Every now and again, I get it into my bean that it would be good to head on over to the lanes and throw some rocks at the wood and see what falls over. Dolly-girl likes it too as she's a Dudist and a firm believer in the power of positive thinking. So, when I read that
Donn Allen's Interstate Lanes, not far from where me and Dolly-girl set our brake, was having Cosmic Bowling with black lights and mirror balls and music and such, well, it was dialing our blower and we were taking the call.
So what's rolling without friends? Did the Dude roll without Walter and Donny? Hell no, I mean HELL, NO Dude! We DO NOT ROLL ALONE! My buddies didn't DIE face down in the MUD in 'NAM so we could ROLL ALONE! Oops, wrong character.
So we scratched our noggins and figured it out. We knew Slim and Tootsie would be on board--hell, Slim has his own ball and shoes!
I dialed then up. Tootsie. I talked, she listened, she talked to Slim. I listened. "Slim's on board. Saturday, you say? We'll take the intraurban. See you there." I said to Dolly-girl, "How about Nunzio and Juanita? I know they roll rocks." "Sounds good to me, they're always up for fun!" Truth is, the last time I threw a ten in the pit, we were at the heads with Nunzio and Nita. That was the night Dolly-girl damn near picked up the bedposts but went in the ditch on the backends.
Nita and Nunzio Zambone live just down the avenue from us. Nita runs the circumstances that lead to pomp at the far end of the academic year, follow? Yep, she keeps watch over three Rs and a mind-full of Ps and Qs as well, I suppose. Nunzio dreams stuff up and makes it work. He says he's an engineer, but I never see him down around the tracks, or the track for that matter. I think he does stuff with what Dolly-girl calls "computers." Beats me. But, sure enough, they were interested. We made a date.
Saturday night rolls up and me and Dolly-girl and Nita and Nunzio decided to whistle up a
Radio Cab. You just can't beat them when you think you might want to drown a couple, or maybe have a couple Grain Belts. The call must have gone out fast, because double quick the hack was in front and we were on our way. "Doin' a little rollin', eh?" was all he had to say. "Throwin' rocks tonite," I answered him and then went back to balloon juice, you know, gum bumping, with the rest. Nunzio had us howling with stories from Beantown where he set the brake on his perambulator.
It wasn't but a few minutes before we were looking down the lanes at ten pins in black light. We got into fast and kept at it for a couple hours. Here's some of the actions.
I went over to where you could wet your whistle. Turns out they'd had some trouble with the Volstad folks, so they were taking names and looking at pictures before they'd put hops and barley in a pitcher for you. They even strapped on a little paper thing so as they knew they'd checked your papers. Go figure. Everyone had to line up for the line up in order to get a cup. 'Course if you weren't beyond sharing a cup with the dish you were spooning..." We got serious about rolling, with Slim and Dolly-girl picking them up and setting them down!
Well, about the time our hands and arms were about to fall off, we decided to head on over to the Nite Hawk for a nite cap and a review of the nite's games. The Hawk's a good place to take a load off and get a load on at the same time. Missy brought us cocktails and kept them coming 'til we cried uncle. We drank a toast or three to Dixie and Slider. They were supposed to be with us, but Dixie tried out a new hair-do and it didn't work. By the end of the nite, it was time to call it one. Tootsie and Slim breezed out the door and right on to the intraurban, headed for their
pied a terre. The four of us flagged a Radio Cab. "Enjoying the nite, eh?" "Yep, a little rolling and a couple hours at the Hawk makes Saturday what it is, all play and no work."
I'm not a great believer in fate or the supernatural, but given all the energy associated with Memphis--Blues meets BBQ meets Elvis--it seems a little hard to believe that I would end up staying at a hotel with marching ducks, across the street from a restaurant called The Kooky Canuck without some sort of paranormal intervention. So, at lunch time, I inspected the menu to see if there was anything Canadian about the place at all. I was rewarded in maple leaves!
I walked in and saw immediately that the decor was designed to make Tennesseans believe they were in Canada. Note the birch sticks, wood paneling, and animal heads on the wall. Not all of them were real, but still, the feeling was of the north, and I don't mean the north end of the famous Highway 61, the Blues Highway. It was noon and the joint was filling up with hungry Memphisarians.
I slid into a seat at the bar, picked up a menu, and saw I was north of the border, at least in one regard. Yes, there it was on the menu, poutine, complete with the correct phonetic pronunciation guide! Meghan asked me what mine would be. "Poutine [pronunced just 
the way Richard taught me--"pooh-tin"]. She looked at me, smiled, placed the order, and came back. "You Canadian?" "Nope, just go there a lot and have friends there." "You pronounce it like a Canadian--like my boss." Ah ha, there was something to this Kooky Canuck! A half curd premium for the pronunciation.
The poutine arrived some minutes later, served by restauranteur Shawn Dansko, formerly of Montréal, now of Memphis. It was piping hot and served on a hard plastic platter--not waxed paper or cardboard, but still, not china. Half a curd premium for presentation.The plate held one of the most generous servings I've seen. The fries were crisp, but not burned, allowing them to hold up to the gravy long into the meal. There were plenty of curds, nicely heated so they were warm-to-hot, but not gooey. The gravy was brown and salty, just the way I like it. Shawn stayed to chat for a while. He's a traditionalist--I asked him about his views on non-standard ingredients like goat cheese and you could guess his answer. I asked about whether he adds anything, like sausage, to his poutine. He answered that he was still in the process of winning Memphis over to poutine. He pointed out that Southerners are inclined to try poutine--they like gravy on anything--but when you tell them it's brown gravy instead of chicken gravy, they become cautious and conservative.
Shawn and the Kooky Canuck have a great product at a reasonable price. I'll give the poutine itself a solid 4.5 out of 5 curds. Add in the two half-curd premiums and the decor, and you will be rewarded with a 5+ curd performance! I have confidence that Shawn and the Kooky Canuck will win Memphis over in the end. He has a great opportunity as the KC is not far from the ball park where the Memphis Redbirds play. Ever try those corn chip-and-chez-whiz concoctions that are so popular? One poutine, please!
