You call that a steak and chicken?

Okay, I am one to give anyone the benefit of the doubt, and that would include restaurants. However, after several visits, if the food doesn't taste any better than a wet dish towel, something is wrong--dead wrong.

What is the big deal about Outback Steakhouse? I have visited separate Outback locations in different cities and found both pieces of meat I ordered next to tasteless. Yes, I am serious. That even includes a take out order for good measure.

Can I grill a better steak? You bet I can, so I do have room to talk. The secret is in the marinade, of which the meat-slingers at Outback apparently have little knowledge.

And then there is Cane's Chicken. How bland can a piece of chicken get? Why even put some batter on a piece of yard bird and cook it at all unless it is seasoned? Why, it's a disgrace to all Southerners to offer up our favorite dish with such lackluster flavor.

What puzzles me, after visits to Cane's more than once in Shreveport and Ruston, everyone I talk to agrees that they do not go to the restaurant for the chicken, but for the sauce. Come on folks. It's simply mayo, ketchup and a sprinkle of spices. You can make that at home in less than five minutes.

Atchafalaya 'raceway' no longer fun

I know I reflect on my past experiences too frequently, but I guess that is what happens when one begins to get old. However, the fun is no longer there on the famed Louisiana speed trap known as the Atchafalaya Causeway on I-10 just west of Baton Rouge.

Here we go again with another "back in the day" example. The speed limit on the Atchafalaya Basin Bridge, or whatever they call it, was once the same as the speed limit one had on the highway leading into the big bridge and as one would leave the same. Due to several miscues and accidents attributed to speeding, the legal limit of 18-wheelers was reduced to 55 mph, while other vehicles could only max out at 60.

The really great thing about the new law stated that 18-wheelers had to stay in the right lane only. I guess that was to tempt those drivers of 4-wheeled modes of transportation to speed on leading to a surprise visit by the man with the lights on his car going flickety-flickety.

It used to be fun staying in that inside lane and waiting for the bumper riders to get right up on my tail lights before I pulled over and let them speed by at up to 80-90 mph. I always knew that either a county mounty, or a full-grown bear was waiting for them just ahead with his ticket book.

But now, for some reason, when going across the same bridge (if I may use a quote from the great bluesman B.B. King), "the thrill is gone." No longer do the Louisiana State Troopers camp out waiting for the speeders, most of whom tote Texas license plates. For the last five years or so, the bright lights flickering behind the speeders on the once infamous Atchafalaya overpass are as rare as hens’ teeth.

Why today, on my return from Baton Rouge, only one parish deputy could be found on that long expanse of concrete over the waters from where most of the free world gets its crawfish.

I guess since the price of oil has begun to skyrocket, there is no need for the income the drivers from the state of Texas once donated to our coffers.

Driving to and from Baton Rouge just ain't as fun anymore.

(I know what you are thinking, and I betcha I am thinking the same thing. I wonder what will be written on this blog when the author gets stopped on that same bridge the next time his foot gets heavy.)