So Rootie and I spent one night and a bit of a morning in Shreveport.
It was edifying.
The evening was a bombdiggity blast, as I discussed in my last post. The Cub! Noble Savage! Shitty Kitty!
First the Cub, where Rootie had her FIRST STEAK:
At the Savage:
There’s another picture of us with Lee and Chef, the bartender and owner, respectively, of the Savage. But it was taken by the DRUNKEST MAN ALIVE, and is all foobarred. Why did we ask him to take the photo, you ask? We didn’t know he was that drunk until he put the camera upside down to take the photo. Then we all said, “Shit.”
The next morning we packed, then we made ready to hit the road. But first we had lunch. Which consisted of Raisin’ Cane’s and a little sweet treat.
Rootie was impressed by the chicken fingers, although there was some confusion as I’d ERADICATED from my memory the fact that the British refer to the chicken finger as “chicken goujons.” Goujons? Really? Sounds like something about which one goes to a dermatologist. To be fair, however, Rootie was perfectly reasonable when she said, “But chickens don’t have fingers.” But do they have goujons?
Anyway, here’s a chicken goujon, for those of you at home:
And then I took Ruth next door to Krispy Kreme. Which, btw, she pronounces as it’s spelt. Which is the cutest thing evah if rather inappropriately elegant for what is, in actuality, hot solidified fat.
And the reaction shot. Rootie liked!
Awesome. So that was Shreveport, in a nutshell. Then we hit the road, to NOLA.