OILED UP

The ever growing "report from the field" continues. This time not from Tone Loki in London, but from the Gulf Coast, where our friend Barron Golightly has taken a super classified gubment J-O-B cleaning up the mess BP continues to make. We won't be eating Atlantic seafood for at least 50 years or more, so enjoy these shots from Wintzell's Oyster House in Mobile, ALA.

I was introduced to Wintzell's as an adolescent, and promptly gained great respect from my uncle -- now a retired superior court judge (and reinvigorated squirrel hunter) -- since I managed to suck down two doz raw globbers along with a fried oyster po-boy, hush puppies, cole slaw, and three glasses of sweet tea. Used to have a killer tee from Wintzell's that said, WE SERVE 'EM EVERY WAY: FRIED, STEWED, NUDE, and had caricatures of anthropomophized bivales hopping in oil, slipping in their shells, being sauced and sucked back by people that looked like they had three teeth between them.

Place is the sorta hole where lawyers mingled with judges and commissioners mingled with superintendents. Walls covered with local celeb 8x10s, newsprint clippings, University of Alabama paraphernalia. It's also the sorta hole where lawyers, judges, commissioners, and superintendents have five and six beer lunches, along with a few dozen on the half-shell.

Wintzell's has added some menu items. Baked oysters, I guess, and what looks like oyster "nachos." Wow. Let's here it for Barron Golightly and the crude gutbomb par excellence. Better you than me, bro.