Birmingham: Birming Down the House

Another strange city. Another city full of strangers.

It was Monday night in Birmingham, and once again we had no idea what to do, meaning once again we needed to chat it up with a local and learn how we could best utilize our one night in Birmingham.



We stayed in an industrial park, so cruising the sidewalks for answers would yield no results. Instead, we asked the hotel clerk how to find "Five Points South," a location recommended by Trevor. "Five Points South" is a small but bustling little college town located just outside Downtown Birmingham on the University of Alabama-Birmingham's campus. After she gave us (completely wrong) directions to get there, we put on our spats and jumped in the car.

The first recommendation, Highlands, was an expensive, very nice-looking Italian restaurant. It was also closed (at 8:00pm no less). Again, we had to patronize some patrons in order to get the next best bet. We dodged a couple of homeless beggars soliciting us for change, and settled on 26, an upscale seafood/Italian/sushi/couldn't-really-decide-what-it-was joint with dim lighting. Perfect.



We were sat by our second Trey of the trip. We were surrounded by an older crowd, all of whom likely went to college for at least 8 years. They stared in bewilderment as we sat down and scanned the menu for anything that fit in our limited price range. Trey had dreadlocks climbing down his back and had much to offer for our tour of Birmingham. Friendly dude.

Marc ordered his usual "filthy" martini - a strong combination of what basically amounts to vodka and olive juice. The coup de gras on these beverages was the addition of two hand-stuffed blue cheese olives pierced by a long toothpick. I'm not usually a martini drinker, but this order sounded too good to pass up.



I started with a goat cheese/pomodoro dip that turned out to be not at all what I expected. That didn't bother me though, because anything with goat cheese is OK in my book. For dinner, Marc ordered osso bucco aka slow-roasted, bone-in meat. The meat was absurdly tender, and Marc verified this by effortlessly removing the bone. No seasoning was necessary for this roast, a true sign of a well-cooked tail. Marc validated his reduction using a "back-of-the-spoon" technique that only seasoned foodies will understand. My culinary reviewing skills amount to a dish being classified as either "good" or "not that good but I'll eat it anyway."

I ordered seafood pasta in a white cream sauce. Enormous shrimp tails swam amongst tender scallops, and I downed these first before even considering the homemade pasta twirling around the plate. We finished up our meals, played "26" questions with Trey as to the best local watering hole, dropped a few thousand dollars for dinner, and peaced.

We found our way to a sports bar just up the street. We downed a few pitchers. We shot pool. We listened to a bar quiz in progress (Cate Blanchett is the only actress to win an Oscar for playing a previous Oscar winner [Katherine Hepburn]). We stared across the bar at a local high-stakes poker game in progress. In summary, we had a hell of a night. We headed home.

The following passage will be told from the perspective of a case of Miller-Lite that was sitting in our fridge and had accompanied us throughout most of the journey.

"It's dark in here, and I'm freezing. The front door just opened, and I can hear talking. A flash of light, and suddenly I can feel my contents getting lighter. Darkness, once again. I hear laughing. The TV clicks on and from my cold prison I can hear the faint sound of a movie. Suddenly, the voices rise. I hear arguing. Something about where to post the link to the blog. One side wants to drive people to the site by posting negative comments on Clapton videos. The other thinks that's a stupid idea and he is right. It seems like this argument is going nowhere. The door clicks again. One (or both) leave. I wait in silence. The front door opens again. Another flash of light. No more arguing."



OK maybe I got a little caught up in the whole traffic thing. After all, our names are on this site, and there will be a time to play those silly internet games, just not for this blog. Sometimes, the less you know about the internet, the better. We squashed our differences and fell asleep watching The Professional. Tomorrow would bring a new adventure, and a new argument...the kind that can only take place between friends.

This is for Matilda,

CPS

Leg 3.5 to 4: Biloxi to Birmingham aka Barbeque and Huge Slot Machines

We took one final look at the ocean and headed - for the first time in 4 days - to the North. A small connecting road put us back on the interstate and led us to our sixth state of the trip – Alabama. The ride would assuredly be filled with Forrest Gump quotes.




No more than 20 minutes in to our ride and before we even reached Alabama, Captain Marc exclaimed with a raucous exclamation, “NO WAY! IT CAN’T BE.” Half asleep and still half drunk from such a good breakfast, I inquired as to the source of his jubilation. A roadside sign advertised “The Shed BBQ.” For those who do not watch The Travel Channel, “The Shed BBQ” was featured as a backwoods rest stop with live music and damn good barbeque. Built entirely out of spare parts by a redheaded, bearded young adult, you might mistake it for a shanty were it not for the captivating smell of smoky, slow-roasted meat.



The building looks somewhat like the raft built by Tom Hanks in Cast Away. Tin panels covered the roof, and spare two-by-fours made up the foundation. The sign displaying the upcoming bands was donated from a (likely) local middle school. Despite it’s ragtag design, “The Shed BBQ” is an amazing estate. There are several bars, a live music stage, an outdoor fire pit, and enough seats to house three football teams. I’ve never regretted eating breakfast more. I would have loved nothing more than to eat there, but I was so full that it would have not ended well; instead, we chatted with the owner and several of the servers, all of whom were glad to have an outsider but disappointed not to have a customer.





To check out any of the six "The Shed BBQ" locations, visit www.theshedbbq.com, or follow "The Shed BBQ - A Family Food Drinkery" on Facebook. We visited the original location in Gulfport, but there may be one by you...check it out and let us know if the meat tastes as good as it smells.

After a quick refuel across the street, we hopped back on the interstate and continued on our way. We eventually made it to Alabama and hopped off at a rest stop to snap a few pictures. The first sign we saw welcomed us to Alabama. The second sign we saw was this:




After passing through miles and miles without seeing so much as a McDonald’s, we happened upon an Indian Casino/Resort called “Wind Creek.” We were somewhat bored and hadn’t stopped in like 13 minutes, so we again pulled over and decided to check it out.



My eyes grew wide as we approached the oasis of fun. Marc kept a close eye on me, fearing I would disappear for four hours and return with a broken kneecap and no clothes. Unfortunately (see also: fortunately), there were no table games at this particular casino, so I instead had to satisfy my thirst for fun (see also: gambling problem) with slots. I sat down amongst the elder, blank-faced gamblers and watched as a blinking colossus sucked down my dollar bill with no intention of returning it. I chose literally the largest slot machine in the casino, hit the button, and watched as BAR-BAR-BAR came up. I now had five dollars. The woman next to me glared in jealousy as I cashed out and walked to the next row. Once again, I threw a dollar in, hit a line, and realized a 1200% return in just two minutes. Suck it Madoff.

If you ever find yourself in Atmore, AL with nothing to do...you'll find a big slot machine with guaranteed (almost) winnings at the Wind Creek. www.windcreekcasino.com

With a few bucks more in gas money, we scooted over to the interstate and restarted on our journey. We actually managed to make it more than 20 minutes this time without something shiny detracting us from our final destination.



Eventually though, hunger got the best of us, and we stopped at a Whataburger. Whataburger, as described by Marc, serves burgers that taste like a Whopper with a McDonald’s bun. It’s topped with jalapenos and grilled onions, and it’s good. It’s damn good. We sat and ate our burgers, toppings spilling all over the place, while we eavesdropped on a conversation between what I gathered to be a pep talk from a district manager to an employee considering a management position. Before leaving, we stopped to tell him that this was our first Whataburger, and it wouldn’t be our last. He was pleased.




The final stretch after Whataburger took about an hour, and I chatted with my way-too-far-away girlfriend while Marc put on his game face and drove straight to Birmingham. After a long day of far too many rest stops, we checked in to our extended stay hotel (complete with a full kitchen and a couch for just $45, and how!) and cashed in on some well-earned rest.

Still chasing triple 7’s,

CPS