Day Five

Day Five in New Orleans started early. It was time to do what we came there to do. Rent a car and drive two and a half hours to visit Avery Island. To take a pepper Hajj. We were goin’ down to McIlhenny’s Farm, man. The sole sight of production and distribution for that might elixir, Tabasco sauce.

We went to rent a car, which in New Orleans is kinda like adopting a child. In New York so long as you aren’t drooling you can rent a car in about ten minutes. In New Orleans you need to fill out a million forms and answer invasive questions. Who do you work for? What kind of insurance do you have? Garrett was planning on doing the driving, but he couldn’t remember the name of his auto insurance provider; the job fell in Ann’s lap.

We got our car, had a quick slobby breakfast at Burger King and got the hell out of town. We drove on a bit of the highway we couldn’t find on the map, but existed in reality. . .as if the road to El Dorado could only be found if you had faith in the Pepper (and the web-based printed directions.) Soon we were out of City Limits and we found ourselves in the real Bayou Country. Look at all the bugs on the windshield causing shadows!

We turned on the radio and – I shit you not – Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Born on the Bayou” came on!! After that a second CCR tune came on causing Ann to shout in recognition, “It’s Two-For Tuesday!” Garrett found great solace in that. “There may be differences between North and South, but we are all one nation.”

One of the things we saw along the way were Truckstop Casinos. These are, I am here to report, the most depressing things in the history of the world. Bland, carpet-walled rooms with no windows with nothing but video poker games and dreary souls throwing their money away into them. At least Atlantic City has some panache. . .the boardwalk, saltwater taffy, a tacky show, sea air, colored lights, all-you-can-eat buffets. At least it offers jobs to the community! This had one sad woman offering to make change. And it smelled like smoke. Garrett played one dollar’s worth of video poker just to say he did it and we got the fuck out of there.

Here were the bugs on the grill of the car.

Many hot-despite-the-A/C-on-full-blast miles later, we saw this sign.

And after driving over a tiny little bridge, this one.

We opened the windows and, I swear to you, the air was sweet with Tabasco sauce.

Here are Garrett and I, bowing before our own personal Kaaba.

And here are some of the actual peppers themselves.

To give you some history, Avery Island is actually a giant rock of salt. A specific type of salt, experts will tell ya. Edmund McIlhenny, who married into the Avery family and thus had dominion over the island, was looking for a way to make money after the civil war. He discovered a fairly rare type of chili pepper from Mexico: the Tabasco. Hotter than the jalapeno, hotter than Cayenne, not as hot as the Habanero. He brought a bunch to Avery Island. . .grew ‘em, mixed ‘em with the local salt, added some vinegar, and magic was born.

This is a cask of ground up Tabasco peppers. The cask is actually a used barrell from the Jack Daniels plant.

The pepper mush is mixed with local salt and then covered. The top is then covered in more local salt which, after months, becomes as hard as concrete.

It is then mixed with vinegar and ready for bottling.

On the other side of the factory wall, Garrett and I started doing shots from the complimentary bottle of sauce we got. We made the workers on the other end double over.

And here I am with my true love!

Remember that fish of Ignatius J. Reilly? Well, here’s one on the Tabasco plant property, 2.5 hours away!

Ann and I enter the Tabasco Country Store.

No photos inside the store, cause I kinda lost my mind in there. Not just fun T-Shirts and hats, but a million different food products to taste. Including Jalapeno ice cream. Which was actually quite good.

Here’s a shot of Garrett eating Boudin Blanc, which was the only local Cajun/Creole foodstuff that grossed me out. Not only did it taste like barf, but you had to fellate it out of sausage casing. Truly awful.

A later generation of McIlhenny set aside a section of Avery Island as a nature preserve called Jungle Gardens. And, for what it is worth, you try going on a road trip on the way to Jungle Gardens without singing the name “Jungle Gardens” to the tune of “Jungle Boogie” over and over again. You can’t do it! Jungle Gardens boasts a home for the Snowy Egret. We pulled up to the entrance to pay a fee to go in.

It was here that Ann got in her argument with a local. We were looking at maps and getting ready to make our drive through when I mentioned something about a certain point on the map to see the birds. “You won’t see any birds there this time of year!” Ann said, “Oh, but we saw a number of interesting birds on the way here.” “No!” the battle-axe behind the cash registered countered. “You didn’t see any of the Snowy Egrets! You couldn’t have!” “Oh, well, not the snowy egrets,” Ann politely backpedaled, “but, we saw some other Egrets and water birds.” This didn’t register with the woman. “No Snowy Egrets!” We paid and got out of there.

We saw spooky trees.

And some real swamp.

And we saw a lot of alligators just sitting there like logs. None of those photos really came out so good, but trust me. . .we saw them. They were everywhere. Ann was scared.

There may be an alligator head here. But we definitely saw ‘em elsewhere.

To quote Mel Brooks, “Everything’s so GREEEEEN!” There’s a ‘gator hiding here, too.

We dubbed this tree the Gandalf tree.

We took a walk to this Buddhist temple. It featured a transplanted bodhisattva statue close to 900 years old. It was surrounded by this lake of green that we thought was just the bottom turned green. I threw a rock and was surprised to see it sink.

It was really frickin’ hot here. And we heard frogs gurgling and snakes hissing. It kinda freaked me out. I felt like the kids in “Land of the Lost.” I was pretending to have a good time but really wanted to get back to the car. I was scared of snakes. And lizards, too.

This might be the dumbest sign in history.

Look at all the muck! (That’s Ann in our Two Against Nature pose.)

There was so much muck, and so much humidity, that this stopped-up water fountain turned into a muckfountain!

We hit the road, driving through New Iberia and then Fayetville. We had dinner in Fayetville at a fun cajun place that a big extra room for dancing. It was kinda early for dancing (we left just before the live music started) but there was a TV that showed a tape of the usual rowdiness and it looked like the real deal. I think New Orleans’ Cajun restaurants are ready for 3 New York/Philly tourists, but this place may’ve wanted us to get the hell out. Who knows? Although I didn’t take a photo, our waitress was really sweet and had great hair.

Should I tell you what happened next? Oh, why not. Listen – everyone screws up their digestion on vacation. And this was no ordinary vacation. It was a vacation whose star attractions were food and drink. We left the restaurant (and I’d had fried shrimp and blackened catfish and other yummy things) and about ten minutes later I had to pull over. I had to find a rest room. Now. NOW! Ann and Garrett were making fun of me, but I couldn’t laugh. If I laughed, I’d’ve lost control. We found a gas station and I ran in. “Bathroom!??!?!” The man pointed. It was a clean bathroom, to my surprise. But now I know how gas station bathrooms get in the condition they are usually in. People like me. I destroyed the place. I created a carnival of odor and waste that I never knew was in me. It was absolute hell. I know now the pain of childbirth. I cursed my love of spicy food and beer. I pledged to an uncaring god that if I survived this movement I would eat nothing but steamed Wonder bread the rest of my trip. Eventually I staggered out of their like a boxer after a tough bout. I slipped into the backseat of the car and let Ann drive home through the night.

Eventually I fell asleep and many hours later the approaching city of New Orleans looked like this.