Defending the Sacred Honor of The South

Crystal Grill
423 Carrollton Ave.
Greenwood, MS






“The Mississippi Delta is the most Southern place on earth.”
-- James C. Cobb


I have lots of reasons I love the South.

Warm weather. NASCAR. College football. Great music. Ole Miss sorority girls.

But as great as all those things are, it’s Southern cooking that gets me most excited.

The Crystal Grill here in Greenwood on the outskirts of that “most Southern place on earth”, is one of the best places to discover the delicacies of the old Confederacy such as catfish, tamales, turnip greens, gumbo and -- most important of all -- pie.

Southerners have been coming to the corner of Lamar St. and Carrollton Ave. to eat for nearly a century.

At one point during the heyday of the locomotive, railroad workers and tourists alike would come over to the Crystal Grill from Greenwood’s railroad depot across the street at all hours of the night.

“Never sleep.” That was the mantra of the old Crystal Grill when it stayed open until 4am.

Here in the 21st Century, Amtrak’s “City of New Orleans” (immortalized by Steve Goodman, Arlo Guthrie, Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash) only makes one stop per day, so the hours at Crystal Grill have reverted to conform to the more normal schedule of Southern diners.

While the hours may have shrunk over the years, the restaurant has expanded, taking up a whole city block of connected rooms filled with locals chatting about Greenwood gossip.

As an out-of-towner, you get the feeling that every last resident of this city knows the Crystal Grill is a world class dining destination -- and they all take full advantage of their good fortune.

The food options here are vast and a bit overwhelming.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the beer selection.

Coors Light. Bud Light. Miller Lite.

Yuck.

I opted for the Coors version of watered-down, tasteless, mass produced yellow fizz.

Unfortunately for me, Mississippi is one of the last holdouts in the craft beer revolution.

But nobody comes to the Crystal Grill to drink beer. Folks come here to eat!

I began my feeding frenzy with that quintessential Delta snack, the hot tamale.

Nobody knows exactly how a Mexican food originated as a staple here in the Delta. Most folks here are black or white.

Mexican? Not so much.

But it is safe to assume that some Mexican migrants may have found their way into the Delta to help with the cotton crop over a century ago -- and brought a recipe along that black and white Southerners have perfected into their very own Southern specialty.

You’ll find little roadside shacks selling tamales all over the Delta.

But the tamales here at the Crystal Grill are the best I’ve ever tried.

Wrapped snuggly in their corn husks, unrolling a steaming tamale is more exciting than Christmas morning.

Soft sweet corn meal gives way to a piping hot center of tender shredded beef. The entire concoction is marinated in a peppery broth, lending these tamales a subtle spicy bite that made my Coors Light taste better than it deserved.

Next came a cup of gumbo loaded with shrimp, crab meat and even a few Mississippi Gulf Coast oysters. Chock full of okra, spice and goodness, this is one of the best cups of gumbo I’ve tried in the Magnolia State.

Of course you can’t have gumbo without bread. The Crystal Grill brings out two varieties -- both equally fresh and warm from the oven -- and addictive.

The soft yeast rolls come from a decades old Greenwood recipe.

The firm but sweet corn muffins melted my pat of butter on contact.

By this point, my hunger was long gone. But my Chrystal Grill lunch was just getting started.

Classic Southern lunchroom style, the menu lets you choose a meat and two vegetables.

I opted for fried catfish, crisp and seasoned to perfection.

My dining companion scored some of the best fried chicken either of us had ever tried.

But the vegetables were the stars of the show.

Turnip greens, earthy and bitter yet sweetened with Southern love and pig fat.

Southerners love to cook their vegetables in pork fat or deep fry them, under the theory that there is only one way to make healthy food taste good -- make it less healthy.

As a devout follower of that school of vegetable thought, I had to try something called “fried broccoli”.

Even world renowned broccoli frowner President George H. W. Bush could eat this stuff.

It turns out that fried broccoli doesn’t involve much broccoli after all. More like a breaded and fried cheese stick with a few bits of green vegetable matter stuffed inside.

In other words, fried broccoli is delicious!

Under any other circumstance, after consuming this much food, I’d ask for the check and be on my way.

Not at the Crystal Grill. Because when you dine here, you get pie.

It’s compulsory.

I’m not saying they’ll lock you up in the Leflore County Jail if you refuse to indulge, but it is included in the price of your meal.

And it indeed would be a crime against man and nature to skip out on dessert at the Crystal Grill. This place has earned a well-deserved decade’s old reputation for the best pie in the great state of Mississippi.

You get three choices: chocolate meringue, coconut meringue or lemon ice box.

You really can’t go wrong.

The lemon ice box pie was cool, sweet and tart with a refreshing lemon zest.

The chocolate meringue was a mile high tower of goodness. The meringue was delicate and sweet and elegantly yielded to my folk as it slid down toward the cool chocolate below.

If you are a chocoholic like me, you will not be disappointed. Trust me.

If ever there were a dining destination that needed to be immortalized in my vast t-shirt collection, the Crystal Grill was it.

This place represents everything I love about the South. Great food. Downhome charm. Friendly hospitality. And a patient deliberateness to appreciate the finest life has to offer.

I couldn’t help but notice the irony that as I was appreciating all that is wonderful about the old Confederacy in the form of a single meal, a controversy was raging on the news about that ultimate symbol of the South, the Confederate Flag.

Southerners everywhere are being forced by a mob of Leftists and uppity Yankees to make a choice -- abandon the symbol that has represented their homeland in some sort of futile peace offering -- or stand to defend its honor in the face of unprecedented hatred and bullying.

While it seems like most of the politicians across the South have chosen to reenact the surrender at Appomattox, it is left to the silent majority of Southerners to articulate the value of their heritage.

For many Southerners, the flag is simply an iconic symbol of home -- and everything it stands for. From sweet tea to SEC tailgate parties.

For others, there is a deeper meaning.

The flag represents resistance to an overbearing federal government that now injects itself into every nook and cranny of our lives.

Am I the only one who noticed the irony that during this same week five unelected, unaccountable robed jackasses in Washington DC just changed the 10,000 year old definition of marriage by federal fiat?

If Sherman and Grant could see what the Federal Government they fought for has become, I’d like to imagine they’d be so ashamed they’d strip off their blue uniforms on the spot and joint the “Lost Cause”.

But why is the burden of proof on Southerners to defend their flag?

Shouldn’t the debate be centered on why Leftists and uppity Yankees hate the South -- and want to stamp out everything it stands for?

To them it represents a reprehensible ideology and way of life -- one where folks get along with each other just fine over a plate of tamales and fried chicken.

Where people don’t see the need to depend upon the kindness of politicians.

Independence. Traditional values. Faith. Confident appreciation of what works.

Defiance.

That’s what they hate.

They hate that the South is superior to the North in every way that matters. From politics to economics to weather to football to fried chicken.

They are envious of a people that can get along fine without them.

And if you think throwing the Confederate flag into a modern day auto-da-fé in a sacrificial offering will appease them, you are wrong.

Dead wrong.

This is just the warning shot on a second Yankee invasion.

The Leftists and uppity Yankees won’t stop until everyone lives and thinks like they do.

Give up the guns and religion you cling to. Your future is food stamps, Obamacare, gay weddings and Dunkin Donuts.

That’s why places like the Crystal Grill are an endangered yet cherished reminder of what makes the South great.

And that’s why my flag is still hanging. And why I bought the shirt.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Too Much is Never Enough at Maple Street Biscuit Company

Maple Street Biscuit Company
2004 San Marco Blvd.
Jacksonville, FL





You ever meet one of those stick-in-the-mud type people who complain, “Oh, that’s too much for me?”

Yeah. Me neither.

I don’t hang out with people like that.

For me, there’s no such thing as too much of a good thing.

Lots of people who agree with me crowd into Maple Street Biscuit Company every day for ludicrous gastronomical combinations of good food.

The vibe at Maple Street Biscuit Company is one of a place trying to keep things upbeat and fun.

Aforementioned stick-in-the-muds need not apply.

Instead of giving you a number to remember when you place your order, the perky girls at the order counter ask you a question.

Every customer gets the same question -- but the question changes every day.

Today it was “What is your favorite game?”

Apparently I just looked at her blankly.

“Huh? Game?”

“You know, video game, computer game, card game,” my order taker explained cheerfully.

Um, Suit757 doesn’t have time for games.

“Okay, well, what was the last game you remember playing?”

Followed by a perky, patient head tilt.

Uhhhh. Monopoly? During the Carter Administration, maybe?

“Great! When we call Monopoly, come get your order!”

More perky smiling.

Look, you better be in a good mood when you come in here. Because a meal at Maple Street Biscuit Company is like a trip to Disney World for your taste buds and arteries.

Everything here is cheerfully over-the-top.

Such as my “Five and Dime”, a teetering tower of heart-clogging comfort food.

As the name on the door implies, the specialty at Maple Street Biscuit Company is…

…well…

…biscuits.

And I’m sure Maple Street Biscuit Company makes fantastic biscuits…

…it’s just kinda hard to tell for sure with all that other goodness piled on top on my Five and Dime Biscuit.

Fried chicken.

Melted cheese.

Pecan smoked bacon.

A drippy over-easy egg.

Whew!

All topped off with a healthy ladling of sausage gravy!

Holy quadruple bypass, Batman, this just might be the single most over-the-top concoction to ever slide by my taste buds!

If you are disgusted, well…

…why exactly are you even reading this website?

If you are thinking, “Well, Suit757, does the Five and Dime taste as good as it sounds?”…

…the answer is a resounding YES!

What might be a tad over-whelming in the hands of mere mortals turns into delicious at Maple Street Biscuit Company because this place takes each and every one of the components of its culinary creations seriously.

Fluffy but firm biscuits, all-natural fried chicken, organic eggs, gourmet thick-cut bacon, quality real cheese.

All smothered with an off-the-hook sausage gravy.

Some sausage gravies served at those little chain joints along Southern interstate exit ramps camouflage the bits of sausage in a bland cream gravy.

There’s nothing subtle about the sausage in Maple Street’s sausage gravy.

This place doesn’t do subtle.

Generous chunks of zesty sausage make their presence known in every delicious forkful of creamy gravy.

And with a nice hint of spicy kick, this sausage gravy perfectly complements the smoky flavor of the bacon and the earthy warmth of the scratch-made biscuit.

Likewise, the runny egg lends a nice textural contrast to its crispy fried chicken kissin’ cousin.

Needless to say, this isn’t a Hardee’s biscuit sandwich you could eat one handed driving down I-95.

Even with a knife and a fork, there is no conceivable way to get even a small sampling of all the various components onto one forkful. Thus every bite offers a new and different thrill ride for the taste buds.

Most folks who come here don’t have much room for the side dishes.

Most folks are missing out.

And Suit757 definitely isn’t most folks.

The macaroni and cheese is a crock of melty cheesy goodness topped with crumbled Cheese Itz crackers. Like everything else here -- over-the-top good.

The collard greens deserve a spot in the vegetable Hall of Fame.

Both sweeter and spicier than any greens that have ever before graced my taste buds, these collards were swimming in a wicked broth of flavor and seasoning.

Biscuits, fried chicken, eggs, cheese, bacon, sausage gravy, collard greens and mac and cheese?

All for one suit’s lunch?

Too much?

Nope. If it’s good, there’s no such thing.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

The South Wins at the Southern Kitchen

Southern Kitchen
9576 S. Congress St.
New Market, VA





Southerners will still argue over The War Between the States.

Just a mile from the Southern Kitchen here in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, 247 young, green cadets from Virginia Military Institute drove the Yankee invaders out of the valley in the Battle of New Market 149 years ago.

The South may have ultimately lost The War of Northern Aggression, but even the most fervent Lincoln-worshiping, federal-government-loving A-Rod fan must concede the one battle (besides New Market) the South won hands down:

Good cooking!

And the victory that is good Southern cooking is celebrated every day here at the appropriately named Southern Kitchen.

Tourists and locals alike pile into this quaint small town café just off the tractor trailer-clogged I-81.

No meal at the Southern Kitchen is complete without starting off with that only-in-Virginia concoction known as peanut soup.

Granted, the beautiful Shenandoah Valley isn’t exactly known as a peanut growing region. But the family that has run the Southern Kitchen for generations somehow snagged a recipe from Virginia’s peanut-growing Southside many years ago -- and the good folks traveling I-81 have been grateful ever since.

I expected peanut soup to be thick and goopy -- like liquid peanut butter.

But instead, it is surprisingly thin and light with a delicious earthy nutty flavor counterbalanced by the sweet taste of onion. Small bits of peanut and onion provide just a touch of texture to the velvety soup.

The quintessential Southern dish is fried chicken. So there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity to sample some at the Southern Kitchen.

The thin but crispy crust locked in the juicy goodness of my moist tender dark meat. Not the greatest fried chicken I’ve ever had, but not bad.

Like most Southern sides, my candied yams and green beans were loaded with sugary sweetness.

Of course it would be an insult to the memory of Robert E. Lee to stop by a Southern restaurant in rural Virginia without sampling some good old Virginia country ham.

The Southern Kitchen’s version was topped with a ring of pineapple to cut the moderately salty cure in the ham.

All of the good Southern cooking I sampled was good, if not spectacular.

The spectacular part came when my waitress brought out the peanut butter/chocolate pie.

Oh. Yeah.

I devoured that piece like Grant took Richmond.

Two inches of sweet chocolate topped by three inches of fluffy meringue topped with a drizzle of chocolate syrup, this pie was the Scarlett O’Hara of roadside dinner pies.

Almost too beautiful to eat.

Almost.

After the first bite, it was clear this was no ordinary diner chocolate pie.

A barely visible thin layer of sweetened peanut butter between the crust and the chocolate produced an explosion of sweet peanutty flavor.

The chocolate and peanut butter went together like, well…

…chocolate and peanut butter.

Instant induction into the Suit757 Diner Pie Hall of Fame!

The Southern Kitchen and its blue ribbon pie made me proud to live in the South.

Sure. All those damn Yankees can gloat all they want about how they ground the heels of their boots into the throat of the South’s desire to determine its own destiny and live in freedom.

The states no longer have the right to self-determination.

The federal government won the right to dictate every detail of our lives from womb to tomb.

We are all Obamacare slaves to a growing federal leviathan.

But the Yankees can’t stomp out the Southern way of life -- or good Southern cooking.

They can’t make us cheer for A-Rod.

Or eat nothing but a steady diet of pot roast and boiled carrots.

There’s no doubt the South wins the war for good peanut soup, fried chicken and chocolate pie.

And thank God for that.

After all, as those teenagers from VMI understood a century and a half ago here in New Market, some things are worth fighting for.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Follow the Crowd to Callahan, Florida

Callahan Barbecue
450077 State Road 200
Callahan, FL




Generally, Suit757 is not a “follow the crowd” kind of guy.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll totally disregard such a 21st Century concept as “crowd sourcing.”

“Crowd sourcing” is one of those internet-age catch phrases that refers to the ability of large sample sizes to produce accurate opinions. That is the beauty of on-line restaurant review sites like Yelp and Urban Spoon.

From a purely statistical standpoint, it is completely legitimate. The fact is, if you sample a broad enough group of random people, you will, by definition, get an accurate read on that group’s opinion.

That’s the science behind “crowd sourcing”.

The art is in determining whether or not the opinion of that particular group is worth a damn.

That’s where Suit757 can help.

If you follow the on-line reviews, the line of customers out the door and the snake of tail lights queued up at the take out window of Callahan Barbecue, there is no doubt this is by far the most popular place to eat in this small Southern town near the Florida/Georgia state line.

But what does a motley crowd of good ol’ boys and gals dressed head-to-toe in camouflage, Florida Gators or Georgia Bulldog gear really know about world class barbecue and fried chicken?

Well, get in line with ‘em and find out.

That’s just what I did.

Even though the clock had barely budged past 11am, Callahan Barbecue was packed. As my line inched closer to the perky high school girl at the cash register, I faced a dilemma.

Barbecue or chicken?

The sign out front says “Callahan Barbecue.” But right underneath it says “The Chicken House.”

Well? Which is it?

Barbecue or chicken?

In true Suits in Strange Places spirit, I chose both. Of course.

From the smoke pouring out of the chimney attached to the back of the shopping center, to the pink smoke ring evident in my chopped pork, there was no doubt this is real smoked barbecue.

But a bit dull and dry.

Given four choices of table side sauces, I chose to go with the local favorite, a mustard-based sauce, which livened up my sandwich a bit.

But in the end, the sandwich was just some dry chunks of pork on a bun.

Despite the name over the front door, clearly, the barbecue is not the reason for the 11am crowd.

Of course if I had given the Tebow jersey-wearing crowd a bit more credence, I’d have skipped the barbecue all together and just stuck to the fried chicken. Because that’s what everyone else was eating.

My respect for the opinion of this small town crowd grew immediately after my first bite into my fried chicken leg.

Moist, tender and greasy as a Gator offensive lineman after a mid-August scrimmage, this was good fried chicken. The crust was crunchy and modestly seasoned, but tragically too easily crumbled off of the poultry skin.

My fried bird was really good. No doubt better than any other served in this rural county nestled against the Georgia state line.

But is the fried chicken up there with the very best in America? No.

Forgive me – not to take the name of Tim Tebow in vain – but I’m pretty sure most of this crowd hasn’t been to every classic fried chicken shack in America, like I have. (Although you could hit a good sampling of them on SEC road trips to Nashville, Starkville and Lexington).

That’s ultimately the limitation of “crowd sourcing”. The crowd can steer you away from places you don’t want to go and can direct you to some real good fried chicken, but the quality of the crowd’s opinion will always be limited by the quality of the crowd.

Rating: Would Wear a Free Shirt.

Southern Fried Nirvana

Arnold’s
605 8th Ave. South
Nashville, TN

I’ve written about that Middle Tennessee institution known as “the meat-and-three” on several occasions now.

But, on yet another trip through Trashville, I felt it was now time to quit fooling around and review the pinnacle of meat-and-threes – the granddaddy of them all – Arnold’s.

What makes Arnold’s the greatest?

Simple. Really, really good food.

That’s it.

Trust me, it’s not the atmosphere, service or the location.

Literally on the wrong side of the tracks (actually about 100 feet from the railroad overpass to be exact), in a run-down industrial section of south Nashville, Arnold’s is mobbed at lunchtime five days a week by perfectly respectable businessmen, cops and record company executives.

(Well, okay, you’re right, there’s nothing respectable about Nashville record company executives, but you get the idea.)

While the staff at Arnold’s is Southern-friendly as can be, the service is pretty much do-it-yourself.

First you stand in a long line that often stretches all the way to the front door. As you contemplate what slow-cooked Southern delicacies you are going to consume today, you inch along in the cafeteria line by pie (always first in a real meat-and-three), then lard-flavored vegetables and finally meat.

Kinda like how they always make you walk through the entire damn grocery store to get the beer section. This is classic meat-and-three prioritization.

Once you tell the man behind the counter which three vegetables and which meat you want, you slide your tray to the cash register, pick out your sweet tea and pay the lady at the cash register.

Then the real adventure begins. Finding a table to sit and eat all this goodness at in the tiny packed dining room.

If you’re a single suit like me (suits rarely travel in pairs), you may need to share a table. But don’t worry about awkward conversation-starters with strangers. Everybody’s too busy concentrating on appreciating the exquisite goodness in every bite of this destination-dining institution.

So why do so many Nashvillites endure this hassle? The trek to the wrong side of town, the long wait, the table hovering?

One bite of Arnold’s fried chicken and the answer becomes obvious.

The food here is so good, I’d travel from anywhere, even across country, just to get a whiff of the collard greens. Come to think of it, I DID travel across country today. So the sketchy drive from Music Row is nothing for the locals.

My chosen “three”? Green beans, turnip greens and – in a nod to the fall season – stewed apples.

The beans and greens were chock full of earthy flavor. You know from the first bite, these vegetables have never darkened the inside of an aluminum can. The fact that they weren’t loaded with spices or pig parts made them even more impressive. These vegetables were so good, they stood on their own – nothing but slow cooked goodness.

The stewed apples were excellent also. Unlike the soft apple mush you get at some Southern restaurants, these apples still retained their crisp skin and tart bite even under their sweet syrupy nectar.

I also liked the corn bread variety served up by Arnold’s. As something of a corn bread connoisseur, I consider Arnold’s to be among the best.

Both kinds.

On a small side dish, you get one traditional corn muffin and a small pancake-looking circle of corn bread known in these parts as a “flap jack.” If you are lucky enough to grab them fresh out of the kitchen, they might still retain enough warmth to melt your pat of butter.

The sweetness of the corn bread is a perfect compliment to the earthy flavors of the green beans and turnip greens.

Corn bread. Vegetables. Apples. What about the meat?

Okay, okay, I’m getting to that.

This is the best fried chicken I’ve ever had in my life!

There. I said it.

That statement might cause some issues at home, but it just can’t be denied.

My fried chicken thigh was the moistest, most tender, juicy and flavorful piece of poultry I’ve ever bit into to.

But best of all was the crust. Crunchy, packed with powerful seasonings in every nook and cranny, the crust was a party in every bite. I couldn’t stop eating it – even the crust on the gristle and bones.

The texture was perfect – not dry, not greasy – and the crust didn’t all come sliding off the meat on the first bite like some lesser elevated fried poultry.

This was fried chicken nirvana.

After that meal, you could understand how the pie might be a bit anti-climactic.

But not at Arnold’s.

My chocolate meringue certainly didn’t look like much. It wasn’t going to win any Davidson County Fair beauty contests. The meringue was sort of shriveled up, teetering to the side like it would slide right off into oblivion the moment I touched it with my fork.

But looks can be deceiving.

The chocolate was light but packed an explosion of sweetness. You can not just taste the sugar. You can feel it on your tongue.

Powerful goodness.

And a great way to cap one of the best lunches to be had in all of America.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!