Road Trip Part 6: Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville

So, you may be asking yourself, he was adamant about not eating at a chain on the San Antonio Riverwalk, but in New Orleans, one of the great dining cities anywhere, he eats at a chain?

And it's a fair question. But I've been to this Margaritaville twice before: once when I visited New Orleans with some friends for Mardi Gras when I was 21, and on my 24th birthday when my friend Tom and I drove around the country together. And those were two of the best times of my entire life. So I have nothing but good associations with this place. On our first night in New Orleans, after getting a couple of Hurricanes and random beers, Elizabeth and I wandered around a little trying to decide what to get for dinner. (We could have gone anywhere; I've never had a bad meal in this town.)

When we passed Margaritaville I said "Let's go for it."

I first poked my head into the bar - the Storyville tavern - to see who was playing. On that birthday occasion I first saw Lynn Drury playing here, doing a version of "Angel From Montgomery" that I can still hear in my mind. But alas on this occasion it was a guy banging out "Friends In Low Places" on the piano. Not the same. (A friend of mine came in once to find Jimmy himself playing to a half-empty house. That would have been cool to see.)

The interior is what you'd expect: island-themed decor. A little cheesy, perhaps, but in New Orleans the laid-back vibe seems appropriate. (I've also been to the Margaritaville in Las Vegas; that one just seems like a theme park.)

I've had the fried gator at Margaritaville - sorry for the cliche, but it does taste just like a tough piece of chicken - and I also once had a pulled pork sandwich with a guava barbecue sauce that was delicious, but on this occasion the "swamp platter" caught my eye. Gator, crawfish, and shrimp? Sounds good. 

A cold Red Stripe, already sweating by the time it hit the table. Have I told you how much I love New Orleans?

The chairs are painted with the titles of Jimmy Buffett's songs. This was Elizabeth's.

Buffett fans know why this was on the table.

The pictures of my entree all turned out poorly and for that I apologize, but I am using one anyway because you have to see this monstrosity: the fried seafood was piled on top of fried potatoes, towering more than seven inches high. The gator was the same tough-yet-tasty meat I remember from a decade ago, the shrimp were good and the crawfish were great. The fries were lousy but who cares - I barely ate any of them. When I was done eating I took a picture of what was left and sent it to a few friends - I still had enough food left to feed one, perhaps two people. 

Elizabeth had the coconut shrimp. She gave me one of them; as much as I love shrimp I have never been a big fan of coconut shrimp. But I really liked this. The orange-horseradish marmalade was a wonderful complement. And it was nice to take a break from my healthy platter to eat something fried.

It was nice to be back at Margaritaville, but on my next New Orleans trip I won't be stopping by. The food was good, but there is much better food to be had elsewhere. It was like hanging out for an evening with someone you knew casually back in high school: it was nice to remember all the fun we used to have way back when, but we don't need to ever do this again.

If it suddenly ended tomorrow I could somehow adjust to the fall
Good times and riches and son of a bitches, I've seen more than I can recall.

Road Trip Part 5: Whataburger

Whataburger is a chain I've heard about for years but, being that there are no California locations, I never paid much attention to what was going on. They are scattered all over the place throughout the South, however, and on the morning we left San Antonio I was quite hungry. Elizabeth wasn't, so I decided I would just stop somewhere in East Texas, grab a quick bite and get back on the road. At a gas stop I saw a sign for Whataburger 100 yards down the road and decided to give it a try.

It was on the early side, just after 11, but crowded inside. I studied the menu for a couple of minutes and decided to order something called a "Chop House Cheddar Burger."

"Would you like jalapenos on that?" the girl behind the counter asked me. This blew my mind.

"Why yes," I said.

"Would you like them grilled?"

"Yes." I could already tell I was going to like this place.

It took several minutes for my burger to be ready (Whataburger's beef is never frozen and is always cooked to order). I took it out to the car to eat.

The burger had two patties, a creamy steak sauce, bacon, grilled onions and cheese on a slightly-toasted bun. And I loved it. If we ignore In-N-Out and Five Guys, which are in a class of their own, this is the best fast food burger I think I have ever had. The beef tasted like a more substantial version of Del Taco's burgers, the sauce was delicious, and the grilled onion and jalapenos set the standard for accoutrements on a fast food burger. I don't understand why anyone would order a burger at the usual McDonald's-Burger King-Wendy's-type-places if there is a Whataburger close by.

They also offer dipping containers of spicy ketchup that, while not exactly spicy (it had a burnt taste to it) were definitely more enjoyable than regular ketchup. 

As I wrote, I really liked Whataburger a lot. But would I have liked it so much if I hadn't been incredibly hungry and slightly hung-over? There was only one way to find out: a few days later when Elizabeth was also hungry I said she needed to try Whataburger as well, and she agreed.

 Elizabeth ordered the eponymous burger and I opted for the BBQ Cheddar Burger.

She thought the burger was good, and very good for a fast food burger. She doesn't like the condiments - sauces, jalapenos, etc. - like I do, so she kept her burger pretty plain. 

My BBQ cheddar burger was again very good, but not as good at the Chop House burger had been. The barbecue sauce was too sweet for my liking. I should have asked for jalapenos on this as well. It was still better than almost any fast food burger I can think of, but not quite the transcendent burger I had eaten a few days earlier.

Whataburger's shoestring fries - we split an order, although as usual I probably ate 75% of them - are merely average. For as good as Whataburger's burgers are, I wish the chain used crinkle-cut or waffle fries, or something better than simple shoestrings like many other places use. (And, like almost everyone else, these were undercooked.) But that's a small complaint.

I made it decades without trying Whataburger, and who knows when I will get to try it again, but those two times I ate there recently were both great. Like I wrote, if I had grown up with one of these close by, it never would have replaced In-N-Out, but it would have given every other chain - including Fatburger - some serious competition when I was craving a burger.

I hope you have a nice weekend. Next week: all New Orleans. 

Road Trip Part 4: Dairy Queen

Note: I should have done this post yesterday, before the San Antonio post, to keep things in chronological order. My bad. 

I've done some pretty long drives in a single day before. Many times I've driven from Portland to Pasadena in one day, ditto Boulder to Pasadena, both around 1000 miles. I once drove from Auburn, CA to Rock Springs, WY (800 miles), only stopping because I got caught in an ice storm. Kansas City to Lexington, VA (940 miles)? Sure, I've done that, too. 

But never have I experienced a drive that felt longer than the one through West Texas from El Paso to San Antonio. There is pretty much nothing to see and the towns - if you can call them that - are few and far between. At one point, when we started getting hungry, Elizabeth took out her iphone and checked for restaurants. There were three options within 100 miles: McDonald's, Taco Bell, and a sit-down restaurant that was only open for dinner.

Eventually - and by eventually I mean about three hours after we got hungry; with the cruise control set at 85 you can do the math - we made it to a town with a restaurant that sounded interesting. It was closed on Sundays. Of course. But there also happened to be a Dairy Queen in town. Before the trip, Elizabeth said we had to stop by a DQ for a dipped cone and I promised her we would. (Unlike Cracker Barrel, a brief ice cream stop at DQ seemed harmless.) This seemed like the perfect time.

I've never actually eaten at Dairy Queen. I know I've had their ice cream before, and I even remember stopping by a DQ a few years ago in Sacramento because my dad really wanted a soft ice cream, but I really did not know anything about their food. 

There was no one else in the place. What do people who live in the middle of Texas do for food? Do they eat every single meal at home? Or am I misjudging the situation and there are no people who live in the middle of Texas? Life is confusing sometimes.

I wasn't in a burger mood so I ordered the popcorn shrimp basket. For an instant my mind flashed back to a fried shrimp meal I ordered almost ten years ago in similar-looking terrain in Montana; it made me violently ill. But then again those were hand-breaded shrimp in a diner and I was relatively certainly these would be coming out of a giant plastic back from the freezer.

They were just fine. They certainly looked better than the burger Elizabeth ordered. The shrimp were not as good as Popeyes nor any of the fried seafood you will be reading about soon, but considering this was pretty much our only dining option and I was incredibly hungry, I have no complaints.

Here are Elizabeth's burger and fries. They aren't very good pictures, but do they really need to be? You can figure out what's going on here. 

I would go back to Dairy Queen for an ice cream cone, but I do not plan to ever eat at one again. However, if I find myself in the middle of nowhere and it's my only option, I wouldn't be opposed to another order of fried shrimp.

Road Trip Part 3: The Republic of Texas

Elizabeth had never been to San Antonio and I had not been since I was nine years old. So we decided to go. It was a hot, very humid day. We walked up to the Alamo, about a mile from our hotel. It was one of the least entertaining historical sites I have ever seen.

"We ask that gentlemen remove their covers," an older man said to me upon entering. "This is holy ground."

I removed my Angels hat but I couldn't help but let out a little laugh. Holy ground? The rest of the exhibits were pretty much along those lines: this is the most important place in the history of the country and possibly the world, but whatever you do, don't take any pictures. The gift shop, on the other hand, was impressively stocked and staffed, selling ten dollar bottles of barbecue sauce and souvenir coins. (And, of course, you can buy lots of pictures there of the things you weren't allowed to photograph yourself.) The priorities are clear. We were there a total of 20 minutes, then walked down to the Riverwalk and took a boat ride, which was much more fun and informative.

After that we were quite hungry. There were the usual assortment of chain restaurants, none of which I was willing to visit: Hard Rock, Joe's Crab Shack, Hooter's, Rainforest Cafe, and probably some others I am forgetting. I'm not particulary opposed to chain restaurants, but I was certainly not in the mood to eat at one on the banks of the Riverwalk. There was a restaurant called "The Original Mexican Restaurant" that I refused to visit on the grounds that the name was dishonest. We decided to just take a stroll and see what caught our eye. 

We had stopped at a restaurant called Boudro's - looking at reviews now, it seems to be the best-reviewed restaurant on the Riverwalk - and a pulled pork sandwich with black pepper sauce caught my eye. But the host told me it would be a while before we could have an outside table. I wanted to eat immediately and I wanted to eat outside, so we kept walking.

At Republic of Texas, there were several outdoor tables available. Yes, the fact that it was the only restaurant out of a dozen we'd passed with available tables should have been a warning, but I wasn't thinking clearly. I needed a cold drink.

Not a challenging menu but I didn't expect it to be, and to be honest I didn't really care.

I would rather drink the water out of the Riverwalk than eat one of these.

Not too shabby, eh?

The Tecate was ice cold and exactly what I wanted. I finished it in about thirty seconds. There would be more.

Elizabeth had a strawberry daiquiri and she enjoyed it very much.

The chips were okay but obviously not fresh. The salsa was the most watery, flavorless salsa I have had in years. (Not that this stopped me from eating a lot of it.)

Elizabeth had the cheese quesadilla. As usual, she couldn't finish her plate so I took a wedge of it. There was plenty of cheese and once some sour cream and hot sauce was applied, it was pretty good. It's kind of hard to screw up cheese grilled inside a tortilla, and Republic of Texas did not. I know that's a pretty tepid review, but that's the kind of place it is.

I had the Pollo Rojo: two chicken enchiladas smothered with red sauce, topped with cheese, and placed between rice and beans. Like Elizabeth's quesadilla, this was adequate. No better, no worse. I would never recommend it to anyone - without the hot sauce I added, it was incredibly bland - but it did the job of satiating me. (On the menu, it was under a section called "Texican," which sums up the food perfectly. Even though I don't really know what that means.)

I wish we had waited the extra time to eat at Boudro's, but I'm still glad we bypassed all of the chain retaurants on the Riverwalk. (I can take the subway for 20 minutes and eat at any of those in Times Square.) Republic of Texas was far from a good restaurant, but other than that terrible salsa, it wasn't really bad. The service was good and it was certainly an enjoyable location in which to eat.

And the best part: you have now read about my two least favorite meals of the trip. We got them both out of the way in the first 48 hours.

Road Trip Part 2: Cracker Barrel

Years ago, Elizabeth told me she was craving Cracker Barrel. I said I didn't think there were any in California and this surprised her; we looked and sure enough I was correct. I didn't ever remember going to a Cracker Barrel. In fact, all I really knew about the place is a vague memory from a few years back that there was evidence they segregated their customers by race when seating them.

But when we were planning our trip and she said she really wanted to eat at Cracker Barrel, I said of course we could... once. As it turned out, we were hungry and the car needed gas in eastern Arizona on the first night of the trip and right when we pulled off the highway we saw a Cracker Barrel.

There was a strong recognition when I walked in: the "country store" portion of the building, selling hard candy, cheesy postcards, and souvenirs that fall somewhere between patriotic and jingoist. I realized that technically I had been to a Cracker Barrel before: on one of the road trips I took in my early 20s I stopped in one night, took a look at the place and left. Now, a decade later, here I was again.

Did you ever read Bill Bryson's The Lost Continent? It's my favorite of his books though I admit it's pretty mean-spirited; he takes a little too much delight in making fun of people. So I don't want to do that here... but it's impossible for me to write about the place and not mention that quite a few customers - I would even guess the majority - were obese. I'm talking morbidly obese. I never thought I would see a restaurant with a higher percentage of obese people than Claim Jumper, but this particular Cracker Barrel put any Claim Jumper I have seen to shame.

Of course, many of the menu items are served with not one, not two, but three side dishes. It's possible to get a fried chicken dinner with steak fries, fried okra, and mac 'n cheese. (To be honest, I considered doing that.)

Just some of the kitsch that was on our table.

I had an unsweetened iced tea; Elizabeth had a raspberry tea.

I had the fried shrimp plate, selecting as my three sides cole slaw, steak fries, and "dumplins." The cole slaw was really good, and the cocktail sauce, spiked with pepper, was outstanding. But I didn't care for anything else. The shrimp were undercooked, the breading separating from the shrimp as soon as I picked up each piece. The fries were room temperature and flabby. The dumplins had no flavor whatsoever. But there was a lot of food.

Elizabeth had the chicken n' dumplins with mashed potatoes and green beans. She liked her plate (I'm glad one of us did) but when she gave me a taste of the chicken I could not differentiate between it and the dumplins.

Our server was really nice and never let my iced tea get less than half full, the restaurant was clean and all this food - it could have served four people - was a little over twenty bucks. I can see why some people would feel comfortable here. But I just can't get past the fact that the food seemed as bland and uninteresting as any restaurant food I can ever remember having.

We would not eat at Cracker Barrel again on this trip.