For some reason, whenever I get a chance to drop a line in the water, my first thought is always just how damn long it’s been since the last time I baited a hook. We didn’t tear it up, we never do in Mark’s pond, but jerking perch beats almost any other pastime I can think of. He’s caught a few twelve inch bass in the year and a half he’s had the place, and I’ve caught a few almost hand-sized bream once or twice when I’ve been out there, but mostly it’s just trying to be quick enough to snag the little one’s that are trying to steal your cricket or run off with your worm.
Mark added four new chickens to the flock this weekend and we watched as the new pecking order was established. Literally. It is good to have that reminder now and again that we are, to a certain extent, pre-programmed just like the chickens. All behavior is not learned behavior, and the genetic influence is just that, an influence. Otherwise all the chickens would act like little robots but they don’t. You don’t have to actively anthropormorphise to see that while they don’t have a lot of personality, what they do have is unique to the individual animal.
It is good to sit in the sun with a fishing pole in your hand and ask yourself all the childlike questions you can think of. Why do trees look like that? Why do trees grow up and bushes grow out? Why aren’t chickens as big as horses or cows? We’ve never pulled enough or big enough fish out of there to cook and eat so we always end up throwing them back or moving them from the front pond to the back pond on the property. Mark agreed with my not quite assessment of La Salvadorena and wanted me to try a Honduran place nearby in Covington. We were headed that way anyway to have a beer or two at the Chimes so we stopped in to check them out.
Mark got the tacos. I got the pork chop and eggs and we shared the sweet corn pork tamales which were really different. First time I’ve ever had tamales with bones in them. The pork (knuckles maybe?) was slow cooked and tender but unsauced and the sweet corn masa was very, very sweet. The pork chop was grilled perfectly which is hard to pull off with those thin cut chops. The crema was a nice touch on the plate, along with the queso fresca and the beans which were rich and delightful. Our server almost panicked when she saw that the guy who took our order hadn’t set out silverware and I was pulling the pork chop apart with my fingers because I just couldn’t wait to dig in. And the tortilla that came with the chop and eggs was not only house made but made fresh which you could tell because of the elasticity and fluffiness that a cooled and reheated tortilla just doesn’t have. So that is one of the things that made Baleadas better than the Salvadoran place, but it really was a lot of small things, the je ne sais quois that separates one joint from the next. And there really isn’t any knowing why exactly. The tortilla is better here than there yes, but why doesn’t the other place do it that way as well? Why are the beans thicker and richer here than they are there? And it is really only the borderline places that make you think this way. Why aren’t they just that little bit better that would let you praise them and recommend them to all your friends? I really don’t know. Fatigue, self-satisfaction, self delusion, good enough syndrome. I don’t believe there are any easy answers. That night we boiled shrimp from Rouse’s and paired them with some fresh prepped ravioli and also picked up some Grands biscuits and little smokies so I could throw together pigs in blankets for breakfast the next morning. I guess you’ve picked up on the boys weekend aspect of this visit. Mark’s wife Paige and the kids left soon after I got out there to go to BR to spend the night with grandma so we were on our on. Great visit and always nice to get the hell out of Dodge. I love BR, but a little distance every once in a while does indeed make the heart grow fonder. On my way out of town we stopped off at the Abita Springs Farmers Market which they hold every Sunday at noon. Farmer’s market is kind of a misnomer. There was one produce table and a lot of tye-dyed onesies, and homeopathic hand cream, and New Orleans style tamales, and pulled pork sandwiches and nachos, and falafels, and folk art, and one guy that made jewelry from rattlesnake vertebrae and fox and squirrel phalanges. He also made deer antler knives with knapped flint blades so I got one of those, And I was able to score a jar of fig preserves to totally round out the trip.
