Nothing Boring About A Cajun Shrimp Burger

Mason’s Grill
13556 Jefferson Hwy.
Baton Rouge, LA





Mason’s Grill is the embodiment of everything I love about the state of Louisiana -- the best state in America for eating.

End of discussion.

Even at an ordinary-looking non-descript place on the outskirts of Baton Rouge like Mason’s you can find something extraordinary to light up your taste buds.

I mean, this isn’t the kind of place I normally seek out.

There is nothing historic or quaint about it. It’s not some Travel Channel dining landmark.

Mason’s has no divey charm or scary clientele.

It’s just a boring looking restaurant with a big parking lot filled with pickups sitting by the side of the road patronized by local families out for a good meal.

But looks can be deceiving -- especially in the Bayou State where “a good meal” is almost never boring.

There is nothing boring about chowing down on giant dangerous reptiles -- especially the way Mason’s prepares alligator.

While I enjoy my oversized lizards fried as much as any red blooded heterosexual American male, you have to try your gator blackened just once in your life.

This alligator was generously seasoned with Cajun spices, perfect with the tangy New Orleans style remoulade dipping sauce.

Tender, juicy and packing a nice kick, Mason’s blackened gator was like a Mardi Gras parade in every bite.

So does gator taste like chicken?

Well, yeah. Kind of.

Like a swampy, greasy, delicious chicken.

While the gator is top notch, the real reason to come to Mason’s is for their famous Cajun Shrimp Burger.

This burger is epic!

A half pound of fresh ground beef spiked with jalapeno peppers is then sautéed in more jalapenos and Cajun spices.

But I’m pretty sure that is not even half of this burger’s caloric overload.

The burger is topped by a molten lava concoction of gooey Monterey Jack cheese and shrimp.

Yes. Shrimp.

On a burger.

How awesome is that?

Pretty damn awesome as a matter of fact.

And these aren’t those lame little cocktail shrimp I was expecting.

We’re talking big plump local Gulf Coast shrimp. The real deal.

The cheese/shrimp topping was thicker than the half pound burger -- and oozed appetizingly with every delicious bite.

Fortunately, Mason’s uses an industrial-sized sourdough bun fresh made from a bakery in Houston to keep it all together.

Too often these epic sized burger/condiment combinations transform into an epic failure because the buns just can’t stand up to the meat/cheese/grease assault.

But not here. Mason’s has mastered the art of burger structural integrity.

Cooked exactly the way I asked for it -- a nice medium pink with plenty of juices flowing, the burger featured a harmonious yin and yang of sweet and spicy.

The jalapenos in the beef let their presence be known, but never turned my mouth into an inferno of spice.

The jack cheese and shrimp lended a perfect sweet balance to the Cajun spices.

Definitely a Suit757 burger Hall of Famer. For sure.

Along with a side of first rate onion rings, I had trouble finishing my meal. And that’s saying something.

My bartender said most folks don’t finish the burger. And most folks don’t start with a whole appetizer of gator either.

But then again most folks ain’t Suit757.

I’m a professional after all.

The beer selection at Mason’s was decent -- for Louisiana -- a state with among the least adventurous tastes in craft beer.

Proving that Louisianans are all about the food -- not the drink, the local Canebrake from Parrish Brewing Company in Lafayette was just a bland boring wheat beer with a sweet aftertaste.

Canebrake just adds further proof to my theory that wheat beers are brewed for people who don’t actually like the taste of beer.

So much for trying new local beer I’ve never had before.

So I switched to the familiar.

Mason’s sports a nice lineup of Abita beers from the brewery down the road in Abita Springs.

I opted for my favorite Abita -- Turbo Dog.

First of all, it’s fun just telling the bar tender, “I’ll take a Turbo Dog.”

The dark heavy ale is a perfect foil to the Cajun spiced delicacies you can find on just about any menu in this state.

Even at a mundane looking place like Mason’s.

Sure, it would make for a more entertaining story if I could tell you I risked my life walking into a smoky biker bar with heads turning, beady eyes glaring, fingers on switch blades twitching as soon as I swung upon the saloon doors.

But you know what? I’ve been to enough of those places.

Sometimes it’s nice to nice to know a suit doesn’t have to risk his life to get an epic burger.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Shacking Up in the Big Easy

Rivershack Tavern
3449 River Rd.
Jefferson, LA





Everybody loves The Big Easy.

Whether it was a the Sugar Bowl, your buddy’s bachelor party or that all-important “business” conference that just happened to be held one block from Bourbon Street, you’ve been here, stumbled through the grimy streets of the French Quarter and bought the House of Blues t-shirt.

Everybody comes to New Orleans. Everybody has a good time. And everybody leaves with a Goody’s Headache Powder Super Value Pack hangover.

Lord only knows, Suit757 knows the back alleys of the Vieux Carre Better than my home town.

So I always get excited when New Orleans makes an appearance on the old Suit757 itinerary.

Even if I’m only on the ground for four hours -- like today.

That’s just long enough to hop in my rental car, conduct my meeting and go find something to eat before heading back to submit to the TSA crotch-gropers at MSY.

As you might imagine, in one of the world’s great eating cities, I’ve been to all the touristy places like Acme, Felix and Crescent City Brewhouse.

I’ve been to all the popular places like Mother’s, Tujague’s and Galatoire’s.

More times than I can count.

Been there. Done that. Bought the shirt.

What gets me excited now is finding those hidden joints in the seedy neighborhoods outside the French Quarter where the locals go to for good food and beer.

Think about that for a minute.

New Orleans is one of the great culinary destinations on earth. The folks who actually live in this city know good food when they taste it.

I’ll happily defer to their judgment on which local joints are serving up the best authentic Louisiana fare.

The Rivershack Tavern hard by the Mississippi River levy somewhere between downtown and the airport is just such a place.

This is the type of place where if you contribute an old fashioned tacky ashtray to the décor, the bar tender will give you a free drink.

The bar stool I was sitting on was supported by the legs of a golfer.

The bar stool next to me featured the legs of a hooker -- complete with her skirt down at her ankles.

The Rivershack gives real meaning to the slogan, “Tacky, yet unrefined.”

A 100 year old ramshackle dive patronized by bikers, blue collar guys stopping by after their shifts and old guys from the neighborhood hiding out from the misses, you won’t find too many tourists in here.

Or Suits for that matter.

It’s the type of place where everybody knows everybody. Except me, of course.

With such a loyal clientele of drinkers, Rivershack Tavern would probably do good business even if it didn’t have some high-falutin’ chef whipping up creative Louisiana cuisine in the kitchen.

But this is New Orleans, where top notch food is revered as much as Drew Brees -- even in a funky blue collar dive like this.

I kicked off my only meal of the day (so don’t judge my 3pm gluttony) with an appetizer of “Buffalo Shrimp”, a huge plate of generous sized gulf shrimp lightly fried and drenched in a spicy wing sauce.

My entrée of red beans and rice arrived simultaneously.

This classic New Orleans dish is a special reserved for Mondays only.

No Monday morning blues here. I felt damn lucky to snag this quintessential staple of Creole blue collar cooking.

The beans were rich with flavor and creole seasoning and mixed with fall apart braised meat from some sort of tender, tasty animal. I’m guessing pig or rabbit.

Best of all, the dish was topped with a giant link of smoky sausage charred just right with tell-tale grill marks.

At $8.95 this meal was a bargain!

Maybe the food here is just a loss leader to tempt folks into the place for drinking.

Because at $5-$7 per beer, the Rivershack wasn’t exactly giving the alcohol away.

Ever since my visit early this year to the Czech Republic, I’ve been a fanatical advocate for fresh-from-the-tap, unpasteurized Pilsner Urquel, from the Czech city of Pilsen -- the very first pilsner ever invented.

The difference between the skunky, pasteurized Pilsner Urquel crap in the green bottle and Pilsner Urquel on tap is like the difference between Hilary Clinton and Kate Upton in bikinis.

They wear the same label, but the impact on the senses couldn’t be more different.

Following my obligatory unpasteurized draft of Pilsner, I moved on to the local brews.

Nola’s Hopitoulas offered a rare taste of hops here in the bayou where beers tend to be more subdued.

I capped off the afternoon with a bottle of Abita Turbodog, a thick, rich, dark, manly brew that would scare the hell out of your “Bud Light Lime Only” girlfriend.

As I knocked back the last few drops from my Turbodog and paid my tab, I felt proud of myself for venturing out of the tourist comfort zone.

Sure, you can get yourself a hell of a New Orleans po-boy at Mother’s or Acme downtown, but the Rivershack proves sometimes the best food is served to those who know good food best -- the folks who actually live here.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Road Tripping One Handed Down Highway 61

Highway 61 Food Mart
1523 Highway 61
Port Hudson, Louisiana




“Lord, that 61 Highway
It’s the longest road I know”

--“Mississippi” Fred McDowell


One of the coolest things about being a Suit in Strange Places is actually visiting the very places ingrained in the DNA of America.

One of the worst things about being a Suit in Strange Places is having no more than five minutes in a 24 hour itinerary to grab a bag of boiled peanuts or pork rinds at a roadside gas station to serve as breakfast, lunch AND dinner off the rental car dash board.

I contemplated this good news/bad news aspect of my traveling life as I barreled down the famed Highway 61 somewhere near the Mississippi/Louisiana border, stomach growling.

As it turns out, if you are hungry and looking for one-handed snack food, the southern end of Highway 61 isn’t a bad place to be.

Especially if you have the appropriate sound track.

There are enough variations of songs about Highway 61 to make up an entire playlist on my I-Pod.

From Bob Dylan’s home town near the Canadian border, to the Mississippi crossroads where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil, and all the way “down to the Gulf of Mexico”, the famous “Blues Highway” has symbolized the aspirational nature of Americans for decades.

This was the road through the cotton fields of the Delta to the bright lights of Memphis, St. Louis, St. Paul and beyond traveled by so many of the pioneers of American music and culture.

And here I am, a white guy in a suit, driving a silver Nissan Cube rental traveling this legendary road on a Wednesday afternoon with the window rolled down listening to my various versions of “Highway 61” thanks to the magic of Apple and auxiliary cords.

Life is good.

Except for the fact that I have no time to stop to eat today.

I have exactly four hours to drive 90 miles up Highway 61 from Baton Rouge, Louisiana to Natchez, Mississippi, conduct a one hour meeting and then get back in the Cube and drive 90 miles back to catch a flight to Atlanta. And then connect to another flight to Detroit.

I believe God invented boudin for days just like this one.

Boudin is as much a part of Louisiana’s famous cuisine as jambalaya and etouffee. But you won’t find boudin on too many fancy French Quarter menus.

That’s because boudin isn’t restaurant food. It’s snack food – roadside gas station food.

Truckers, crawfish farmers and alligator wrestling good ol’ boys grab a link or two from truck stops, gas stations and meat markets across Louisiana whenever they get a hankerin’.

A hankerin’ for what, exactly?

I’m glad you asked.

Boudin is chopped up pig parts mixed with rice and Cajun spices served hot in a natural pig intestine.

Cajun sausage.

The texture can be a bit off-putting for boudin virgins.

This isn’t your momma’s dense South Georgia smoked sausage.

Boudin is soft and squooshy. Like a Taco Bell bean burrito.

But once you get past your squeamishness after that initial tooth puncturing of the pig intestine, you quickly realize that all those squooshy pork and rice innards pack a wonderful flavor wallop.

No trip to Louisiana, no matter how brief, is complete without a hot link of boudin.

As I zoomed down the Blues Highway with Moreland & Arbuckle’s’ version of “61 Highway” blasting out my humiliating form of transportation, I caught the sign advertising “Boudin” out of the corner of my eye in front of a road side gas station next to the railroad tracks somewhere just south of St. Francisville.

Swerving my Cube on two wheels across two lanes of on-coming traffic, I knew I had five minutes to top off my tank and grab a fresh link before facing the TSA liberty-robbing crotch gropers at the Baton Rouge Airport.

I quickly discovered that other than the display of Cajun sausages by the cash register, Highway 61 Food Mart is like any other gas station in America. Stocked with beer, soft drinks and candy bars.

And owned and operated by some dude from India.

So much for my authentic Highway 61 Cajun experience.

Oh well. I can at least imagine that my link of boudin was lovingly crafted by some Cajun lady off in some nearby bayou. I’m pretty sure Singh didn’t make it himself. At least I hope not.

The great thing about boudin is you can eat it with one hand.

While you pump gas with the other. And steer your Cube back onto Highway 61 South.

It hit the spot.

Hot and spicy, this mobile Cajun meat snack was the highlight of my brief journey down the Blues Highway.

Well, that and the fact that I can say I’ve driven this storied piece of Americana.

To me, Highway 61 isn’t just a road. Or a way to get from Natchez to the TSA line at the Baton Rouge Airport in under 90 minutes.

Highway 61 represents a way out. Or a way up. Or a way home.

And a different time in America. Before interstates, government crotch gropings and Japanese vehicles that look like shoe boxes on wheels.

Before tax-payer funded sex changes. Before men married men. Before half of all Americans lived off the productivity of the other half.

As I tossed my grease sopped napkin and cellophane over my shoulder onto the Cube’s back seat, and cranked up the sorrowful sounds of Mississippi Fred McDowell singing about how many “61 Highway” miles separate him from his woman back home in Mississippi, I couldn’t help but feel old Fred’s pain.

“The longest road” is always the road back to where we need to be.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Turning A Blind Eye To Felicitous Fun

The Blind Tiger
120 Texas Street
Shreveport, LA

Shreveport has a split personality.

Sure, it is in Louisiana. But it has more in common with its big brother Texas, just a stone’s throw away.

Cowboy hats and crawfish. That’s Shreveport.

Of course a big reason for the Texas flavor is the flood of fun-lovin’ Texans who crowd into the casinos that line the Red River every weekend.

But as I like to say, fun is in the eye of the beer holder.

For some reason I’ll never understand, these otherwise sensible Texans will drive hundreds of miles to take pleasure in throwing away their hard-earned money.

Look, I’ll be the first to state that if you earned it, you should be able to blow it however you want. But Suit757 being a cheap bastard, losing money has never been on my top ten list.

A few of ‘em may even save enough pennies to sample some “authentic” Louisiana cooking. Never mind that most authentic Louisiana cooking comes from the Cajun prairies and bayous hundreds of miles south of here.

But for many of these weekend warrior Texans, Shreveport is the only taste of Louisiana they are ever going to get.

And the Blind Tiger – situated appropriately enough on Texas Street -- is the place to go to get it. Much preferable to the casino buffets of warmed over crawfish.

The Blind Tiger does Louisiana proud, from meat pies to gumbo to catfish to crawfish etouffee to Abita Beer selection. You can’t go wrong.

Why is it that the most ubiquitous beers are the most bland and boring?

See my Suit757 theory on America’s love affair with mediocrity!

In almost every bar and restaurant in Louisiana, you can order yourself an Abita Amber, a notch above Bud, but well within the bland and boring category.

Fortunately, The Blind Tiger has ALL the offerings from Louisiana’s most famous brewery including black-as-used-motor-oil Turbodog and the relatively recently introduced Jockamo, a hoppy India Pale Ale.

Jockamo was something of a departure for the brewery in Abita Springs. Unlike most brewers, Abita has traditionally shied away from boxing themselves into conventional beer styles.

Turbodog isn’t a bock. Or a porter. Or a stout.

It’s just…Turbodog.

But apparently yielding to demands of beer snobs and hopheads, the boys down in Abita Springs decided they needed a traditional IPA. I’m happy to report Jockamo is a very tasty version of the highly hopped brew – and an ideal compliment to good food.

Like my appetizer of traditional Louisiana meat pies. A mixture of finely mashed beef, pork and crawfish tucked into a two-bite-sized pastry, The Blind Tiger’s version of this North Louisiana snack was spot on.

But the meat pies were just a warm up for my “Catfish Grand Bayou”, two perfectly fried and seasoned fillets smothered in crawfish etouffee.

The texture was amazing. Despite being buried under all that messy goodness of crawfish, butter and cream, the fried catfish never lost its crunch.

Each forkful offered up flaky fish, crunchy spiced batter and decadent crawfish etouffee.

It was like Mardi Gras in my mouth!

The side dishes of fried corn and jambalaya didn’t stand a chance of competing with the center of the plate, but they put up a valiant effort.

Did he say FRIED corn?

Oh, yeah.

Picture this. A half ear of corn, battered, deep fried and sprinkled with Cajun seasoning.

I bet even Donald Trump’s toupee would taste good given that kind of treatment.

Located on the most prominent corner of downtown Shreveport in a building dating back to 1855, The Blind Tiger is just a fun, atmospheric place to hang out. Infinitely cooler than the cheesy casinos a block or two away.

Coolest of all is The Blind Tiger logo on the sign out front and plastered on T-shirts in 15 different colors, featuring a cool cat wearing Ray Charles style glasses and belting out tunes on an old piano, frosty beer within arm’s reach.

Turns out, during prohibition, joints like this would put a stuffed tiger in the window signaling to the -- shall we say -- more “fun-loving” of the local populous that there was an upstairs room with drinking, gambling and felicitous companionship to be had.

Seems like liberals and nanny-state do-gooders have been trying to spoil our fun for centuries. But you could always count on the tiger in the window to “turn a blind eye” to the activities upstairs.

Oh, yeah. I just HAD to add one of those cool Blind Tiger T-shirts (navy blue XL, please) to my vast Suit757 collection.

My fried corn and Catfish Grand Bayou may only be figments of my dreams, but my shirt will serve as a reminder that there are still parts of this great country where fun is still legal.

Just look for the blind tiger.

Rating: Like I Said…Bought the Shirt!

Shrimp Busters: Better Than Meth

Herby K’s

1833 Pierre Ave.

Shreveport, LA

I know what you are thinking.

You are thinking, “Suit757, among all the nooks and crannies of this great country of ours, how do you find so many cool places to eat and drink?”

Good question, my dear reader. Good question.

Let me tell you, I’ve learned a few things along the back roads and dark alleys of America.

First, “progress,” “urban renewal,” “gentrification,” whatever you want to call it, is overrated.

Second, if you find a crowded parking lot in a really, really bad part of town, you might have stumbled upon a cool place to eat and drink.

That, or a meth lab. Could be either one.

But, you know, broken bottles, pot holes and an element of danger always adds a bit of fun to this whole Suit in Strange Places gig.

It’s like being in Detroit.

Without actually having to BE in Detroit.

If you sit in the weed-filled, gravel parking lot between Herby K’s and the abandoned dilapidated brick building next door for a minute or two, you’ll notice that the folks who crowd into this place under the I-20 overpass at lunch time don’t come back out five minutes later.

OK. Cool.

Not a meth lab. It’s safe to go in.

What Herby K’s has been serving here since 1936, in the part of town “progress” bypassed, is even more addictive.

Their world famous “Shrimp Busters”.

Four or five fresh-off-the-shrimp-boat butterflied shrimp that look like they’ve been run over by a steam roller served on buttered and toasted French bread with a wildly tasty red “shrimp buster” sauce on the side.

Once flattened, the shrimp are as wide as the loaf of French bread and almost thin enough to see through. Then they are breaded and fried to perfection, creating an oddly perfect ratio of grease to seafood.

Addictively crispy and delicious, they remind me of shrimp potato chips.

Some regulars attempt to eat as served, all stacked on top of each other with French bread on the bottom as the base for an open face sandwich.

Most folks just eat the crispy shrimp one at a time, dipping them in the sauce before each bite.

Oh, that sauce. I’m still dreaming about it.

Sweet, but zesty, it pours thin like a hot sauce and saturates the fried breading of each shrimp.

No wonder self-respecting Shreveporters have been venturing to this forgotten side of town for 75 years.

But you know what? This isn’t my first rodeo.

On this particular visit to Herby K’s, I had to try something different.

An oyster loaf with sides of peppery cole slaw and perhaps the world’s most perfect onion rings.

Oyster loafs are famous all over the great state of Louisiana.

Herby K’s version starts with an entire loaf of freshly baked French bread. They split it length-wise, carve out the soft middle from the bottom half and fill it with fresh-from-the-fryer crispy fried oysters, a drizzle of that famous “shrimp buster” sauce and a few pickles.

The soft bread, the crunch of the oysters and the flavor wallop of the sauce will leave you in state of Cajun nirvana.

And the soft French bread remainder they carved out? What happens to that? Fed to the neighborhood stray dogs?

Heck, no!

They toast it up and butter it and serve on the side.

Nice touch!

I also had to try Herby K’s appetizer of “marinated crab claws”, a popular starter in Shreveport.

Each little blue crab claw was covered in a dark green garlicky pesto sauce with a side of buttered garlic French bread. Sure, the pesto overwhelms the delicate flavor of the crab a bit, but I can see why it is such a popular dish here in this part of the country.

While no one ventures to Herby K’s just to drink, the bar offers up plenty of beer to wash down the good seafood.

Ice covered fish bowls of draft beer are a perfect accompaniment to shrimp busters and oyster loafs. The enormous and heavy bowls of suds are impressive to look at, but my suspicions about the glass-to-beer ratio were confirmed when I ran out of beer before I ran out of lunch.

Hey, it’s 95 degrees out and that shrimp buster sauce has a kick to it. I was thirsty, okay?

So I ventured onto the bottled beer selection and against my better judgment ordered up the summer seasonal from Abita -- Louisiana’s favorite microbrewery. Abita Satsuma Harvest Wit is a wheat beer seasoned with real Louisiana-grown Satsuma oranges.

Sweet and sour with a funky aftertaste, I’d toss it in a pile with all those other fruit-laden wheat beers.

The only purpose I can see for these kinds of beer is to store a spare sixer in the back of the fridge for those lame chicks who come over and “don’t like beer.” They’ll love it.

Meanwhile, give me a Turbodog to expunge that nasty aftertaste.

Quick.

Alas, Herby K doesn’t have Turbodog.

Like I said, eating takes precedence over drinking at Herby K’s. Next time I’ll just order up another frosty fish bowl filled with Miller Lite.

Shrimp busters. Oyster loafs. And ice-encrusted bowls of beer.

Yeah. I’ll dodge the pot holes, broken glass and stray dogs for THAT any time of day.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!