Sushi in Tuscaloosa

Having grown up in the midwest and now living in Texas, it irks me when I hear cranky sophisticated New Yorkers or loony laid back Californians refer to the "flyover states" that exist between them. Hey, I've lived on both coasts and although I appreciate their charms, there are lots of great things happening in those places the self-proclaimed cognoscenti so arrogantly dismiss.

However, recently I've realized I was guilty of the same clueless snobbery about the deep south, which, other than boasting the intoxicating heritage of New Orleans, I thought contained nothing but bigoted bubbas in bib overalls and girls who were called by two names like Elly May or Bobby Sue twirling batons.

Business has taken me to Alabama of late, specifically Tuscaloosa, and I've begun to appreciate the hidden treasures of this small southern town.  First off, everyone is super polite.  I've never heard "no problem" after thanking someone; instead I hear a sincere "you are so very welcome."  If you ask anyone under 30 a question, they start their response with Yes, Sir or No, Sir.  Even a panhandler at a gas station asked me for money from ten feet away for fear that his wretched body odor would prove mightily offensive. (It was.) These niceties are extinct in most other parts of the country.

A good number of your everyday type restaurants in Alabama feature a "Meat and Three." (At first I thought they were saying Mate 'n Thray because my ears were unaccustomed to the quaint dialect. People up north give me amused looks when a drawled "y'all" comes out of my mouth, so I've no room to talk.)  Somewhat like a blue plate special the "meat" can be any kind of protein--even fish! The "three" are the sides that come with it, like turnips, grits, and crackling cornbread doused with sorghum molasses. The waitresses at these places really do call you Honey or Sweet Child and they seem like they mean it.

Hare Today, Gone Tomorrow

My company recently opened The Side by Side restaurant in Tuscaloosa with the assistance of uber chef and James Beard Award winning Chris Hastings of Birmingham's Hot and Hot Fish Club.  It's like Chef Chris has written a love letter to the state of Alabama by opening The Side by Side.  A big seller is the Hare Tamale appetizer.  I had to suppress mental images of Bugs Bunny before I could bite into it, then hungrily gobbled it all down.  Another stand out is the "Pork and Beans"--tender, caramelized slices of Duroc Pork Tenderloin draped on a pile of Great White Northern Beans braised in Ham Hocks and Pork Shoulder alongside a heapin' helpin' of Collard Greens.

Chuck Chuck Bo Buck

I was in Tuscaloosa this last time for four days, so good as the food was at the SBS, I had a craving for something a little less certain to spur early onset arteriosclerosis.  So my last night there I went across the street to Chuck's Fish.  Downstairs was full so the comely lass at the hostess stand suggested I find a seat upstairs at the sushi bar. Sushi?  Really? Isn't that something most people in small towns refer to as bait?

Gamely, I ascended the stairway and seated myself next to an Asian gentleman who was enthusiastically tucking into some seaweed salad and a fair amount of eel.  I figured that was as good a testimonial as seeing Mexicans at a Des Moines taco stand so said what the heck and started considering my options.  I'm somewhat of a sushi purist and usually sniff dismissively at the crazy Americanized rolls that non-sushi lovers order like Philadelphia Cheese Steak or K-rab and Avocado. But as I was perusing the sashimi and nigiri list, the blond University of Alabama senior dressed in the traditional Japanese garb of a sushi master chef set a steaming, fragrant plate on the counter near my head.  It smelled so divine I asked him what it was.  He replied "That's one of our best sellers, Sir. It's called the Red Light District, and it has Spicy Tuna and Tempura rolled inside the Rice and Seaweed, then it's slathered with Hot Chili Paste, and topped with a rich Crab Dip that I broil for a few minutes in yonder toaster oven."  So I ordered it, arteries be damned.

Let me just tell you the contrast of the rich, hot crab and the cold, silky raw tuna was amazing. I believe they named it the Red Light District because most people would be in a hurry to completely compromise their moral standards to get their mitts on another one. It was so good that when I finished it I stood up and leaned over the display of raw fish and kissed the sushi chef full on the mouth.

"Thank you, Sir," he politely mumbled, blushing furiously.