Picking Fist Fights in the Bluegrass State

Hall’s on the River
1225 Athens Boonesboro Rd.
Boonesborough, KY




I plead guilty.

I’ll be the first to admit it. I bear an anti-Kentucky prejudice.

Call me a bluegrass bigot.

The quickest way to pick a fist fight in these parts is to tell a Kentuckian that his state isn’t part of the South.

I understand the sensitivity. Who wouldn’t want to be a southerner?

We have nicer weather, tastier food, better music and hotter chicks.

Oh, and we don’t care how many or what types of guns you own. In fact, the more you have, the safer we feel.

So I get it.

But here’s the problem.

Kentucky is NOT a southern state.

Kentucky didn’t secede.

Or sure Kentuckians will whine that their politicians in Frankfort were forced to remain in the union at the point of federal firearms, but still…

…the fact remains, Kentucky never officially joined the Confederacy.

Therefore, Kentucky is NOT a southern state.
That and the fact that unlike every southern state, Kentucky still forces its workers to pay union dues as a condition of employment.

So I don’t care if the Wildcats play football in the SEC. Kentucky isn’t a southern state.

Case closed.

However, as you drive up and down the rolling hills of western Clark county, past the ancient stone walls and picket fences, through horse and cattle farms and by the old leaning red barns that dot the bluegrass fields south of Lexington, even an anti-Kentucky bigot like me has to admit, this sure FEELS like the South.

Tucked down in the bottom of a hollow at the bend of the Kentucky River, you’ll find Hall’s on the River, a quintessential Kentucky culinary landmark that has been serving up the best uniquely Kentucky dishes for decades.

Down here in this part of the Commonwealth, the Southern accents are thicker, the pickup trucks are muddier and the camo trucker caps are worn more sincerely than in vast swaths of Georgia, Alabama or Tennessee.

In fact, as I pulled into Hall’s parking lot I thought for sure I could hear Kentucky kickass-country-rocker Chris Knight singing “River Road” over the ripple of the water flowing by the pilings:

So drive til you can’t drive no more
Til the road runs out and the green water rolls
Think you’ve gone as far as you can go
Well the party’s just getting started on River Road

As if to testify to Kentucky’s southern authenticity, Hall’s menu is stocked with southern fried delicacies.

Frog legs. Catfish. Chicken fried steak. Fried green tomatoes. Sweet tea.

Hall’s is a taste of Old Kentucky.

My waiter said that in the summertime, the catfish on your plate sometimes comes straight out of the river flowing under the floorboards below the restaurant.

No meal at Hall’s can begin without a sample of the restaurant’s world famous beer cheese, a uniquely Kentucky concoction of sharp cheddar cheese, beer, garlic and cayenne pepper.

Spread on Saltine crackers, Hall’s beer cheese is a cheesy, flavorful condiment with a slight kick of spice, perfect to wash down with…

…what else?

Beer.

Somewhat surprising for a rural southern-style joint straight out of a Chris Knight song, Hall’s has a pretty decent beer selection.

Of course you are not allowed to step foot in the Bluegrass State without sampling Kentucky’s famous Bourbon Barrel Ale.

Aged for months in real Kentucky bourbon barrels at a distillery in Lexington, the predominant flavors are oak and vanilla while the malt and hops fade into the background.

Bourbon Barrel Ale packs a hefty punch -- both to your blood stream and your wallet.

Usually served in a ten ounce snifter for close to ten bucks, this is sippin’ beer. But at over 8% alcohol, at least you get some bang for your ten bucks.

I don’t think this is the kind of beer Chris Knight was singing about though.

Well there’s a cinder block juke joint down by the riverside
It’s where I carry my cash from the working week
They got a waitress that will turn your head
Bring you catfish and cornbread
Beer bustin outa the keg like it’s springin a leak

No. But it could very well have been Falls City bustin out of those kegs, an old school Kentucky brew that went extinct for decades and is now making a comeback thanks to some enterprising entrepreneurs in Louisville.

This cloudy pale ale has a nice mildly hoppy flavor as I sipped it admiring the view of the river below.

Also on draft, was Old Man Winter, from one of my favorite breweries in America, Southern Tier.

This microbrewery from Lakewood, New York (Yankees are good at a few things) makes some of the most delicious stouts and hoppy ales that have ever graced my liver.

Both hoppy and malty at the same time, Southern Tier’s Old Man Winter is perhaps the single greatest reason to endure the dark days of winter.

Just to prove to my loyal readers that it is possible for Suit757 to eat fruits and vegetables (as long as they are fried), I ordered a combo of fried green tomatoes and fried banana peppers for an appetizer.

The tomatoes were firm and crisp with just a thin coat of batter and topped with honey mustard and everyone’s favorite condiment -- bacon bits.

Fried banana peppers are another one of those uniquely Kentucky novelties.

These peppers were huge!

Butterflied, battered and fried, they had nice peppery flavor without the sting from the seeds.

Somewhat inexplicably, the dipping sauce provided was a standard issue cocktail sauce. Yuck.

I managed to save room for my entrée, a southern fried combo of catfish and frog legs.

Yes, frog legs.

Meaty, juicy and tender, these appendages came from some mighty large amphibians. Kinda like really tender chicken wings.

Only more rednecky.

Cool.

 

The catfish was pretty bland and dried out, but livened up a bit with a few splashes of Frank’s hot sauce.

On the side came a “tangy slaw” -- a vinegar-based cole slaw that yielded more sweet than tang.

The green beans were prepared just the way I like my vegetables -- spiked with bacon.

The southern-rooted cuisine was matched by the ambiance.

Perched high on stilts way above the Kentucky River, Hall’s has survived numerous floods, fires and other disasters through the generations. A high water mark just below the roof line -- and at least 40 feet above the current river level -- decorates the waiting area.

A cozy fireplace and friendly staff add to the southern hospitality.

So, yeah, I have to admit, Hall’s on the River in central Kentucky has its stilts firmly planted in the South.

Too bad you have to go to that damn Yankee Bluegrass State to get there.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt

Gettin’ Some Cooter in Cross Creek

The Yearling
14531 E. County Road 325
Cross Creek, FL

Homesick but it’s alright
Lochloosa is on my mind
She’s on my mind-- “Lochloosa” by JJ Grey & Mofro

What’s on your mind when you think of Florida?

If it is cars driving on the world’s most famous beach, 45 story high-rises filled with Jewish widows from Brooklyn or a giant mouse, well, you should come down here to the shores of Lochloosa Lake.

If you do you’ll understand why songwriter JJ Grey can’t help but feeling homesick for the place.

This is the Florida not of amusement parks, golf courses and snow-fleeing Yankee refugees but rather horse farms, fresh water springs and winding country roads canopied by Spanish moss-draped live oak trees.

It’s a slow Southern landscape that has inspired poets and writers from JJ Grey to Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, who won the Pulitzer Prize in 1939 for her book “The Yearling” about a fictional local boy and his pet deer.

Almost all of Rawlings’ writings were based on the local animals, cuisine and characters who lived around the 72 acre Cross Creek orange grove she adopted as her home. From preachers to moonshiners, the Cracker culture of 20th Century North Florida was a never-ending source of inspiration for Rawlings.

“Half-wild backwoods country,” she called it.

I’m happy to say, not much has changed in Cross Creek during the 58 years since she died. You can still tour her home and orange grove.

And a stone’s throw from there, The Yearling restaurant is still serving up pretty much the same authentic Cracker cooking Rawlings loved to write about.

A ramshackle joint that has been standing here beside County Road 325 for almost six decades, where else are you going to go to get yourself some fried cooter and frog legs?

The Yearling serves it all – venison, oysters, crabs, quail, alligator. And cooter.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

Cooter is soft shell turtle, a local delicacy once abundant that’s getting harder to find around these parts. And is apparently – in the right hands, any way – quite tasty.


The Yearling dining room is patrolled by waitresses wearing bright Yearling T-shirts that proclaim “Eat Mo Cooter”, with a friendly looking tortoise on the back.

The Yearling restaurant is cluttered with memorabilia from “The Yearling” book and “The Yearling” movie. Old timey bottles and cans decorate the shotgun mounted mantle above the working fire place.

Best of all is the sound track to this rustic Southern setting – Willie Green.

Willie sits in a chair alone in the middle of the dining room picking his guitar, blowing his harmonica and singing old acoustic blues tunes. And chatting with the eclectic mix of locals and out-of-towners.

Hovering somewhere near the 80 year mark, Willie is a local blues legend. The real deal. You just know sitting there watching him and listening that Willie has been more places and seen more stuff go down than even the most traveled suit in a strange place.

Old time Southern blues performed live by a real life legend. An authentic rustic atmosphere. Shotgun on the mantle.

I know this place sounds like it has all the markings of Suit757 Hall of Famer.

Unfortunately, the food and prices hold the Yearling down a notch.

First of all, they were out of cooter.

Bummer. No cooter tonight for Suit757.

I ordered the combo plate of frog legs, soft shell crab, alligator and catfish. And fried green tomatoes for an appetizer.

While tasty and enjoyable, all five items were fried with the identical batter, lessening a bit the excitement of sampling such a wide range of creatures out of the swamp.

No one comes to The Yearling for culinary creativity.

The tomatoes were battered, fried and served with ranch dressing. Everything else was battered, fried and served with cocktail sauce. No exotic seasonings or fancy remoulade sauces here.

Simple. Familiar. And just bit monotonous.

Hey, if you want creative Southern cooking, go to Asheville. If you want authentic Cracker cuisine, come to Cross Creek.

It seemed a bit early to me for soft shell crab season, but my waitress insisted they were fresh. More batter and shell than crab meat, these soft shells weren’t going to make me forget about the Chesapeake Bay any time soon.

Big and meaty, the catfish fillet needed a few shakes of hot sauce to rise above its bland batter.

The star of the plate was the gator, tender succulent chunks of fried reptile tail meat. I always find some sick pleasure in chowing down on an animal bigger and more dangerous than me. This tasty swamp creature didn’t disappoint.

If you’ve never had Southern fried frog legs, The Yearling is a good place to try them. These appendages were pulled off some mighty large amphibians, producing a surprisingly generous portion of meat.

The texture and taste of swampy chicken wings, eating fried frog legs while listening to Willie Green’s low down Southern blues is way more fun than riding Space Mountain.

The side dishes of cole slaw, hush puppies and collard greens were pretty standard. Again, nothing to elevate them to shirt-buying accolades.

I was somewhat amused by the beer selection.

The chalk board at the bar bragged about having over a dozen beers. Except it was like The Yearling went out of its way to stock its bar with the most ubiquitous twelve beers in America. Not one unusual or unique offering.

Of course that’s not too surprising considering the setting. If you are looking for microbrews, don’t go to a traditional Southern restaurant in Florida. The Sunshine State has the worst beer variety of all 50.

So I ordered the most out-of-place beer on the list – Negra Modelo.

Yeah, the dark Mexican beer you can find at every neighborhood order-by-numbers Mexican joint. My waitress asked me to repeat it three times. Apparently Negra Modelo is not a big seller to accompany fried swamp critters.

But the best part of the meal came at the very end. Sour orange pie.

This has to be one of the ten best desserts of all time.


Made from fresh oranges picked from the groves right here in Cross Creek, this is a powerfully sweet pie.

The look and texture of an orangey key lime pie, sour orange pie is sweeter and less tart.

Drizzled with chocolate syrup and accompanied by whipped cream, this pie deserves celebrity status. Instead of being relegated to being a meal capper in some swampy obscure corner of North Florida, sour orange pie needs to be discovered by some Food Network bigwigs because every American deserves to try this once.

Man, I’m serious. Forget free health care for life. Sour orange pie for all!

Unfortunately, my sudden out-of-character generosity waned considerably once I got the bill.

After throwing a five in Willie’s tip bucket, my evening was just over $60. Sixty big ones for some fried swamp creatures, two beers, a few fried tomatoes and a slice of pie?

Normally if I’m going to dine at a place that runs sixty bucks per head, I’m going to demand an ocean view or a harem of tabletop belly dancers. Or something.


I mean, it’s not like you are paying for the property taxes or overhead at this rustic shack in the woods. And I’m pretty sure they paid off the mortgage some time over the past six decades. Even poor Willie, rumor has it, only gets paid what comes out of his tip bucket at the end of the night.

So I’m not sure what the justification is for the Ruth’s Chris pricing.

But then again, as Willie would probably agree, cooter just ain’t as easy to get as it once was.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt, But I Didn’t Have Any Money Left.