I Brake for Food

Yeah, I'm a foodie. We've covered this before. Anyway, here are a few of our vacation noshes worth noting. I will continue to update this particular page as I Pac-Man my way through the heartland, so please check back.

Eat My Pasty, Panama City Beach

Weird name. Great little place for English food. I obviously went for the namesake pasty. A traditional Cornish one too, not a new age, Jamaican Jerk or seafood abomination. Bonus points for not serving trendy craft beers either, just tried and true English varieties. I scored a Boddngtons could have probably had an Old Speckled Hen. Maybe next time. The fries (er, chips) were also perfect. The picture doesn't do them justice, but they were double fried in the English tradition, which yields a super crunchy exterior and a fluffy interior. I've only had similarly prepared chips in maybe two or three places in the states. Even the stupid little tub of slaw was a cut above. I love this place. If I wasn't already married, I would have proposed to it (although if I find a similar one when we get to Utah, I guess I still could).













David's New Orleans Style Cafe & Sno-balls, Panama City Beach

The name is longer than the building. So was the line inside. Good reason too. This place has a cult following, and although I'm generally of the Groucho Marx, "I wouldn't belong to any group that would have someone like me as a member" mentality, you can sign me up for this one. I'll gladly drink the Kool-aid. I love muffaletta, and this place had a pretty decent version. They also seemed to make some pretty impressive po' boys. On the other hand, I have no idea what a sno-ball is, but there was a line for them. And although I never want to go back to Panama in general, I may have to just so I can find out.

Saw's BBQ, Birmingham, Alabama

I was aware of this small little cluster of BBQ outlets, but I don't remember how. Maybe I had a vision. Anyway, when people are willing to stand in line in a hot, crowded store front about the size of a tool shed, you might just be on to something. We decided to have our BBQ slathered over a baked potato about the size of a toddler's head. Good call.

El Rancho Grande, Tulsa, OK

Any time you can find a restaurant that has been in continuous operation for at least a half century, go there. This aging, urban eatery on Tulsa's well-worn south side served traditional Tex-Mex, surprisingly spicy salsa, and the requisite margaritas. Also, the A/C apparently doesn't have an "off" switch. If you need something more than that, you're dead to me.

Chicken burrito with salsa verde, jalapenos, and my undying gratitude.

The Cascades Bar, The Stanley Hotel, Estes Park, Colorado
Yeah, it's the stupid, touristy bar from The Shining, and they totally sellout by having a "Redrum" Runner on the menu, but it is also a beautiful, 100-year-old bar that employs bartenders who are highly skilled (and perhaps a tad curt, in that suppressed, effete way, that comes from masking their reaction to sub-optimal vocational choices). I basically consumed the entire first section of the drink menu, and they were all exceptionally designed and executed versions of cocktail classics. It's pricey, but what isn't. Treat yourself. Oh, and don't ask about Lloyd.

Gabby's Summer Place, Orofino, ID

A number of years ago, a herd of us went out to Fargo to visit previously-appearing-in-this-blog, Tom, Tess and John (the Baptist). Tom is a helluva cook, and he made us a big, "thanks for coming all this way," family dinner. When someone asked him whether it was hard to make as much homemade pasta as he did, he said something to the effect of, "If someone makes you any amount of homemade pasta, it's because they REALLY love you." 

Point being, it's not an easy task.

Vanna, tell them what they've won.

I guess my niece must really love us, because she insisted on making us homemade pasta our first night in Orofino. Like me, Gabrielle is a consummate foodie. (Come to think of it, considering her general disdain for people and her propensity to day drink, she might very well be me. Weird.) Anyway, although she was critical of her own creation (all the best cooks are), the rest of us had no problem bellying up to the pasta bowl for seconds and then inhaling her homemade French Silk pie. (I was expecting to see moose in Idaho, but homemade mousse really shocked the shit out of me.) I wish I took a picture of the dessert, but I think I may have mentioned the whole "inhaling" thing. 

So, if you find yourself in Orofino, you are not particularly annoying, and you are willing to maybe trade a vat of margaritas, Gabby's Summer Place is highly recommended.

Starky’s Authentic Americana

Bozeman, Montana

In general, Bozeman annoyed the shit out of me. Nestled in a mountain pass somewhere between Montana and even more Montana, the pretentious little berg of Bozeman is an out of character, veneered downtown full of shops offering non-GMO chai tea, Asian fusion, and fire-coaled, gourmet pizzas. In short, Bozeman has all the frontier authenticity of Anaheim, California. Yet somehow we managed to navigate our way through the tchotchke sniffing packs of Lululemon abusing, over-funded and under-stimulated house wives enjoying yet another wine-fueled, girl’s weekend and plopped our pedestrian asses into a booth at Starkys a block off Main. 

Yes, true to the neighborhood, the menu was chock full of the nauseatingly trendy, socially conscious adjectives du jour like sustainable, locally sourced, and (shudder) vegan friendly, but in spite of that, the dishes were designed by someone who actually likes food and not by a committee of hippies with digestion issues. We enjoyed a delicious burger, fish tacos and a goat cheese based appetizer that, albeit gluten free, warmed the cockles of my Bozeman jaded heart. If you find yourself in Bozeman, I’m sorry, but Starky’s would be a good place to refuel and plot your escape.