Oh, India. Thank you.
I love seeing these. And Feed Sack? That’s the actual name? What did everybody eat!
We ate fried. Nearly everything there is fried.
We all lined up at the trough and et.
Fried okra? With some cayenne in the coating?
Corn bread or hush puppies?
There were hush puppies, but they were pretty bland even for hush puppies. After one hush puppy, I switched to the corn fritters. I don’t remember fried okra, but if it was not there, they need to get right on that.
There was plenty of iceberg lettuce down at the salad end of the trough. I could have gone for some poke sallet, but it wasn’t really that kind of place.
And the bridge is out at the river.
You got your meat. You got your tea. You got your dessert.
The hush puppies were extruded. The dessert was supposed to be, but was more oozed than extruded.
When the chiller/extruder is low on — what? freon? — that’s when you see soft-serve ice “cream” for what it is.
It was vegan-safe, I’ll say that for it.
Cece, I ate a salad comprised mostly of iceberg lettuce and lemon juice and a baked potato with tomatoes and pickled jalapenos on it. For fifteen dollars.
Oh, yeah. I got some iced tea, too.
Sweet or unsweet tea, Cindy?
But, Cindy, I showed you a picture of Paw Paw.
Paw Paw. For whom the bridge was out at the river.
Yeah. That photo was worth the 15 bucks. That and whatever Josh and I were doing out on the porch in that picture India took. I have no idea what that hand gesture means.
And I’m not sure what I’m doing with the gestures in those two pictures with Danny, but I’d guess I might be singing “Five Feet High and Risin’.”
I have very stringent standards re fried okra and corn bread. Fried chicken too, but that is in a class by itself. The okra must be crisp on the outside with a touch of hot pepper. And the inside not mushy. This is sort of the fried version of pickled okra, which I won’t buy unless it is from Louisiana. The Texas pickled okra I have sampled has lost its snap, is too mushy.
And we’ve talked about cornbread. It needs to be made with buttermilk and cannot have a single grain of sugar.
At places like the Feed Sack I go for four veggies, cornbread and unsweetened iced tea. Something like fried okra, pinto beans, turnip greens sprinkled with vinegar and hot pepper, and squash casserole or fried apples. And I’ll take the extrusion-free dessert.
Oh, Cece, there were no vegetables at the Feed Sack. No fried okra, no pinto beans, no turnip greens, no vinegar, no squash, no apples. It’s a fried foods buffet with a “salad bar” consisting of iceberg lettuce, “baby carrots” that look like Deron’s finger stub, rubbery tomatoes cut all to hell, bits of cucumber that seemed real enough, “croutons,” and dressings either bright orange or white. Oh, yeah. And baked potatoes in foil.
Mother Fuck Me.
I just sat there watching people eat fried frogs.
No vegetables? At a Texas restaurant called Feed Sack? I feel so dashed and hopeless now.
Actually that sounds like some of the Iowa restaurants I’ve been subjected to during the past 20 years.
Dashed and hopeless. That pretty much summed it up for me.
Cece, think The Golden Corral (“All You Dare to Eat”) with some local touches.
But we had us a good time. And Paw Paw (1940-2010) watched over the oozing of the soft-serve product.
That soft serve was lactose intolerant.
I had, on the first go-’round, 3 catfish fillets and cole slaw. There I shoulda stopped. But I got up and got two more fillets and green sallet with ranch. With my glass of half-gallon, unsweet ice-tea, I was bloated. I think I mighta exploded my stomach. I kinda hurt, in my middle-parts, for a big part of Sunday. I wanted to eat. I paid for it.
Fifteen dollar worth, Ricky Cameron.
The salty, fried corn-meal crust on the catfish was worth the price of admission. Somebody ought to put that flavor on chips, Doritos or some such. There’s a mint to be made.
“Corn-meal, catfish fried Doritos?” I think there’s a market. Least from where I sit.
They’re probably already in the works somewhere.
I had me some “broiled fish” at The Feed Sack. But I don’t know what fish it was. I also had corn fritters and a jumble of broccoli and cauliflower florets.
It got me to thinking about how bad homogenization has hit the hinterlands of the US. The hole in the heart of the heartland.
How when you go on a road trip nowadays, there’s no good plain country cooking to be found.
Except — this place I stopped at Tuesday morning on my way to Galena from Kansas City. This place in western Iowa. Thick bacon and a right good buttermilk pancake. The coffee was for shit, but that’s to be expected. The rest was a happy surprise.
Rick, I drive by the Frito Lay plant every day on my way to work. I’ll stop in and try to sell them the idea of the corn meal catfish Doritos.
Thank you, Amy. Don’t negotiate without there being royalties for you bringing them the idea.
I’m pretty sure I would eat the fuck out of them. I’m pretty sure it might be a regional market. Still, how many mid-southerners does it take to buy a billion bags of chips?
But you never know, regional? What do I know? There might be a market in China.
Then it would be, “Whooo-yah!” They have catfish in China, right?
India, I went off on a tangent. Thank you, this slide show is lovely.
We really have to meet up in Hazel Green, Shelia, when you visit your friends across the mountain. There are exceptions, of course, to the bland road trip food.
Mother and brother follow around a proprietor-ess who opens eateries in various places, then closes, then opens again. She operated a dining establishment in a trailer once (I mean manufactured housing unit). Brother says once he overheard the staff discussing tips for visiting boyfriends in prison.
Lots of veggies!
I bought a taxidermied egret from a person in China today. I will ask him about catfish.
This year in Hazel Green, Cece!
And this way to the egret.
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