Adventures in Fattening Myself Up In The Lone Star State: Popeye's Louisiana Kitchen Edition
"All right, Popeye's here! Get your hands on your heads, get off the bar, and get on the wall"
- Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle, The French Connection
- Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle, The French Connection
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Of late things around here have been less than ideal. I prefer to not go into the daily minutiae of my difficulties. Suffice to say that thus far none of them have been caused directly by living in Mexico. So far, Mexico, its people, its culture, its food, and its shockingly polite drivers have been very good to me.
In happier news when I must cross the border into the forsaken lands known as South Texas there is a recently discovered beacon of hope I can always look forward to. About 18 kilometers or so (I have my GPS set to metric as that is how they roll south of the border, and I like to avoid speeding tickets in any country) from the border amidst a never ending sea of strip malls, tire salons, car washes... the dust.. the dust gets on and into everything, auto dealerships, pawn shops, and chain computer stores that have no idea what you are talking about when you ask for either a replacement keyboard for a common model of laptop or a USB connected one to make due.
Or, if say, your chances of getting a repair or replacement for your broken XBOX One S are snatched away from you by a Microsoft Repair Center (perhaps, one maybe even near Weslaco, Texas, but this is pure speculation) simply because the employees there were more interested in lunch at 10am (must have been a busy day for those barrel-assed fuckers) than doing their jobs. So they recommended you to a local repair shop. Which voids the warranty. Which leaves you proper fucked when it turns out the issue can't be fixed, the unit needs replaced. Sorry, been dealing with Microsoft Customer Service of late and aside from one very nice last named Lilly who wasn't authorized to fix any issues I had in any way I've not been able to get so much as a returned e-mail. But I do go on...
In spite and amidst all of that... there.. there is hope.
That personal ray of hope for me comes in the form a lone Popeye's Louisiana Kitchen chicken joint.
Before we go any further, no, this post was not sponsored in any way by Popeye's Chicken. If however Popeye's chicken wants to send me some vouchers for free food for saying nice things about that them I am not above a bit of deliciously fattening bribery now and again. My loyalty, at times, can be bought, unlike the hero of the film upon which the chain draws its name. I always thought that was weird, to name a restaurant that specializes in fast-food versions of Cajun cuisine after a New York cop played by Gene Hackman who in the end fails to get his man, or most of the heroin, but I digress.
At any rate I was pretty thrilled to discover this lone Popeye's amidst a sea of your usual fast food fair along with regional favorites like Church;s Chicken (which, in a pinch, not bad at all, their biscuits are pretty great for fast food), the tasty but strangely overpriced Whataburger, Jack-In-The-Box, the chain infamous for killing a bunch of customers with tainted food back in the late 1980's, and many, many more options.
None of those matter because when one has a craving for friend chicken and doesn't want to go through the labor intensive process of making it at home there is really only one option for the sophisticated fast-food diner who grew up on the south: Popeye's Louisiana Kitchen. A brand so tied to its roots in Southern Louisiana that there is a goddamned Popeye's in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Seriously. They also have a Krystal Burger, the only one of the two I've eaten at because Krystal Burger is some of the finest drunk food on the planet when you are aimlessly wandering New Orleans at 4am and you need tiny cheeseburgers and the need them NOW,.
There I was, standing in the entrance to a mostly empty chicken joint, starring at the bi-lingual menu as if Moses himself had just saved the Israelite's from the sin and fun of idolatry with these very animated tablets. Brought down from the mountain by Moses, promising from God himself a free order of red beans and rice with every two piece meal. It was a religious experience to be sure, and a bit of a confusing one, as the menu had changed somewhat since the last time I found myself kneeling in penitence at the alter of the grandest of Southern Fried Chicken chains.
They had fish, for one. Fish! An item that shows up occasionally on the menu and never for long enough for me to get my fill of my regular favorites before I can sample whatever golden breaded and deep fried abomination from the deep they were selling under the nondescript name 'Cajun Fish Fillet'. Call me old fashioned but when someone sells you fish I want to know what sort of fish it is. Usually its Alaskan pollock, the same tasty dweller of the deep fund in most brands of fish sticks. Thats fine, I'm fine with that, I am, just tell me. 'Cajun Fish Fillet' sounds sort of like they yanked it from the hand of a Louisiana fisherman after a long day while he was preparing his dinner.
The pieces of fish weren't as large as the vacuum-packed fillets one finds at the 3 or 4 Long John Silvers still left active in the US. These fillets more closely resembled the word fillet and were roughly the size of one of Popeye's glorious chicken tenders, and like those glorious chicken tenders they come in both mild (for the weaklings among us) and spicy (for those who like a little extra flavor with their mystery fish). I decided quickly that no matter how this feast was going to play out, some spicy mystery fish was going to be a part of it.
After standing and looking at the menu with a variety of disturbing expressions for far longer than the lady at the cash register was comfortable with I began my... indulgence. I asked if they had any combo meals which included both fish and chicken tenders, deciding to get the main portion of the meal decided and out of the way so so I could then focus my attention on selecting my sides. Popopeye's has a glorious selection of sides. Sides clearly inspired by the companies Southern heritage because even the (delicious) green beans have ham in them.
"I'm sorry sir, we don't offer a chicken/fish combo. We have a fish and popcorn shrimp combo. or a fish po'boy."
What demon sorcery was this? How difficult can it be to offer fish and chicken in the same basket? English pubs have been doing since Oliver Cromwells severed head was considered the in-fashion lawn ornament. Surely this was a mistake, perhaps she was new? Maybe they had just added fish back the menu? There was no possible way I couldn't get strips of deep fried chicken and deep fried fish with a side and a cup of sweet tea for one reasonable price?!
Turns out I was wrong, they don't offer that glaringly obvious combo. So I said 'fuck it', I'm, a smart guy, I can sort this shit out on my own. I ordered the two piece chicken strips AND THEN AN EXTRA STRIP OF FISH. Problem solved, Goddamned brilliantly I might add.
"Im', sorry sir, we only offer two piece meals with regular chicken, not strips. You have to order a 3 piece chicken strip meal to do that."
What. The. Fuck. OK, fine, lets do that. Lets get the 3 piece tenders, swap out a piece of fish, and everyone will be happy. Once again, problem solved.
"I'm sorry sir, we can substitute the fish for chicken, its against the rules. You have to buy a seperate piece of fish to add to the combo."
As I stood there and beheld the menu brought down from Mt. Sinai by Moses (the Charlton Heston version) himself telling all godfearing people the truth of the one, true Fried Chicken Chain it occurred to me that nine of these rules were mentioned in the Tablets of the Law known as the Popeye's Louisiana Kitchen menu. Yet here I was at the mercy of the pagan, this worshiper of false idols (I could practically smell the Church's Chicken biscuits on her, and, Gene Hackman give me strength, they smelled delightful) and all I could do was agree to to her demands. It felt wrong somehow, but I knew that once I had that tray in my hand all would be right with the world.
3 Spicy chicken strips, 1 spicy fish fillet (I love fish, but this was an experiment), 1 side of ham-infused green beans, and 1 extra side of 'Cajun spiced' mashed potatoes and gravy. I guess the emotional rolleroaster worked up an appetite. Also I skipped any form of breakfast that morning once I discovered a Popeye's well within range of justifying the trip so as not to to interfere with any if my other errands to run.
Food Verdict: Popeye's was exactly as I expected it to be, pleasing to to the palette and the soul. The fish was rather good, I'll be having that again.
After a few days/weeks of falling back into depression, partly due to outside causes and partly due to my own abhorrent brain chemistry, not to mention trying to focus on the book, it feels good to be updating 'Dispatches again'. Even if it was for a strange review of a, no The, fast food chicken chain... it feels good to be back.
Perhaps the next article will be one of those bits of actual journalism I've been working in. Maybe it will be an angry rant about an encounter with a tourist, or maybe just or maybe just more weird, pointless shit like this.
Hey, I made no promises, you knew what you were getting when you subscribed.
By the way, thank you to all of your new subscribers, as well as those who continue to support my efforts. You folks rock harder than an 80's hair metal band with a Marshal stack as tall as a Ferris wheel and all the cocaine Columbia could spare for such a thing in 1984.
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