On another great beach trip a couple of weeks ago, Regina and I learned that Louisiana is not the only place where folks like to talk about food and have strong opinions about it.
We have gone to Gulf Coast beaches at least once a year for nearly 20 years now and have enjoyed fresh seafood meals at a lot of hole-in-the-wall joints and fine restaurants.
There have been times when we watched workers at seafood markets unload fish, shrimp and oysters from boats that just pulled up to their docks. We waited while they washed and wrapped it and then cooked it ourselves in the condo.
Our grandson Evan and grandson-in-law Branden went on a deep sea fishing trip during one of our beach visits not long ago and caught red snapper that was cleaned and fileted on their boat ride back. We sautéed it, and it was out of this world.
The best parts of the beach never change…miles of shiny waters the color of old green Coke bottles…thunderous waves crashing like avalanches in the mountains, sparkling sand and steady breezes that keep motionless pelicans afloat in blue skies.
There are sand castles, scattered seashells and men with sun-browned leather skin combing the beach with metal detectors or reeling in whiting and pompano through the surf. They anchor the long, stout reels in the sand until a fish moves the line.
One of them told us that whiting in Florida waters are like bream in our state. They are plentiful, easy to catch, never get very big and taste good. He said they use live shrimp for bait and that if they don’t catch fish they can just eat the bait.
Some of the locals told us on our recent visit that triple tail is now considered the best-tasting fish along the gulf. We have seen it on menus but had never tried it.
Grouper has been our favorite Gulf Coast fish for a long time now. We have had it baked, broiled, blackened, sautéed and battered and fried on po-boy sandwiches.
We have learned that folks who live near the beach know a lot about their own foods but not so much about food in other places. Some of them recommended a couple of restaurants where we could get good gumbo when they found out we were from Louisiana.
Regina and I love gumbo, and we tried it at both the places locals recommended. It was just a haphazard stew of mushy, overcooked seafood over gummy rice that didn’t resemble the good, authentic Louisiana gumbo that Hank Williams sang about.
But they were right about the triple tail. We had it fried in bite size pieces at a bayside restaurant where boats formed huge silhouettes on the waters as the sun set.
It was delicious pan seared at another dining place that has long been popular with people who live on the coast. There was a good live band there that night. We regretted missing the blue grass group with the female singer named Bubba that plays on other nights.
Conversations at the beach about different fish reminded me of similar discussions I heard growing up. When my dad caught gar and mudcat at the mill ponds, he threw them back. My uncle loved to mix those fish with onions and cook them like hushpuppies.
We caught bream and white perch and most of the other fish we ate, but my dad went to the little fish market in town once in a while and bought buffalo fish ribs. They were greasy and smelled fishy. My mother cooked them for us but wouldn’t eat them herself.
Some Florida restaurants serve mullet, but locals say it’s just for tourists. They have a mullet toss at the Flora-Bama Bar every year where they throw mullets across the Florida-Alabama line into big circles for prizes.
Mullets are apparently better to throw than to eat. Some Louisiana folks eat alligators and turtles. It would probably be better to throw turtles and alligators than to eat them.
We are spoiled in Louisiana when it comes to food. Good fresh seafood makes our beach trips more enjoyable, but even things like the very best marinated crab claws there don’t measure up to those at Ernest’s in Shreveport.
The triple tail fish that we discovered on this year’s trip was outstanding…nearly as good as bream and white perch. We didn’t eat or throw any mullets.
REPRINTED FROM THE NATCHITOCHES TIMES