Surviving “Down South” in Yankeeland

Ernie’s Bar-B-Q
1843 S. Federal Hwy.
Fort Lauderdale, FL





If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you know I like to dish out advice on how to find kick-ass places to drink and eat.

I’ve gone to great lengths to share my knowledge of the tell-tale signs of great barbeque.

Messy wood pile out back. Hickory smoke billowing out of the chimney. Jacked up F-150s in the gravel parking lot. Bars on the windows. The part of town no respectable citizen would ever venture.

You know. The basic stuff.

But my trip to Ernie’s Bar-B-Q in Fort Lauderdale reminded me that sometimes it’s easier just to explain what NOT to do.

As in do NOT go to any “BBQ” joint that brags about its non-barbeque menu items.

Barbeque is grueling, hot, sweaty, hard work. If you are doing it right, you have no time to dedicate to fried chicken, catfish or tofu burgers.

Or conch chowder, for cripe’s sake.

Barbequing is a more than full time job.

That’s why I immediately knew I was in trouble when I pulled up to Ernie’s BBQ and saw “Conch Chowder” emblazoned in neon colors over the front entrance.

Of course the lack of any wood pile, chimney or smoke confirmed my fears.

So why the heck did I order the “BBQ” sandwich?

To test my theory, of course. All in the name of science.

The sandwich was enormous. Thin sliced pork piled high between two thick slices of Ernie’s famous “Bimini bread” – a soft, squooshy white bread with a slight touch of sugar in the crust.

On the side came a warm cup of Ernie’s famous BBQ sauce – the weirdest concoction I’ve ever graced my barbeque with.

Like barbeque salsa, it was chunky with onions, tomatoes and peppers. Sweet with a vinegary tang, I had to admit, I kinda liked it.

In a weird kind of way.

But, man, that “barbequed” pork needed that sauce like Joe Biden needs a teleprompter.

Bland and tasteless, the meat was like thin sliced pork lunch meat.

No trace of smoke -- of course.

Which brings me to my other NOT to do rule of barbeque joints: DO NOT EVER eat Northern barbeque.

It’s like finding a virgin in the town of Gainesville after a Gator victory.

There’s no such thing.

Now, I know what you are thinking.

Northern barbeque? In Fort Lauderdale?

If I went any further south, I’d be smoking butts with Fidel Castro.

Has Suit757 suddenly become geographically challenged?

No. Not at all.

Florida is kinda like the Southern Hemisphere. The further south you go, the further north you are.

When I think of Florida, I think of boiled peanuts, fried pickles and cheese grits. Where the state flag is patterned after the St. Andrew’s cross of the rebel flag.

Fort Lauderdale is NOT that Florida.

THAT Florida ends somewhere a few miles south of Micanopy, hundreds of miles north of here.

Fort Lauderdale is drug dealers, Brooklyn accents and high rises full of Jewish widows.

Yankeeland.

NOT the place to come for good barbeque.

Oh well. Chalk it up to yet another priceless bit of Suit757 wisdom confirmed.

Now, there is one important corollary to the “Avoid Multi-Tasking BBQ Joints” rule.

While you can always count on lousy barbeque at these places, sometimes the food item they are more famous for can be pretty good.

See my prior review of Callahan Barbeque in the northern tip (i.e. “Southern”) part of the state, where everybody in Nassau County forgoes the barbeque in favor of pretty decent fried chicken.

So I figured I better give Ernie’s world famous conch chowder a try.

The chowder also came with two more huge hunks of that Bimini bread.

Kind of like vegetable soup with some minced conch mixed in, the chowder had a nice zesty kick to it.

Of course I’d have preferred a slightly lower vegetable-to-seafood ratio.

And I’d have preferred to have a game on the flat screen up in the “Sports Bar.”

The downstairs of this 55 year old institution (I think that qualifies for historical landmark designation in Fort Lauderdale) had the atmosphere of a funeral home.

That’s why I followed the naked mermaid on the bright painted staircase up to the patio deck and “sports bar” upstairs.

Except, instead of showing the Mets – Braves game, the sound system and all the TVs were tuned to the Olympic Closing Ceremonies.

Wow. I can’t think of bigger waste of our public airwaves than that.

I’d rather undergo a lobotomy with no anesthesia than endure four hours of pompous British flag waving and the faggity-ass screechings of long forgotten 1980s British pop bands.

What the hell does this have to do with “sports” anyway?

I needed a beer bad.

Unfortunately, after I made the bartender rattle through a monotonous list of over a dozen of the Earth’s most boring, ubiquitous, mass produced beers, I dejectedly opted for my default Florida second choice beer – Yuengling.

Glad to see Ernie’s is doing its best to uphold Floridians’ reputation as THE WORST BEER DRINKERS IN THE WORLD!

Would it kill one of these Florida bar owners to stock one measly six pack of something remotely interesting?

I’m not asking for a gastropub beer list. Just one interesting microbrew would do.

Just one. I beg you.

I’m not going to be hanging around this dive long enough for more than a couple anyway.

I suppose the owner figures none of the heavily tattooed patrons at Ernie’s would drink that “fancy yuppie” beer.

He might have a point.

I haven’t seen this much ink since I worked on the production of my high school newspaper.

A trio of scary looking dudes unironically wearing fedoras looked like they just came directly off the set of “Oz”.

I guess the one guy ran out of neck space and decided to move on up to the temple and forehead for further decorating room.

If I had the confidence that I might get out of Ernie’s alive, I might have mustered the courage to ask my bartender to change the channel.

But the tattooed locals smoking cigarettes seemed somewhat mesmerized by The Spice Girls and Pet Shop Boys.

I’m guessing kinda like how you can’t avert your eyes from a semi-truck versus motorcycle collision.

So I paid my $28 tab, polished off my conch chowder, choked down the last of my “barbeque” pork lunch meat, and chugged my old reliable second choice Florida beer and made a bee line down the stairs and out to my rental car.

Ernie’s was a fairly miserable experience all around but I left feeling somewhat smug about the depth of the knowledge I’ve acquired along the back roads of America.

I mean, I am one dedicated Suit.

I’m willing to waste an evening of my life I will never get back and put my very life at risk just to prove the validity of my own theories.

It’s a tough job being Suit757. But somebody’s got to do it.

Rating: Wouldn’t Wear Shirt if You Paid Me.

Just Crabby

Rustic Inn
4331 Anglers Ave.
Fort Lauderdale, FL
Visited August 24, 2010

Beer selection: A few interesting Caribbean imports like Kalik and Red Stripe

Food: Garlic crabs.

Some activities in life require the proper attitude to fully enjoy.

The easily offended or noise sensitive probably wouldn’t get much enjoyment out of a Hank Williams, III or a Ted Nugent concert.

Vegans just won’t appreciate the finer points of a good old fashioned Southern pig pickin’.

And Obama bailout recipients who’d rather that I pay their mortgage for them aren’t that keen on manual labor.

Crab picking is one of those activities.

You’ve got to go into this understanding that picking crabs isn’t about sustenance. I’m pretty sure I burn more calories than I take in.

It’s about sitting outside on the water, drinking beer and having fun with friends and family. It’s an event. An experience. Not just a meal.

The best crab shacks on earth – Harris in Maryland, Crab Shack in Georgia, Bubba’s in Virginia, D.I.’s in Louisiana, and my back yard – understand their product well. They serve no frills picnic table fun accompanied by lots and lots of beer.

I’m pretty sure the Rustic Inn understands all this, but they just don’t quite pull it off.

First of all, the atmosphere on the concrete water-front outdoor deck was more auto-repair shop drab than nautical outdoor fun. Under the hum of giant industrial sized fans and the buzz of moth-covered florescent lights, I felt like I was dining in my garage. I guess there was water somewhere near the water-front deck, but I couldn’t see it from my table.

For an atmosphere-dependent experience like crab picking, the evening wasn’t off to the best start.

Unfortunately, the food didn’t pick up the slack.

The Rustic Inn has been a South Florida institution since 1955 and they are famous for their “garlic crabs.”

Done right, garlic crabs are one of the great experiences of life, assuming you like garlic.

I mean, really, really, really LIKE garlic.

Because these blue crabs come in a bowl buried in at least a pound of pureed garlic cloves and melted butter. So much garlic you have to dig down deep into the bowl to excavate your crab claws from the layers of pungent goodness.

Definitely not suit-wearing cuisine. You’ll need a 30 minute shower before you can step foot in public after this meal.

But that’s a good thing. I happen to like garlic.

Here’s the problem.

My crab clusters, once properly extracted from the mountain of garlic like trapped Chilean miners, had the consistency of rubber.

Having steamed a few live blue crabs in my day, I immediately recognized the problem. The crabs were over-cooked.

If you steam or boil crabs too long, you ruin them. The shells get rubbery and the succulent meat inside turns to crab mush. A fun experience of cracking and pulling out complete sections of sweet crab meat becomes a frustrating exercise in tearing away bits of rubbery shell to extract remainders of mushy crab specks hardly worthy of the effort.

That’s just Crab 101.

So how in the world can a “world famous” crab shack, that been cooking crabs for 55 years, screw this up?

I couldn’t figure it out. Could it be that this is just the way they do crabs here at the Rustic Inn? Over-cooked, rubbery, garlic crab mush? Or did I just get a bad bowl? Or was I just feeling crabby?

I’m still not sure. And I’m probably not going to find out. After all, I know where to go for the real crab pickin’ experience. And it ain’t the Rustic Inn.

Rating: Would Wear Shirt if They Paid Me.

The People Have Spoken: Tarpon Bend Burgers Rock

Tarpon Bend Food & Tackle
200 SW 2nd St.
Fort Lauderdale, FL
Visited October 11, 2010

Beer selection: Lame.

Food: Seafood and killer burgers.

Generally speaking, restaurant and bar owners tend to avoid politics.

After all, Republicans, Democrats and Libertarians alike drink beer.

Well, okay, maybe Democrats drink appletinis. But, you get the idea.

So I was a little surprised to see a big “No on 4” banner draped over the façade of Tarpon Bend Food & Tackle in downtown Fort Lauderdale. And it was the only impetus I needed to give the place a try.

Question 4 is a Florida ballot initiative to put EVERY SINGLE zoning change in EVERY SINGLE locality in Florida on the ballot for a referendum vote.

Wait a minute. Isn’t that why we elect these jokers called politicians in the first place? I mean, what are we paying them for if they can’t decide whether or not a lingerie store should go up next to “Tiny Tots Day Care”? We have to have “a vote of the people” for that?

If Suit757 sounds a bit undemocratic, that is because I AM!

That’s why I choose to live in the United States of America, which is thankfully, not a democracy. No way am I letting the same brainless slackers who elected our current president vote to decide whether or not I can fly the Bonnie Blue in my front yard.

As it turns out, while a political statement may have been my initial inspiration, Tarpon Bend was exactly what I was looking for.

After putting 700 miles on my rental car while conducting three meetings in opposite corners of the expanse of the Sunshine State and wearing a suit for 15 hours straight, I was ready for something casual.

After checking in a 9pm, I walked out of my downtown hotel room wearing flip-flops, shorts and a North Turn Beach Bar & Grille T-shirt – from that shirt-buying-worthy joint located at the exact location on the beach in Daytona where NASCAR first raced in the 40s and 50s. (As you might imagine, Suit757 has quite an extensive collection of T-shirts.)

I wasn’t in the mood for South Beach hoity-toity. I was just looking for a place to pull up a bar stool, grab a cold brew, catch the game on TV and eat a decent meal.

Tarpon Bend was just the place.

A casual, fishing-themed open air Florida beach bar strangely situated under the shadows of downtown Fort Lauderdale’s bank towers, Tarpon Bend featured landlocked surfer dudes in board shorts and more cleavage than the set of a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit shoot.

Yeah, no problem fitting in here.

Nineteen of the 21 television sets – and the sound system – were tuned to the Jets – Vikings Monday Night Football Game. I had to crane my neck to see the Braves – Giants baseball playoff game.

Unfortunately, Tarpon Bend had absolutely NOTHING interesting or remotely exotic on tap or in the bottle, so I opted for Yuengling, my default beer of choice. Floridians display a stunning lack of imagination when it comes to beer drinking – yet another reason not to give them the power of democracy.

My bartendress helpfully pointed out that Monday night was $5 burger night, which presented something of a dilemma. What I really wanted was that when-in-Florida creation known as the fish reuben sandwich. But it was $12.

Suit757 has been known to be frugal. My friends might prefer the term “cheap.”

So, no way I’m passing up $5 burgers. Especially, when the $5 burger special is the same 5/8 lb. (that’s exactly half way between a half and three-quarter pounder for you mathematically-challenged) all-the-way “Big Cheese Burger” normally on the menu for $10.

Nope. Not passing that one up.

The burger was five star, all the way -- juicy, perfectly cooked with top shelf toppings and bun. The generous portion of potato salad that came on the side was the home-made red skin potato kind. A lot of top-notch food for one lousy (war criminal) Lincoln.

As I wiped the last remnants of burger grease from my hands and arms, drank down my final Yuengling and strained to catch the baseball playoff score, I began to contemplate what life would be like in a true “democracy”.

First of all, 21 of the 21 TVs would be on Monday Night Football.

I wouldn’t be drinking Yuengling because the only beer on tap would be Bud Light.

My burger would have been dried up and over-cooked.

And I’d probably never get to try that fish reuben sandwich, either.

Yeah, some things just shouldn’t be left to the tyranny of the majority.

I mean, just think, if everything in Florida were put to “a vote of the people”, they just might ban smoking on private property, outlaw pregnant pigs and bankrupt the state to pay off the teachers’ union.

Oh, yeah. I forgot.

All those things actually HAVE happened.

Vote “No on 4”. Please.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.