Delicious History

Tampa Bay Foodways is proud to present John T. Edge,  a disciple of Southern food, a founder and ringleader of the mighty Southern Foodways Alliance, and writer of all things sweet and greasy, speaking on the potential of food-related organizations and showing films created under the Alliance.  After the talk, join us for refreshments provided by the Taco Bus in the beautiful courtyard of the Williams/Snell Houses at USF St. Pete.

Tampa Bay Foodways presents John T. Edge

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Poynter Institute Theater   7 pm

801 3rd St. South     St Petersburg, FL 33701-4920

Reception to follow at the Snell House courtyard at 501 Second Street S.

(on the corner of Fifth Ave. S. and Second St. S.  The courtyard is just south of the home.)

The Taco Bus will provide food and refreshments

Suggested donation: $5 per person (please bring cash)

To support this event or ask questions, contact Andy Huse at soulrecreation@yahoo.com

Co-sponsored by:

The Florida Studies Graduate Program, USF St. Petersburg

The Florida Studies Center, USF Tampa Library

The Poynter Institute

The Taco Bus

I wrote this article in 2005 and ended up publishing a radically different version instead. The later version appeared in a 2006 issue of Forum magazine, published by the Florida Humanities Council. I originally wrote the piece that appears below, which chronicles the troubled final years of the Seabreeze restaurant and the hard work of Robert and Helen Richards, the last owners.

Forum wanted a nostalgic piece about the old idyllic days at the Seabreeze, and I obliged. But this piece is the one that actually supplies new information. The great old memories of the place are already featured nicely in the Seabreeze by the Bay Cookbook, which i co-wrote with Helen. She and Robert are wonderful once in a lifetime people to meet, and I treasure them as friends.

This piece attempts to conjure the feelings of loss: for the community, for Florida fishermen, for places like the Seabreeze. (rant deleted)

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The salt water of Tampa Bay laps gently against a seawall at Palmetto Beach. A rusty hulk rises from the water some thirty feet into the air. Below, a vacant building stands by the shore, with little evidence that a cultural and culinary landmark once thrived here.

Eighty years ago, Victor Licata opened the Seabreeze Restaurant on the site, blending his beloved Italian cooking with Cuban and Cracker influences. The Seabreeze culled a blue collar clientele from the workers of nearby industrial facilities. The Licata family arguably invented the deviled crab, a spicy croquette of crab and tomato sauce. Today, his restaurant is defunct, and a fishing family lost its livelihood. The price of doing business in Florida has climbed too high for most fishermen.

Robert Richards and Helen Chattin grew up in Palmetto on the outskirts of Tampa. They went out crabbing one night as a first date. Helen shone the light and held the tub for their catch. During the 1950s and 60s, young folks ate, drank, and fell in love in the Seabreeze’s crushed shell parking lot. A temple of American drive in culture, the restaurant’s good times and savory aromas drifted over the waters of the bay. If the Licatas didn’t mind offering illegal liquor, Bolita tickets, and friendly women with their food, Robert never paid much attention. “That was their business,” he said.

Robert and Helen married in 1954. He worked as a roofer and boilermaker, but saltwater flowed in his veins, and he longed to spend his working years on Tampa Bay. One day when Robert admired a tub full of live shrimp and learned they were caught in the bay, inspiration struck. “I got the bug then,” he said of his desire to become a commercial fisherman.

After a few part-time shrimping seasons, Tony and George Licata—Victor’s sons—told Robert that they needed soft shell crabs for their Seabreeze Restaurant. The men had been friends for many years, so Robert agreed to help and built a seafood market beside the restaurant. By 1970, Robert went deep into debt to build a fleet of shrimp trawlers, and the fresh seafood attracted crowds of customers.

Only a family passionate about fishing could persist in such a career. For many years, Robert and Helen adhered to the same exhausting routine. Robert shrimped all night, Helen woke before dawn to make him breakfast and take the kids to school before putting in a day at the market. When she returned home with the kids, Robert woke, ate supper and returned to the shrimp fleet. While he set out for the night, Helen put the kids to bed and rested while she could. By 1980, the couple built a strong business and brought more family into the operation.

Today, such a business is nearly impossible to start on the coast of Florida. Historically, the state’s business and political leaders valued profits over sustainability, and people like the Richards paid the price. Tampa’s sewage, dumped into the bay after being treated with a cocktail of bacteria-killing chemicals, disrupted sea life (Rich in bacteria, untreated or partially treated sewage produced bumper crops of shrimp). Planes dusted the bay with deadly poison meant to exterminate nearby red ants. A regular series of chemical spills from phosphate plants and incinerators took a deadly toll on the bay’s ecology, bleaching sea grass and seafood alike. Just last year, a phosphate company’s gypsum stack collapsed into the bay, perpetuating one of Tampa’s less savory traditions. Robert estimates the late 1980s as being a low point for the health of Tampa Bay.

The Richards maintain that overfishing was never a problem. Net bans missed the real problem entirely. Pollution rendered many fish infertile. Legislation favored tourist sports fishermen over commercial fishing. Of politicians and their new laws, Robert said, “They abolished the commercial fishing industry.” Sporting anglers blamed their lack of catch on the fishing industry, “even though the shrimp boats were not catching any of the fish that they caught,” Helen said.

New pressure came from inland. Industrial farm-raised seafood, treated with preservatives and plumping agents, filled the seafood cases of supermarkets, bypassing local fishermen and markets alike.  In 1990, a new crisis struck. George Licata announced he would sell the Seabreeze, and the Richards would lose their base of operations. The Richards feverishly searched for a new home for their fleet and market. “We looked everywhere,” Robert said, among “the dwindling space that’s available on the gulf coast.” Waterfront development occupied all the land. The remaining spaces commanded too high a price for consideration.

Once again, the Richards risked all for their chosen profession and bought the Seabreeze. They passed the market and fleet to their eldest son Jimmy. This preserved their beloved fishing business, but also made them restaurateurs, which they knew little about. George Licata promised to teach them the ropes of the Seabreeze after a vacation. He died of cancer soon after. Upon taking over the Seabreeze, the couple endured “much worse of a grind,” according to Helen. When asked if they considered selling out, Robert laughed and said, “As soon as we bought it!”

It soon became apparent that neither the restaurant nor the market could prosper on their own. At the market, young Jimmy Richards struggled, “as hard as he tried he couldn’t make a go of it,” Robert said, “even though we had five boats then.” Many prospective customers preferred the convenience of supermarket seafood, however expensive or lacking in quality. “As production declined in the seafood industry,” Robert explained, “instead of selling a lot of the products wholesale, our son would bring it to the restaurant, process it there and sell it at a profit.”

Robert and Helen welcomed the reliably fresh seafood. New laws prohibited them from buying product from fishermen without expensive permits. The Richards became wary of unscrupulous wholesalers who marketed questionable product at premium prices. “Robert had to watch it all the time,” Helen said of their wholesale purchases. Jimmy’s fresh seafood allowed the Seabreeze to maintain quality without raising prices.

The Richards family squeaked by despite mounting pressure. Helen remembered, “We had a tiger by the tail, you couldn’t turn it loose.” A legal battle over property with the Tampa Port Authority—still in litigation today—exacerbated the problems. Robert suffered a serious heart attack.

By 2002, Robert and Helen reached the end of their rope. They “couldn’t stand it another day. We weren’t staying afloat anymore.” They sold the property to International Ship Repair, searched Florida’s gulf coast for new property, but found nothing suitable. The fishing industry is so weak that they cannot find buyers for their trawlers.

Robert showed understandable frustration when he recalled that commercial fishermen could not catch mullet under a foot long. “Now that the fishing industry’s all but gone, sports fishermen are allowed to catch those little finger mullet to use for bait. You can throw a bait net and catch two or three hundred sometimes. But we weren’t allowed to catch them and sell them for food.”

Despite those hardships in the past, the Richards enjoy their lives in retirement. They might even be able to forget the disappearance of their livelihood if they could find buyers for their remaining fleet. Selling three shrimp trawlers to Florida’s vanishing fishermen is no easy task.

Without a doubt, picadillo is one of my favorite Cuban dishes.  It is easy to make, packs a lot of flavor, and is ideal for parties in a number of ways: it is relatively cheap, can be served as an entree over rice, in a sandwich on Cuban bread, in empanadas, and so on.

Like so much great food, picadillo is a simple dish with unclear origins.  One of the first times it was served was to the new emperor of Mexico in 1821, a fruity version with spicy pork served with walnut sauce inside a poblano pepper.  I’m not sure which detail was more surprising: that the dish was made with pork and walnuts or that the leader of Mexico ever held the lofty title of emperor.

Versions of the dish spread around Latin America.  It is especially popular in Mexico, Puerto Rico, and Cuba.  Today, we’re dealing with the Cuban version, which is replete with the tangy flavors of olives, capers, white vinegar, red wine, and capers.  I used the Columbia Restaurant’s recipe long before I became involved in documenting the restaurant’s history.  I tweak it to maximize my favorite flavors (the Columbia’s recipe does not call for capers) and cut down the fat content.

Once again, I bypassed the robbery taking place at a supermarket near you— Publix is a flagrant offender, regularly charging $3.99 a pound for red/yellow/orange bell peppers.  This dish requires a good deal of peppers, especially when you triple or quadruple the recipe as I usually do.

I went to the Sanwa market on Hillsborough Avenue, where prices are as low as three red peppers for one dollar.  Take that, Publix!

Start by cooking 2 pounds of ground beef until just done.  Drain pan of all but 1-2 tablespoons of grease and juices (add vegetable oil if necessary) and cook 1 cup diced onions and 2 bell peppers.  When they are soft but not brown, add 2 cups canned whole tomatoes, drained and chopped (or 6 medium fresh ones), and 2 tbl minced garlic.  I just added those ingredients in the photo above.  Stir and cook until most liquid in the pan has evaporated, about 5-10 minutes.

Now the beef comes back into play, seasoned with 6 bay leaves, 1 tbl dried oregano, 1 tsp cumin, 1 tsp black pepper, and 1 tsp red pepper flakes.  Throw all into the pot with the vegetables.  Stir and cook for about 3 minutes, long enough for the spices to wake up.

Next, we really start layering in the flavors.  Add 1/2 cup of pimiento-stuffed olives, 1 tbl white vinegar, 1/4 cup raisins, 1 small jar of capers, and 1/4 cup burgundy wine, cooking over low heat for about 15 minutes.

I usually add very little salt, as the olives and capers bring plenty of brine with them.  In fact, if i want to add salt, I just drizzle some of the olive brine in.

Simple and rustic, but full of balanced and sophisticated flavors, picadillo is a great reminder that most good food percolates from the bottom up.  This is not the stuff of fancy bistros, but is a respectable dish for company.  For a hearty variation, add some additional liquid, like tomatoes, beef broth, and wine, and simmer the picadillo with cubes yucca, potato, or mix in a little sweet potato.  If you want to go over the top, fry the potatoes.

I once ate a sandwich in Key West, in which picadillo had been encased in a large hollowed-out bun, sealed shut and dipped in egg batter, and deep fried.  I had to at least try the thing, but i didn’t expect it to be awesome.  It wasn’t.  Lame picadillo, and the deep frying  may have been novel, but it added nothing to the sandwich but a bunch of grease.  I probably had two or three bites, and ate a real dinner instead.

This article is a slightly altered version of my piece that ran in Cigar City’s July/August issue, “Go West”. The editor suggested that I write something about Boliche Boulevard, which inspired the culinary crawl documented below. I’ve also included the photos I chose to accompany the article: a friend snmapped one or two of them.

A Culinary Crawl Down Boliche Boulevard

For many years, Columbus Avenue has been fondly known as “Boliche Boulevard” because so many Latin restaurants could be found there. The namesake dish is an accurate mascot for Tampa’s Latin comfort food. A beef eye round roast stuffed with chorizo and topped with tomato based gravy, boliche is a common blue-plate special, the Cuban equivalent of meat loaf or brisket. I recently took a trip down Columbus to appraise its status as Boliche Boulevard. Beginning at its intersection with Dale Mabry, I drove east in search of good food.

You won’t find any fancy bistros on this chow trail, where Cuban cuisine is the norm. Tampa’s Cuban culinary scene remains frozen in the pre-Castro days of the 1950s. Cuban exiles have largely been cut off from developments on their mother island. Culinary change in Cuba itself has been slowed by shortages and Communism’s suppression of the restaurant scene through regulations. Tampa’s Cuban cafeterias specialize in comfort food like the “meats and threes” of the Deep South. The old style food reminds one of a time before Castro, the Cold War, and the U.S. trade embargo.

Tampa’s Cuban community celebrates its cuisine daily in humble diners and cafes on Boliche Boulevard. Three standbys uphold old-fashioned Boliche Boulevard: Arco Iris, La Teresita, and the Lincoln. Arco Iris is my current favorite, although that is subject to change. La Teresita’s counter is tough to beat, especially when dining solo, because no one there eats alone. It is also open all night on weekends, a great plus for the dancing and drinking crowd. La Teresita is the Cubano version of the greasy spoon. The Lincoln’s Spanish bean soup is among the best in town, although I’ve heard the food was better under previous ownership. With Arco Iris, which boasts the highest quality food, all three restaurants provide a comforting, predictable experience. The food in these places will rarely surprise or disappoint you. They are the old guard.

Intent on having Boliche on the boulevard, I enjoyed a tender and flavorful roast at Arco Iris.  But first, I delved into a bowl of Caldo Gallego, a Galician soup of white beans, turnip greens, and abundant pork fat.  Yes, that floating mass in the bowl is a hunk of pork fat.  And don’t forget the Cuban toast.  Enjoy!

Some Cuban favorites in Tampa: black bean soup, morro rice, Spanish bean soup, fried plantains, Cuban roast pork, and boliche.  Arco Iris does Cuban diners proud.

Further down the street, you will find Snack City, a humble little place that has one secret weapon: Alfredo Naranjo’s wonderful ice cream. His vibrant tropical flavors cater to a variety of immigrants. His coconut, mamey, and guava flavors satisfy the local Cubans. Mexicans love the strawberry. Several Thai restaurants serve Alfredo’s wonderful ginger ice cream for dessert. Colombians love the guanabana, or soursop. Indians treasure the mango, cashew/raisin, and kesar pista, a curious blend of saffron and pistachio.

Although Snack City is known especially for ice cream, it serves full meals as well. My favorite is the Cubana frita, a hamburger with ketchup, onions, and loaded with potato sticks. A burger and fries in a bun.

Colombian food, with its penchant for beef, seems right at home on Boliche Boulevard. Down the street at the intersection of Howard, Antojitos is one of many relatively new Colombian restaurants in Tampa. Antojitos serves up huge platefuls of steak, fried fish, and a fried pork chop as big as your head.

You’ll notice the hot case at the counter, brimming with all kinds of exotic-looking treats. The chorizo is juicy and larger than its dried Spanish cousin. The dark blood sausage is mild and flecked with rice. Arepas are a Colombian snacking mainstay, an unleavened corn cake often topped with farmer’s cheese. The white farmer’s cheese is thick and mild and the arepa crisp. The corn-crusted empanadas score big points, especially loaded with aji, a thin green salsa with a spicy heat but no burn. The aji seems to compliment most of the food, especially the fried and grilled items.

Cold drinks, in turn, balance aji’s insistent heat. Colombians love fruit we don’t even have names for. Fruit nectar shakes come in 15 flavors such as pineapple, mango, papaya, and tamarind. I especially like to order flavors I’ve never heard of. A curuba milkshake is a favorite, as is blended lulo and ice.

On a cruise down Columbus, you might want some lighter fare than the chicharrones (fried pork skin) down the street. If so, get thee to Grass Roots Organic Restaurant, where the food is radically different from the nearby Latin eateries, and no less earnest. This haven for vegetarian, vegan, and raw diets relies on fresh vegetables and inventive seasoning.

This is no simple beans and rice kitchen. Instead, Grass Roots seems to have thought deeply about how to make such healthy food a little fun, too. The zucchini “spaghetti” is actually a highly stylized salad. The zucchini is shredded into long, thick noodle shapes. The “alfredo” sauce is an intriguing paste derived from cashews and spices, with a nice pinch of black pepper. The “meatballs” were crumbly veggie matter that tasted more nutty than meaty. The shredded house salad sports a smooth mango dressing. The falafel and veggie burgers are tasty, satisfying, and quite healthy. Veggie drinks include a variety of natural juices, fruits and vegetables, including seaweed.

For those who cannot go without meat and dairy, there is one more essential stop on Boliche Boulevard. At 60 years old this year, Brocato’s is the oldest restaurant along our chow trail, and it wins a loyal following with massive sandwiches, stuffed potatoes, and some of the best deviled crabs in the Tampa Bay area. Just north of Columbus east of 50^th Street, hard hats, blue collars, and hungry locals crowd the dining room and counters on weekdays. Truly a Tampa institution, Brocato’s has expanded several times to accommodate its growing clientele. There is an outdoor dining room and shaded picnic tables for al fresco dining, nice alternatives to the loud, cramped, and crowded dining room during lunch rushes.

The regular sized sandwiches are too much for most, and for a couple dollars more, the large is truly massive, even for this ravenous writer. The Italian sub above is a well stuffed, well pressed feast for three. The Cuban sandwich is impressive and generously laden with meat, but not overstuffed. The roast pork sandwich is a real winner, and the meatball is hard to resist. The chicken parmesan sandwich is also massive, with a two layers of fried chicken cutlets with the sauce and cheese.

There are a variety of other great sandwiches, and a few entrees, but the devil crabs stand out among the region’s best. So many other devil crabs are greasy dough balls with questionable seafood content. Moist and not the least bit doughy, accented with tiny pieces of onions and bell peppers, you will probably find a bit of crab shell in Brocato’s croquette, and take comfort in it. They are worthy successors to the old Seabreeze’s legendary devil crabs. Don’t forget the stuffed potatoes, they are too good to be ignored, stuffed with a real picadillo, not plain ground beef. The olives are especially appreciated.

By my estimation, Boliche Boulevard still lives up to its name quite well. It reveals a Tampa in constant flux, where various ethnic roots and lifestyles vibrantly mingle and coexist. One can taste that diversity and goodwill on a culinary crawl down Columbus Avenue.

I spent a recent evening with Will and his family to celebrate his birthday. His wife rolled out the red carpet and bought some Berkshire pork, cut from the so-called black pig. Berkshire pork is an 300 year-old English breed known to be more moist and flavorful than the “other white meat” you typically find. In fact, the U.S. pork industry’s emphasis on making their product a chicken substitute has left us with pork chops that are often dry and flavorless.

Will’s hand is slapped away from the cheddar for the macaroni and cheese. Being the birthday boy may entitle you to benefit’s at the dinner table, but not in the kitchen.  Kristin is an amazing cook. Her herb and cheese paste really made the pork chops shine.  After a quick sear in a pan, the pork chops go to the cool side of the grill.

Roasted bell peppers provide more punch to the plate, and played with the pork wonderfully. In fact, the meal was so sublime that it was beyond photography. My camera’s battery– and every other camera in the house— had all wavered in the face of such a great meal. With the steaming plate and a Bershire pork chop staring me in the face, I did what came naturally. It was probably the best pork chop I’ve ever eaten, with an appealing trace of pink. Kristin served it with an lettuce wedge salad with blue cheese and crumbled bacon, the roasted peppers, and the mac and cheese.

The next day, I charged every battery I own. And I just might have to buy some of those pork chops.

I wrote this article in 2006 after attending the Angola Prison Rodeo in Louisiana with a buddy, Shane. I had foolishly hoped the southern food at the accompanying festival would be tasty. I was wrong. It is a prison, after all. While the food was lousy, at least it was not seasoned with ground glass. Besides, the rodeo was a lot of fun.

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I never thought I would go to prison, much less for a rodeo. The drive from New Orleans lasted over two hours to the infamous Louisiana State Penitentiary for the Angola Prison Rodeo. The event sells out every time it is held, filling the five thousand seat arena to capacity.

I flashed my ticket to the guard at the gate and she waved me through. A few trees dotted the open landscape of the prison grounds, and police officers on four wheelers herded us to a field for parking. After a long walk to the entrance, I turned around the moment I saw the sign. Cell Phones Prohibited. In an honest mistake, my buddy brought his cell phone from the car. We joked that he was desperate to stay in touch with friends and family while in the belly of the beast.

The atmosphere of a flea market prevailed at the convict crafts fair surrounding the arena. Those looking for sincere gifts and art will be disappointed. Those seeking surreal people watching will never want to leave, as it justifies the ten dollar admission by itself.

“Clocks!” a convict announced from behind a chain link barrier, “We got a deal on clocks today!” His fingers clawed into the chain link. He leaned against it as if he held the bars of his own cell. His young face gestured toward a long table between us on my side of the fence. The simple varnished clocks reminded me of those I made in woodshop as a boy: honest and shiny. Dozens of other convict craftsmen ogled the passersby. “Hey Beyonce!” one called to a young lady from behind the fence in a playful tone. A light rain fell from the gray sky.

Another table contained crude wood miniatures of an electric chair bearing burnt lettering which read “old Sparky.” I briefly entertained the idea of buying one for a friend, a scholar of criminal justice. I decided the joke wouldn’t last as long as the walk back to the car. To be fair, some of the wooden furniture looked handsome, and I saw several pickup trucks stacked with sold pieces.

Walking among the crowded stalls, I brushed up against what appeared to be a craft-laden table. It collapsed slowly and the bad woodwork slid into the mud. Beneath the upset plank of wood were not the legs of a table but a soggy cardboard box that succumbed to the weight of its wares. A few people gasped at the spectacle, and a trustee cried “Oh” as if he caught a roving vandal in the act. Surely there would be swift, brutal retaliation for my carelessness, the tone of his voice implied. I lived to tell the tale.

I heard the Angola Rodeo offered a wide range of junk food, fair food, and Southern food. I sought barbecue brisket and pulled pork, gumbo and gator tail, funnel cakes and greens. My friend made the mistake of asking a vendor where to find good barbecue. Our erstwhile host led us to a bored-looking group of erstwhile sandwich vendors. We waited for at least ten minutes while the supposed pit-masters ignored us. I smelled a rat and pulled on my buddy’s sleeve—time to go. But he’d already given over his money. When confronted, the sandwich slingers apologized and handed over a heavy bundle wrapped in paper. Inside, we found the nasty evil twin of the McRib. The spongy meat tucked into a bun never saw a wood fire in its short life, from food processing factory to prison. I did find a passable gumbo. It would have to do. Those poor prisoners, I thought.

The spectators crowded into the tidy arena and the show commenced. A homespun master of ceremonies presided over the activities, but not from a skybox. He announced from horseback in the arena itself, donning elaborate cowboy regalia. The rodeo band played keenly casual music from a high platform in the shade. They made the most of the shifting events, giving voice to the comedy, potential tragedy, and tentative interludes that afternoon.

The announcer played the straight guy against the rambunctious rodeo clowns. Parts daredevil, drunk idiot, carnie, and clown, they never failed to tease out chuckles from all ages of the audience. The hokey routines abounded with silly Southern drawls, lending the atmospheres and attitudes of Ringling Brothers and Hee Haw. The announcer and clowns traded one liners between the many events. The variety and brevity of each competition unfolded at a brisk pace, which provided constant entertainment.

Teams of three convicts each attempted to subdue and milk wild cows. Most of the time, the irritated cow pushed and dragged the men around. Still, a couple men showed evidence of milk on their gloves, and won.

A surreal sideshow act may have been the most entertaining event of all. A trainer unleashed fours dogs into the arena, but these were no ordinary canines. The trainer saddled them up like horses. Small monkeys dressed like cowboys rode the dogs. Together, they herded a group of sheep. Nothing else in the arena that day proved as well trained as those dogs—certainly not the convicts, most of whom seemed to be complete amateurs at riding.

One event showed just how untrained these convicts were with animals. A single convict rode across the arena on a bareback horse. On the opposite side, another convict stood atop a barrel, waiting for a ride. In an awkward dance, the riding convict maneuvered his horse beside the barrel, while other jumped off onto the horse’s back. Such hijinks may look impressive in Western films, but horses clearly do not like being jumped on by grown men. They threw many a convict in irritation. Two wannabe cowboys suffered a bouncy turn on horseback. They unwisely rode sitting straight up, so they had no leverage. Judging by how slowly they rose after being thrown from the horse, any hopes of fathering children in the future is questionable at best.

Convict poker is perhaps the most famous event at the Angola rodeo. Four convicts sat at a card table going through the motions of gambling. Officials released an angry bull into the arena, and the rodeo clowns teased the bull into charging. They dove out of the bull’s path, and it blindly charges. If a convict stands or is forcibly unseated, he forfeits the prize of five hundred dollars. It sounds terribly dangerous, but bulls—even enraged ones—are easily distracted, and often pranced around the edges of the arena and gazed at the audience.

Far more impressive and dangerous was convict pinball. The same principle applied, but convicts had to stand in fixed circles. A particularly large white bull scared three of the four convicts out of their circles, sometimes with a mere glance. In one violent sequence, a rodeo clown stood in a barrel and taunted the bull. When the beast charged, the hapless clown hunched into the barrel. With one sweep of his horns, the powerful bull threw the barrel through the air. The dazed clown emerged from the upturned barrel after the bull moved on to his next victim.

The final event is also the most desperate for the convicts. A bull with a poker chip tied between his horns entered the arena. About twenty waiting convicts tried to grab the chip and avoid the bull’s horns. This finale event is so interesting because the convicts do not simply try to avoid the bull. If they want the rodeo’s biggest prize, they must seek it out. One convict did just that and held the chip without getting gored. With this climax, the rodeo ended.

On the way to the parking lot, I glanced a simple piece at a crafts stand. A mirror framed in wood and barbed wire. I thought it terribly mundane then, but that mirror is profound now. For a few dollars, anyone could see their living portrait surrounded by tangled, uneven justice.

Aside from the regrettable food, something else aroused my sympathy for the convicts at Angola. Earlier that day, nothing could be as simple as entering the prison and being led to a parking place. Hours later, nothing could be more chaotic and frustrating as getting out of there. The friendly guards on the four wheelers were nowhere to be found on our way out. Automobile anarchy ensued. Thousands of cars lined up to get out on the single two-lane road to freedom. It took a good two hours to bust out of that joint, during which my buddy stringed up my guitar and fretted away. I improvised some lyrics as we idled by a frowning guard. In a joyous, raspy voice I sang, “It’s a good day to break out of prison!” For a moment, the guard smiled as we crept by.

We found our freedom as the sun set and a heavy rain beat down. Famished for lack of edible food in prison, we vainly searched for an open restaurant that Sunday evening in the backwoods of Louisiana. At least we had our freedom and a new song to sing. The further we traveled away from Angola, the more impressive our memories of the rodeo became. I silently hoped the bulls were already out on the pasture again. Of course, the convicts would have to wait a bit longer, with or without a prize from that day’s rodeo.

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Shane and I wrote a couple of songs inspired by the event while staying at a cushy bed and breakfast in the Marigny district of New Orleans (the city was, and is, still raw from Hurricane Katrina). You can listen to the Angola Rodeo Song here. Shane is an excellent musician, and I just write the lyrics and sing along.

In a perfect world, I would take my nephews to see the Angola Prison Rodeo. Let’s set aside any ethical objections to prisons or rodeos for a moment. As a boy, I would have been completely enthralled by the action and very scenario of the rodeo. It would have been like watching the circus. In prison.

I can’t go for very long without visiting Peter Chen’s wonderful restaurant, China Yuan. It is easily one of my all time favorites. He specializes in Cantonese cuisine, particularly Hong Kong barbecue. The only real contender in Tampa is the Yummy House down the street.

On a cold rainy night in 2002, I drove down Armenia and craved hot soup. I decided to try a restaurant that had once disappointed me– China Yuan. I didn’t know at the time that Mr. Chen had taken it over and vastly improved the food. I was immediately hooked, especially because i lived just a mile away.

I interviewed Mr. Chen several years ago and learned that his uncle had owned a Cuban Chinese restaurant in Tampa years ago. Chen’s recent expansion and renovation project makes for a very attractive restaurant with live seafood and roasted meat on display. I highly recommend it.

These days, China Yuan is a favorite of my family. We especially like sharing the food via the table’s lazy Susan. Begin with hot tea and the honey roast pork.  Shrimp wonton soup is light and abundant with fresh Chinese cabbage. The wontons hold ground shrimp and a nice punch of garlic.

We ordered the General Tso’s chicken for the kids, and found it was the best version we’d even tasted.  The Orange flavored beef was similar, but with the aroma of fried orange rind.  The walnut shrimp are my mother’s favorite, with candied nuts and a creamy glaze. Women in general seem to like this dish, including my aunt, who didn’t like Chinese food until we brought her to China Yuan.

The beef chow fun with black bean sauce is one of my new favorites. The broad noodles have a wonderful tender, chewy texture. The beef is perfectly cooked, the vegetables warm but crunchy, and the “dry” black bean sauce offers a wonderful briny kick.

Be sure to order vegetables, especially snow pea tips or Chinese cabbage. Mr. Chen grows the produce on his own farm in Plant City. The stir fried snow pea tips with garlic are the best greens in the world. I will have to get a picture another time.

For dessert, there is a nice Chinese bakery in the same strip mall. I prefer the walnut cookies and flaky almond bark. The savory buns are an ideal snack when traveling. The neighboring Din Ho market is among the best Chinese groceries in Tampa, along with Oceanic downtown, which is bigger.

I once took friends to China Yuan to celebrate some forgotten occasion, and announced I would pay the bill. This is usually a safe thing to do, as the prices there are so reasonable— most entrees average around $8-$11. We decided to order a fresh lobster. Mr. Chen brought it to our table, a huge specimen of writhing spines. When i asked how much it cost, I thought i heard him say seventeen. I was amazed, and couldn’t quite believe the price. When i got the bill, I confirmed that the beast cost $70. My friends had a laugh and I happily paid the bill— stir fried whole with vegetables and a light sauce, it was some of the best lobster I’d ever eaten.

I’m happy to get some of my history-related writing up here, as there has been so much about home cooking. My Creative Loafing article came out in their annual Food Issue in June. Click here and tell me what you think.

Most of us are familiar with spring rolls, those excellent petite eggrolls made popular in Thai and Vietnamese restaurants. Trang Viet Cuisine in Tampa boasts all four seasons on a single plate. Any lover of Asian food and finger food should try this quartet at least once. It is one of many courses I’d like to eat during my last meal.

A wise man once say: As the celestial roll angels align, four sacred sauces appear to bathe them in glory!  The fried spring roll has a very delicate, flaky crust. Inside, a pork mixture with a grated sweet potato is fulfilling, but not greasy. Fish sauce accompanies.  The summer roll (known as the fresh roll in many other Vietnamese restaurants), enfolds vermicelli noodles, shrimp, fresh herbs, and a slice of beef inside rice paper (a sheet of thin pasta). It began as a specialty of south Vietnam.

The summer roll’s association with the season seems appropriate– the rolls are light, fragrant with mint and basil, and very easy to eat with the rich peanut sauce. In the intense heat of summer, such light food is essential. Cousin Pam, this picture is for you!

For several years, Trang’s Autumn roll was my undisputed favorite. A specialty of central Vietnam, Trang proclaimed his version the Autumn roll. It reflects the season well, with a cool collection of lettuce, herbs, and pineapple surrounding a mixture of ground shrimp and pork hot off the grill. The contrast of hot and cool works well, and the sweetness of the pineapple plays so well with the grilled meat and herbal bouquet. Trang’s original vegetable sauce is a crafty creation. Fish sauce also plays well with the autumn roll.

The winter roll seems rather unassuming at first. But it is balanced carefully, and probably represents the most nutritious roll of the four. Another favorite of south Vietnam inspired Trang’s mixture of grated jicama and carrot, Chinese style sausage, ground peanuts, dried shrimp, and flecks of scrambled egg. It seems light and comforting at the same time.

The Hoisin style sauce adds the perfect amount of sweet and tangy flavors to the Winter roll. It reigns as my current favorite, as well as Trang’s.

When i asked for something spicy on the menu, he ordered his mussels to my table. I had never tried them. I’m glad I did. Good God knows they’re fine. The incredibly lively sauce of citrus, chilies, onions, fish sauce, and cinnamon basil would make a great foil for grilled chicken wings. Or grilled anything. Ask for the mussels. Ask for them spicy. Tell him Andy sent you. He’ll know what to do.

PS: “He’ll know what to do.” I know that last comment was pretty cheesy, but it made me think about my favorite date or dinner party. First, I dine at Trang’s and talk to him about creating a menu. I book the table, the wine, and the meal while i enjoy lunch. Then, you just bring your guests to the table on the appointed night and Trang’s staff go to work. No need to order or even look at the menu. Of course, you want to know what the people like to eat before hand. It is an especially nice way to introduce people to Vietnamese food or show gratitude. You’re not just taking them to dinner, you’ve chosen a luxurious 4 to 6 course meal and wine as a distinct act of love.

Don’t forget the fried bananas for dessert. More about that another time.

After a tough day, it is sometimes best to take a step back, appreciate what you have, and share the love.

I did something rather silly recently, and I almost came to regret it. I offered to prepare a gumbo feast for a work-related fund raiser: The annual University of South Florida Faculty and Staff Campaign, which solicits employees to donate part of their wages to the university. I’m still quite short of my fundraising goal.

Getting coworkers to give, many of whom earn mediocre wages, is a very hard sell, especially in these tough times. But the campaign is a very noble effort, as there are so many areas of the university to celebrate and support. In my research of USF’s history, I’ve seen so many ways it has changed peoples lives from all over the world. If USF made me respectable (which is debatable), it has worked wonders, indeed.

I like my job and the people I work with, and I thought it would be fun to share something delicious with them and lay my gourmet reputation on the line. I will be serving just 30 tomorrow. Perhaps I’ve overestimated the curiosity of librarians. I know how many of my co workers eat Lean Cuisine, Subway, and McD’s on a daily. I was amazed at how few people signed on for a fine free meal prepared lovingly by a colleague.

Of course, I should be thankful that I only have 30 to serve. If it was 50 or 60 instead, I would surely have needed two nights for cooking. and two more crock pots. and much more patience. But i counted many more of my blessings as it i set out to cook the best gumbo I’d ever made. I’m given wonderful opportunities for creativity and professional growth at work, and being able to hold such an event is more a privilege than a duty.

I set out to make Gumbo Ya Ya, a Paul Prudhomme recipe made famous by a restaurant called Mr. B’s, part of the Brennan’s empire. Gumbo Ya Ya is an old New Orleans saying that refers to the loud chaotic banter of a party, with everyone talking at once. It also means everyone talking at once, the multi ethnic and multi-lingual mish mash of that unique Creole city. I adapted the dish from Emeril Lagasse’s Every Day’s a Party: Louisiana Recipes. I change the timing a bit, and don’t mess with a whole chicken, just breasts and drumsticks.

The first two times I went to New Orleans expressly for the spectacle and debauchery of Mardi Gras. I was young, thirsty, and poor. I’m so glad I rediscovered the city in subsequent visits. I found Mr. B’s Gumbo Ya Ya to be my favorite specimen. Unlike many gumbos, it calls for a very dark roux, which requires more time and diligence. I blew my first attempt to make a roux two years ago— too much heat and an inferior stock pot. Late last year, I made a passable version but scorched it while reheating. Other times, it seemed much too oily. I resolved to master Gumbo Ya Ya a couple nights before a charity event with 30 of my co-workers. Pretty stupid, huh?

Although I was grouchy after work and just wanted to take a nap, I let all that go and started to prep. I felt better the moment I turned on the heat: I focused on good things, and the challenge I so blithely charged in to.

My ingredients: 24 cups low sodium chicken stock, 3-3.5 lbs of chicken drumsticks, 3-3.5 lbs of boneless skinless chicken breasts, 6 bay leaves, 4.5 cups vegetable oil, 4.5 cups bleached all purpose flour, approx 2 lbs. andouille sausage, 4 medium diced yellow onion, 2 diced green peppers, 2 tsp cayenne pepper, 3 cups diced celery, approx 2 lbs. smoked sausage (i prefer hot), 2 bunches diced green onions, 6 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

My first impulse was to cheat and use store bought chicken stock. Instead, I compromised and poached my chicken breasts and drum sticks in the bought chicken broth with bay leaves to richen it. I set the cooked chicken aside. I especially like this method because you don’t have to pick a whole chicken apart, as the original recipe calls for. No bones, no veins, no carving, etc. This assumes importance when you’re cooking for 30 people. The breast meat– which i chopped after poaching– is good for picky eaters, and the drumsticks please those with big appetites.

As always, making the roux would be the biggest challenge. When making a roux, you are basically frying flour in an equal amount of fat at medium heat until they incorporate and make a gravy of sorts. The darkness of the roux helps dictate the depth of the flavor. If you don’t vigilantly stir, parts of the flour begin to burn, the gumbo tastes scorched, and does not hold together. Don’t get too enthusiastic and splash around— this frying paste is like kitchen napalm.

Be prepared to adjust temperature and stir constantly. I always keep my phone close by, because talking to friends and family make the half hour of stirring go by more quickly.

See the Gumbo photos here.

I’m grateful that co workers have pitched in to make salad, desserts, gourmet crackers, and bring Cuban bread and beverages. I’m also bringing a simple shrimp with mustard remoulade to serve beside the salad or on the bread. I will deploy a squadron of 2 crock pots and 3 rice cookers.

Next year, I’m thinking of having a chili contest instead. Or a pasta throwdown or something.

If you’re interested, check out USF’s Faculty and Staff Campaign while you’re at it. There are so many worthy programs for health, academics, athletics, research and especially the libraries. They are the engines of intellectual industry. and they have a lot of cool stuff.

http://usfweb2.usf.edu/fscc/CampaignInformation.asp