of Jackson, has a pho house called Saigon Vietnamese.  This time I decided to go traditional and ordered the rare beef version, which was loaded with tender, rare, meat.  The broth was fabulous, and even a little oily, which made it rich and satisfying. I accidentally ordered the large, which I could not finish and it ran me a whopping $7.00.  

I rationalized to myself that eating the same meal two days in a row would give me the opportunity to compare and contrast the dishes for my blog, but ultimately, my attention to detail was overridden by my immense enjoyment of both dishes.  The restaurants I chose were Vietnamese specific, not Asian, which is  something for which I am stickler.  If you are interested in trying pho I'd urge you to seek out a Vietnamese restaurant to get the real thing.  I learned from Thuy that food was a huge part of her family culture.  Pho broth takes days to cook, much like an Italian "gravy", and that type of investment is respected and cherished by the family.  I am sad to say that I have lost touch with Thuy, but each time I have a bowl of pho, I am reminded of the special times we spent around her table, slurping and laughing.   I hope someday to reconnect with Thuy, perhaps over a bowl of pho. 

 

Pig Ear Sandwich, Jackson Mississippi

While eating a pig ear sandwich was not high on my bucket list, I have to confess I was intrigued by the stories I heard from my friend, and 208 chef, John Stokes, of a little joint in Jackson, Mississippi that serves up this country style dish.  On a recent trip to Jackson for work, I overheard colleagues taunting a California, self proclaimed, tofu eater about going to the "Big Apple" restaurant for his first pig ear sandwich. I was as elated as he was horrified at this idea and quickly researched my destination.

The Big Apple Restaurant is located on Farish Street a block or two from the heart of downtown Jackson.  Once home to a thriving music scene, Farish Street has since fallen on hard times.  Rumor has it that there are plans to revitalize the area to make it more like Beale Street or Bourbon Street.  I pulled up to find what from the outside appeared to be the perfect local, dive.  Inside the building customers enter long narrow hall, one side of which allows a view of the grill through Plexiglas.  A few men stood around the counter, apparently waiting for their late lunch orders, watching curiously as I placed my order.  I quickly requested a pig ear sandwich, to which the server asked "How many?"  Well despite my slight build, I was not going to be a wimp, so I ordered two.  Two! What was a I thinking as I had no idea if these were even edible.  I ordered mine mild, which was the middle level of heat.  While I stood and waited, watching the large female chef deftly work the grill, a few other patrons filed in and ordered.  Clearly they were regulars as they confidently riffed off orders saying things like "I'll take 2 ears mild, 3 smokes, and a side of fries."  My order arrived and it was then that I realized each sandwich cost a mere $1.05. 

I moved to the back of the restaurant to an old school, Formica table, where I rolled up the sleeves to my business suit and began to unwrap my first sandwich.  What lay inside the wax paper was a messy, moist little sandwich on a bun, about the size of a large slider.  As much as I embrace the whole nose to tail food movement, I admittedly was a little queasy about the ears; the answer was to dig in without looking too closely.  The bun was soft and moist and layered with the thin slices of meat, some sort of a slaw and mustard.  The meat or ear was tender and totally unlike what I pictured.  Had you not told me what it was, I would have thought it was some sort of thinly sliced meat.  I like spicy, hot food and the mild was a good level.  There was a little heat to it, but it did not leave me sweating or overpower the salty taste.  After finishing the first and licking my fingers, I hesitated.  While I appreciated the down home, nothing goes to waste mentality of the sandwich, did I really enjoy it enough to indulge in a second?  The answer was no, but having grown up with depression era parents, I could not throw away a good sandwich, and thus unwrapped and ate my second and likely last ever, pig ear sandwich. 

As is true of any good dive, the experience makes it special.  While slopping down my sandwiches, a number of men came and went, all yelling out a hello and giving a nod of approval at my meal.  As I was leaving one guy who walked around like he owned the place, asked me if I grew up in the country, which apparently would have explained why a white girl, in a business suit, in the middle of the day, was on Farish Street enjoying a pig ear sandwich.  We talked at length about the area, what it was like growing up there, seeing musicians like BB King playing at the neighborhood juke joints, and how he hoped it would some day be restored to its former glory.  I walked up and down the block, talked to a few locals who reminisced about the old days and took in the vibe that made this community feel like an urban cousin of many a Mississippi Delta town. 

While I have checked off the pig ear sandwich, I do have reason to revisit The Big Apple.  I returned home to Oxford bragging about losing my pig ear virginity and in a weird synchronistic fashion, Oxford was showing a local documentary on the Big Apple, from which I learned that the smokes refer to a smoked sausage sandwich.  I cannot wait to go back and this time swagger in confidently, ordering a couple of smokes, and a side of fries. 

Ocean Springs, MS

As I write this, it is the five year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, and therefore I believe it is fitting to wax poetic about the little coastal town of Ocean Springs. But before I do, I want to share some of the stops along our five hour journey through Mississippi, to the shore. I am still not used to living in such a big and rural state and find it fascinating that in all my years in New England, I rarely traveled more than 2 hours from home, yet here, I think nothing of picking-up and driving five hours to the coast for the weekend. What I also find interesting is the varied personality of the regions across the state, which is certainly not novel to Mississippi, but intriguing all the same.

Our first stop, was a large farm stand just south of Jackson on route 49, called Wright's. The produce was beautifully displayed in baskets and in keeping with the southern hospitality, adorable teenagers follow you, taking whatever you select and bagging it for you, while offering tips and advice. On the way down we bought peaches, which turned out to be the most juicy, sweet, drip down your chin and arms, deliciousness. On the return trip, we made sure to stop for more peaches, and lady peas, which are a very small green pea, similar to a black eyed pea or purple hulled pea, but seemingly more tender. Cooked up with chicken stock, shallot, bacon and butter, they were a real treat.

Upon reaching Hattiesburg at dinner time, we followed a recommendation from Miss Lila and detoured into town to patronize the Walnut Circle Grill, described as "New York style Italian and Continental cuisine." Sadly, Hattiesburg seems to be one of those towns where the "strip" is happening, but the historic downtown, undergoing a gentrification, is empty, making our choice all the more meaningful. The ivy covered entrance into the glass roofed bar was beautiful and from there we entered a classic, yet modern dining room.

I ordered a glass of red zinfandel and for the first time in my life, I had to send the glass back as it had oxidized. Thankfully our server was most gracious. With our drinks, we were served fresh baked bread with homemade nutty, robust, roasted garlic, smothered in olive oil for spreading. Hailing from the northeast, I didn't realized until now, how much I missed Italian food and this very simple accoutrement, brought that home poignantly.

Our meals arrived piping hot, a real bonus and one for which I am a stickler. Mark was served the Sweet potato crusted snapper, pan seared, topped with crab meat and lemon butter. The fish was sweet and incredibly light. I received the Red Fish pan seared and covered in crawfish, tasso, and mushroom Cajun cream sauce with fried eggplant. Both were served with haricot vert. I asked for double instead of a starch. My red fish was rich and spicy with a full bodied tasso cream flavor, that made the choice of ordering fish seem like a carnivore's dream. The haricot vert may have been the best I have ever tasted, crispy and garlicky, perfectly salted and tossed with a few pine nuts for good measure. Equally amazing were the fried, sweet eggplant. Try as I might, I cannot replicate Mark's Mom's Italian eggplant mastery, but these would surely pass the test. On our way out, we took in a few songs in the glass roofed bar by John Wooten and his band. The steel drum, a favorite of mine since I saw it on a Sesame Street episode, made it hard to leave for our final stretch to the coast.

There is something vacation-esque about arriving at night to your destination and upon awaking, almost like looking for Santa, heading out to explore what the town held in store for us. My first trip to the coast occurred right after the oil spill in May and on that trip we stayed in Biloxi and explored Gulfport and other towns to the west on our way to New Orleans, the final destination. Little did we know that just five miles east of Biloxi sat this town, oozing charm; the village of Ocean Springs, known for its beauty, resilience and artistic culture, immediately felt right to us. On this morning we traveled to the scenic, downtown, which was just hip enough, yet small and quaint making me feel immediately at home. The streets were shaded by trees, inviting you to walk the streets lined with boutiques and a plethora of restaurants. Breakfast is a favorite of ours and while it is typically not as diverse as other meals, I still love seeking out a special place.

At Paige's recommendation, we dropped into Phoenicia Gourmet Cuisine, a Greek restaurant right downtown. Already feeling comfortable Zen in this town, we were greeted by our very Italian waiter, named Rocky, who it turns out grew up a mile from Mark in Providence, RI. While he and Mark proceeded to banter back and forth in heavy Rhode Island Italian accents, we were treated to two different eggs Benedict, one with artichoke bottoms and spinach and one with filet mignon and hollandaise sauce. Both amazing we agreed that the artichoke spinach won the prize. The artichoke and spinach sauce reminded me of that classic dip, so often served in my house in a pumpernickel bread bowl. The eggs were each nestled atop an artichoke bottom instead of the classic tomato. Almost showing up the main entrees, however were the asiago cheese grits. I should preface this by saying that while I appreciate grits, I really have only considered them a vehicle for other flavor like syrup or jam, until now. These grits had a creamy texture and tangy cheese flavor that elevated them to the top of my breakfast list.

After breakfast, with our friends Slade and Amy, we visited the Walter Anderson museum, a must see. In my two years in Mississippi, I had heard about this famous artist from the coast, but was unfamiliar with his work or story. Upon entering the museum we were reluctantly encouraged to watch a movie about Anderson in a small, somewhat uncomfortable room and I am thrilled I did not balk. Anderson's story is beautifully heart-wrenching and poetic. His water colors, wood sculpture, oils and even crayons, depicted coastal scenes so beautiful, you felt a part of his world for a brief few hours and even after, as we explored his town.

Our trip was wrapped around Mark playing a Thacker Mountain Radio show in the historic downtown Mary C. O’Keefe cultural center. The show was outstanding, featuring such Mississippi talent as, the Yalobushwackers with guest Carl Massengale, Caroline Herring, Homemade Jamz and New Orleans author/writer for Treme, Tom Piazza. Following the show, we joined our friend Candice for a cocktail with none other than Walter Anderson's grandson, Chris Stebly a local artist. This is where the Ocean Springs vibe really began to show for me, as it is not until you begin to really meet the locals do I feel that you understand a town. Chris and Candice were interesting, funny and immediately warm.

We took leave of this great gathering in order to make it to the Thacker Mountain party at the nationally renowned BBQ dive called the Shed. We were told it was a little ways outside of town and that we will know we have arrived when we see a building made of junk. They were not kidding. I had my first and likely only "red carpet" experience at the shed, which says an awful lot about my life. Thacker Mountain artists were directed to a private "room" (seeing as most of the restaurant is outdoors, it was really more of a partitioned area) where we could serve ourselves every kind of BBQ imaginable from the baby back ribs to brisket and beans. While not the Memphis dry rub I have been accustomed to, it was all sweet and tender. New to me was the dessert, "Nanner Puddin'". The waiter bragged on it as it was made by his wife and apparently the best around. For those of you unfamiliar, as I, it is a delicious banana pudding, chock full of banana chunks, topped with Nilla wafers, resplendent in a Styrofoam cup. Did I mention this was served with keg beer, all on the house? I don't know about you, but it has been a while since I have had keg beer and surprisingly it goes down just fine with nanner puddin'.

Later that night, although this story does not involve food, it must be told as it really sealed the deal for my love affair with Ocean Springs. We returned from the Shed to town to meet up with friends at a hole-in-the-wall bar, lacking a name, but situated directly next to the Phoenicia. This bar possessed all that a good dive should. It had flashback in-time decor, including a cushioned bar, the kind with a bumper around the edge that is reminiscent of its cousin, the cushioned toilet seat. Mr. Mack, a complete sweetheart, was behind the bar, watching his big screen TV and taking care of the customers. The music was loud and jazzy, the beers were two dollars, we had the pool tables all to ourselves, and most importantly, we had great laughs with new found friends. In a town full of beautiful restaurants, this establishment had the perfect grit to end the night.

We fit in one more breakfast with our friend Candice, who after taking us on a quick tour of a few Carroll B. Ishee crafts-style houses, brought us to Bayview Gourmet Restaurant. A quick review the menu, made it clear that it would be insensitive of me to travel all the way to the coast without ordering oysters and thus I did my share to support the local gulf fisherman by shamelessly ordering the fried oyster, eggs benedict, served with tomato, spinach and grits. While the oysters were not as juicy as I normally like them, they made for a decadent meal, but for a second time this weekend the grits stole the show. These were just plain grits, but they were silky and creamy and altogether memorable. I should mention that you know you ordered well when another customer approaches the table to find out what it was that I was eating, so he could order the same thing!

Since arriving back home I have found myself daydreaming about a vacation home in Ocean Springs. Having grown up in a small town a few miles from the coast, I do find myself missing the water on occasion, and therefore the idea of all the attributes I love about Oxford, the great food, the warm people, the artistic culture, combined with a coastline - it all just felt right!

Independence Weekend in the Delta

We set out on our mini vacation to the Mississippi Delta with a few musts on our agenda. We had to eat at the Delta Bistro in Greenwood as it is the home of my 3rd favorite sandwich. We had reservations at the Alluvian, thanks to a gift from my MBA students, and we were returning for a second year to the B.B. King Homecoming concert in the park. This year Marty Stuart, a favorite of ours since his concert with chancellor Khayat at the Ford Center, was opening for B.B., making the allure to return to Indianola even stronger. What I didn't expect after living in Mississippi for two years, having grown accustomed to the friendly southern lifestyle, was to come away from our trip feeling a deep appreciation for Delta hospitality. People are not just nice, they bend over backwards to make sure you are having a good time and feel welcomed.

Our drive to Greenwood was lazy and pretty, a perfect summer afternoon for watching the hills of kudzu turn to flat farmland. The crops were incredibly green, creating a deep contrast with the blue sky. We called ahead and ensured that the Delta Bistro would be open late as we planned to arrive mid-afternoon in Greenwood. We nearly had the restaurant to ourselves and wasted no time in ordering the Fried Green Tomato BLT with a side of Sweet Potato Fries and the special of the day, a Blackened Soft Shelled Crab Po-boy with Hot Sauce Mayo, Lettuce and Tomato also with a side of Sweet Potato Fries. The interior of the restaurant is light and filled with local folk art, in a simple, industrial and classy way. I have heard rumor that the original building was used in the cotton sorting process and the enormous skylights functioned to bring in natural light for the workers to better see. Our food arrived and as the first sign of great hospitality, I was impressed to see that our waitress had the chef split the plates for us as she must have heard me mention we were planning to share.

I was a little worried as I have had the the Fried Green Tomato BLT twice before and feared that I may have built it up in my mind to the number 3 slot on my best-sandwiches-of-all-times list. Fortunately, it did not disappoint and if anything, it reinforced its strong standing. Delta Bistro, known for its use of local, fresh ingredients, showed off that skill in this dish. The tomatoes were piping hot, juicy and tangy on the inside, and cornmeal encrusted on the outside, bedded with fresh baby lettuce, salty, peppered bacon, and oozing with bright and cool mayonnaise. All of this goodness was served between slices of the most flavor-filled, crispy crusted, yet chewy, homemade sourdough bread. While the sweet potato fries were perfectly crispy and soft, their sweetness, which any other day might warrant lengthy praise, was a mere accompaniment to the Queen status of the sandwich.

Admittedly, the Blackened Soft Shelled Crab Po-boy was a hideous sandwich, not designed for the squeamish. It did, however, deliver a fantastic blackened spice flavor, and a nice hit of heat with the spicy mayo juxtaposed to the refreshing lettuce and tomato. My only regret is that the poy-boy bread was not as soft and memorable as the sourdough.

During the entire lunch, our unsweet teas never dipped below the half-way mark without being refilled. This service was impressive despite the fact that my Splenda balance in my tea was constantly thrown off (this is where my southern friends groan as they all would have ordered sweet tea). The kicker in the service however, was when the waitress showed up with our check at the end and brought along 2 more teas, lidded and ready in to-go cups, without us asking for them. Seriously? And did I mention that of course there is no charge for refills?

Full and geared up with that early vacation energy, we took off through the Delta for Indianola, the home of B.B. King. Our blanket and chairs set up in Fletcher Park, we sat back and relaxed to great local blues music from Grady Champion, a killer harmonica player and lead vocalist and the The Columbia College Blues Ensemble out of Chicago. They were followed by Mississippi native and country star, Marty Stuart. Marty and his incredibly talented band played a bit of country, bluegrass and even gospel music, all decked out in extravagant beaded blazers and leather pants. Even Mark, who is not a real country fan, sang praises for their talent. All of this lead up to the main act, of course B.B. King himself. While I won't say this show is one of his best musical performances, it might be one of the more entertaining. B.B. is passionate about keeping the blues alive and dedicates this show each year to the children of Indianola, despite the fact that he usually doesn't even start until after 10pm. He played a few songs, talked to his hometown crowd and introduced the band, including his nephew Walter Riley King, Mark's sister Jane's long-time friend, before announcing the dance-off. The dance-off consists of multiple rounds of dance contests starting with 3-5 year olds, on-stage. Where these kids learn their moves, I do not know, but they are hysterical. All the while B.B. is yelling things like "Mix 'em up. We don't need them all the same color. I want some white ones and some black ones." He wraps up the show by calling Marty Stuart back to the stage and playing The Thrill is Gone and When the Saints Go Marching In. We called it a night and took off for our plush digs at the Alluvian, while many went onto Ebony, the local juke joint where B.B. would play into the early hours of the morning.

The only thing that could have gotten me out of that amazing bed the next morning was promise of a breakfast in the Terrace Room on the 4th floor of the Alluvian. I have yet to explain to the non-locals, how amazing the Alluvian is, particularly in a little town in the heart of the Delta. Fred Carl of Viking Range decided to build his luxury cooking line in his local town, and in the process has revitalized beautiful buildings, has brought jobs to a town that needed them and has developed a culinary mecca replete with a spa, cooking school and a 5 star hotel to house those making the pilgrimage. Following a well appointed breakfast we hit the downtown farmer's market, where we bought black russian heirloom tomatoes, local, fat blueberries, and cherry tomatoes. I loved that one of the locals was smoking up ribs directly next to a rather new-age, gourmet smoothie booth. I am a sucker for a delta accent and could have stayed all day at one table listening to a guy tell stories about life farming in the delta, his grandmother who is still feisty in her 90s and all of his other kin folk.

Determined to get back to Indianola for more food, I tore myself away and we hit the road, not stopping until we arrived at the Indianola Pecan House. If I lived in this town, they would certainly have a restraining order on me by now, as they have a free pecan tasting bar with over 20 different flavors, both sweet and savory! We opted for the Cajun Roasted, Rosemary Herb, Jalepeno and Sugar-Free Cinnamon.

At Miss Lila's and Paige Duke's suggestion, we decided upon lunch at The Crown. Visitors to town who don't know about Crown would easily miss it, as it appears to be just another southern gift store selling cheese straws and sorority looking t-shirts that tout the virtues of living in the south. However, upon entering the store, you are first greeted by more free food; there are tables set up with dips and crackers and their famous smoked catfish pate. Not truly a pate, but nonetheless fantastic, this dip made with local catfish became a new favorite and a tub of it came home with us. (Mark whipped up a tasty red onion, caper and smoked catfish pate omlette upon our return.)

The restaurant abuts the gift shop and we are warmly whisked to a table near the kitchen and directly next to the pie table, which I will explain shortly. Family owned and run, we were not even to our table before mother and daughter team, Evelyn and Jennifer greeted us like it was their living room. They seemed genuinely excited that it was our first visit. Jennifer recommended that we try the Catfish Allison a new addition to the menu since the 80's and a crowd favorite. After reading the description, we decided we would both get the Allison and sat back to wait. Seconds later, one of the waitresses arrived with a round wooden cutting board filled with homemade cornbread and tomato bread fresh out of the oven. At first, the tomato bread appeared to be focaccia like, but upon biting into it, it was entirely different. Soft and moist with a little chew, it was almost sweet and purely decadent. We were still gushing over the bread when the salads arrived. Unusually, apple and melon topped the romaine greens with a sweet dressing and a salty crumb like topping, that I am unable to identify. Then came the main course. I will preface this by saying that I have tried over and over again to like catfish, particularly as I try to embrace all things local, but it is simply not a favorite of mine until now. Poached and served in a baking crock, it is smothered in a green onion butter sauce and topped with fresh Parmesan cheese. The menu described it perfectly when it touted it as having a "lovely nutty butter flavor." And as Jennifer suggested, there might be nothing better than dredging the final bite of bread in that salty, buttery goodness. You will notice in the photos that there is nothing fancy about these dishes. They are not served nouveau with streaks of paprika on a huge white plate. In fact the crock has probably not changed since the 80's, but when the food is this good, you really don't need the splash.

At this point, for $10.95, I could have left and been ridiculously happy, but there is more. And by more I mean an entire table of pies from which you are encouraged to help yourself and which comes with your meal. In fact Evelyn herself even suggests you try a few different slivers of chess pie, lemon pie, a coconut and chocolate chip pie and even a trifle, which satisfied Mark as the lowest in sugar. I opted for the praline pecan pie, which reminded me of my mom's homemade chocolate chip pecan pie, one that she has not made me in years, but might if I hint enough. I was struck throughout our dining experience again at the hospitality. Evelyn and Jennifer stopped by a few times to make sure we liked our various courses, but not inquiring like a typical waiter or waitress might, expecting you to say "fine," more like how your mom would ask you after having made your favorite meal. And when they hollered "y'all come back" I truly believe they meant it.

The drive home was slow and scenic, giving us a chance to take in the many varied landscapes in Mississippi from bayous to delta farmland. We only stopped once, when I spied the cutest pig in the world, alongside the road in a muddy stream bed and added that to my list of things you just don't see everyday.

Foxfire Ranch

With the mercury edging precariously close to 100 degrees, and the humidity at a level that I consider thick, I admit that I was flat-out dreading Mark's outdoor gig last Sunday night. Fortunately my curiosity about Foxfire Ranch
motivated me to put my piles of curly hair up on top of my head and don the obligatory cool sundress to trek north on highway 7, a little past Betty Davis BBQ, to the ranch. The drive was scenic and I was already starting to feel a good vibe when I saw hand painted signs directing me in off the main roads to the ranch, which sits on a vast property of rolling hills, dotted with cattle and horses. I turned into the ranch, down the driveway, past a picture-perfect house and out towards an extraordinary barn-type structure. Cost of entry was $10 to see the band. I am not sure if it was the refreshing thunderstorm that I drove through or the well architected and ventilated framework, but upon exiting my air conditioned car and entering the open air building, I found it downright pleasant. The building is massive with a high pitched roof and three open sides, providing views of the pasture land.I no sooner had entered the building, awed by the space, when Miss Annie, the host and owner, hollered a welcome at me and gave me a big hug; mind you I have never met her before tonight. That vibe was just getting stronger. She danced around behind the counter, intent on fixing me a plate of BBQ that judging from the size of the smokers, could feed the Rebel football team. The smell was intoxicating, at least to this meat lover! A few minutes later she delivered my plate, asking if I wanted cornbread for my greens. Of course, I answered...although I had no idea how those 2 things went together; I thought maybe I could cut the cornbread in half and sandwich the greens between...Regardless with a cold Bud Light in hand (since the ranch is over the county line they can sell beer on Sundays) (For my yankee friends, I will at some point attempt to explain some of the local alcohol laws, but for immediate purposes, know that you cannot buy alcohol anywhere even in restaurants on Sundays in my county. I won't say that is the reason for my drive out to Foxfire, but it certainly didn't hurt the cause.), I found a seat on one of the 20 or so picnic tables and assessed my plate. It appeared to be your standard issue BBQ with one exception... spaghetti. I was fascinated. If you have read any of my earlier posts, you will know that Mark is an Italian pasta snob, but to me, this type of spaghetti is pure comfort food. It is reminiscent of church fund raisers. Smothered in a sweet sauce and full of ground hamburg, it clearly would not win any bolognese contests, but yet I devoured it, enjoying every bite. After a while it hit me that the flavor was very much like my Mom's beloved American Chop Suey. As you might suspect, Mark passed on the spaghetti, and shook his head at my enjoyment of it, muttering "met" under his breath. The beans were sweet and laden with sausage and the BBQ pork was tender and lightly sauced so you could taste the flavor of the meat. I ate my greens and cornbread separately and it was not until later when my friend Steve, eating next to me, held up his cornbread and exclaimed two simple words, "Pot Licker" as if professing a brilliant invention, that I finalized realized the tie between the corn bread and the greens; I was supposed to sop up the tasty juices from the greens with the cornbread.

The band went on at 5pm, set up on a stage at one end, framed by the early evening blue sky. The crowd which was wonderfully eclectic, consisted of local hill country blues-loving folks and a healthy contingent of college aged, Frisbee playing, cooler carrying types. Miss Annie encouraged people onto the dance floor for much of the night and at one point, a patron's dog, reluctant to leave his owner, joined in the fun.

To me, Sunday nights in the summer are special. The nights are long. The heat is high. We are forced to slow down, enjoy our friends and family and eat good food. Time seems to be on a different schedule out at Foxfire, one that encourages us to enjoy life, to laugh and to dance, while it matters. I promise you this, the BBQ, the music, Miss Annie and most importantly the vibe, are all worth dragging a group of your friends out to Foxfire Ranch for a Sunday night treat.

City Grocery and 208 in Oxford, MS

The rules are clear, you are not a real southerner unless you are born here and even then it can be questionable unless your kin were also born here. Knowing these rules, I still could not help but feel like a southerner when I arrived at my work cocktail party at the City Grocery upstairs bar, in my blue and white seersucker jacket. My friends squealed with delight at my adoption of such a southern fashion, despite the fact that I continued to tell them I have owned the jacket since my New Hamphshire days. The party was great and I basked in the southern glow for quite sometime. At one point I made my way to the beautifully appointed hors d'oeuvres table where my friend Liz, who like me is no salad picking eater, was enthusiastically enjoying a pimento cheese sandwich. Having just read an article in Garden and Gun Magazine about the tradition of pimento cheese, which much like deviled eggs and potato salad, everyone has their own rendition and all claim their mama's is the best, I strolled up and asked Liz how she liked the "Pih-Men-Toh (Long "O") Cheez" sandwich. Liz immediately groaned, as did everyone around us, and proclaimed that she was taking back my southern rights. For those of you Yankees reading this, she went on to explain that it is "Pih-Mentah Chee-uz" or something like that. So much for all that southern glow. Prior to living in Mississippi, I had never heard of Pimento Cheese, but recently I have come to appreciate this southern dish, made generally with shredded cheddar and monterey jack cheese, mayonnaise, pimentos and then your favorite secret ingredient which may range from cream cheese to onion and garlic. Typically it is served on crackers as an appetizer or in a sandwich. I have been on a bit of a binge recently and had an amazing version at The Main Attraction in Water Valley, MS on a croissant and at Big Bad Breakfast as an add-on to my egg and andouille breakfast sandwich (pictured).

Following the party at City Grocery, a group of us walked around the corner to 208 for a late dinner. We were fortunate to land a table in the packed dining room and settled in with a great zinfandel. Our table was near the somewhat open kitchen and a few minutes into our stay, I waved hello to my good friend and chef, John. John has been with 208 for a few months now and in looking a the menu, he has done a wonderful job of respecting the restaurant's integrity while adding his own signature items. Our favorite Oxford waitress, Erica, quickly arrived with an unnecessary, but completely appreciated amuse-bouche from the chef and this is where I will begin to publicly profess my adoration for John. If you have read any of my previous blogs, you will know that I have a thing for liver. Perhaps it was my mom's delicious chicken livers and onions she made in the electric fry pan growing up, or the foie gras that Mark introduced me to for the first time in San Francisco at Farallon Restaurant. Regardless of the origin, I am a glutton for liver in all of its forms and proceeded to dive into the salty, smooth, airy chicken liver pate on crostini, licking my fingers as I finished my share, praying it was not over. I am here to tell you that it is the best pate I have ever experienced and my only complaint is that it is not on the menu...yet. Also served were fresh anchovies, atop sauteed spinach and onions. I kept referring to the delicious little fish incorrectly as sardines as I have previously only seen the cured version and this was a fantastic new treat.

I hesitated when ordering as I really wanted the locally raised quail, but also was drawn to the fresh sounding fish special, served in a putanesca sauce (fitting since this dish was known in Italy as harlot's pasta as women of the night placed the dish in their windows to attract customers). Solving the problem, our waitress suggested an appetizer serving of the quail followed by the fish for my meal. The quail was seasoned, seared stovetop and finished in the oven creating a crispy and juicy bird. I made the mistake of offering to share my dish, but despite doling out leg quarters to my friends, I still found a good deal of meat on the little fowl. The quail was served on a bed of locally grown patty pan squash, which were served al dente and benefited from the salty juices of the quail.

The putanesca sauce was very fresh and included plenty of tomatoes, the lamb looked beautiful (pictured), but by far, the winner of the night was the pasta bolognese (pictured). Doug and Jane appreciate a good bolognese and I could almost sense this was a quest to find a great local version.
Despite the fact that Oxford, Mississippi is home to a 2010 James Beard winning chef, where culinary delights reign, good Italian fare is difficult to find, that is, since L&M closed over two years ago. I never made it to L&M as it closed before I moved here, but I know the legend. People refer to it almost in whispers and then proceed to shake their heads in disbelief that such a culinary institution is gone. It reminds me of how people in Portsmouth, New Hamphshire refer to the famed Blue Strawberry Restaurant. Both Doug and Jane dig into their meals and in somewhat shocked voices, ooh and ahhh over the dish. They compare notes. They eat some more. They make the rest of the table taste the bolognese and then in a moment of sheer delight, Doug raises his fork and loudly declares that this is the best bolognese he has had since L&M and equally good if not better than a version he had at Mario Batali's restaurant. I giggle and give him a moment to settle down before I fill him in on the secret...John Stokes was a chef at L&M and he is back, now as the head chef here at 208!

Unfortunately Mark was unable to join me for these eating experiences as he had a gig at Proud Larry's with Kenny Brown. He looked amazing on-stage. Recently he lost some weight, which is not easy to do here in Oxford and he proudly announced that his treat for losing more weight will be a pair of seersucker jeans. I kid you not.