TulaneLSU's Top 10 dishes at Paula Deen's Family Kitchen, AWO

Dear Friends,

When I think of Southern food, I think of The Dinner Bell in McComb, Mississippi. We sometimes made the jaunt there when going to the family compound in the Landmass. For a few years, it was part of our Christmas tradition, whereby we went to a Christmas tree farm not far from McComb, perhaps in Natalbany, but I really do not remember the place’s name, such are the consequences of traveling outside the city. Sitting around the table with Mother, Uncle, Sister, cousins, and sometimes father, spinning the wheel, which I believe they call a Lazy Susan, as though I was playing Wheel of Fortune, brings a smile to my typically sullen face. I never left hungry, having my fill of freshly fried chicken, collard greens, lima beans, mashed potatoes, cobbler, and other classics of Southern cuisine.

These trips were before that fateful accident on the Huey P in 1992, and I had not yet developed that phobia to bridges, especially the Causeway and the I-10 over the Spillway. While I tell people I have never been to the Northshore, what I mean is I have never been to Mandeville, Covington, and that part of the Metro area. I have been to Slidell and Hammond, but most people do not consider these tangential towns part of that northerly place that brings residents equal parts shame, for not living in New Orleans, and pride, for not living in New Orleans.

When Mother decided to take me on a day trip this weekend, she first wanted to bring me to McComb. I balked, fearful of that bridge westward. So resolute to eat Southern food was she that she responded to my negativity, “TulaneLSU, then we are going over the Danzinger, Twin Span, Pearl River, Pascagoula, and Mobile Bay bridges.”

The prospect, of course, frightens me. But these eastern bridges do not petrify me like the northern and western bridges. Perhaps this courage comes from repeated exposure to them, thanks to our biannual trips to east of Destin. Or perhaps there is a mystical explanation, as these bridges head eastward, the same direction to which all cathedrals point, to the Holy City of Jerusalem. Whatever the reason, Mother loaded me in the Mercedes and then loaded me with Benadryl, to make my passage slightly easier. I still have not urinated since this morning, thanks to the 150 mg she gave me.



What I did not realize was that Mother had searched online and found a restaurant called Paula Deen’s Family Kitchen. It is located in a newly developed theme park called AWO, or should they call it A Woe to whomever is investing in it, in Foley, Alabama. This theme park has all the optimism of a landless Easterner pitching his tent and toting his plow in Cimarron County, Oklahoma, circa 1925. Unfettered optimism and greed often end with broken dreams and a bowl full of dust.



Mother and I arrived to this AWO and found the Disney-like streets completely empty. The sound of silence echoed off the newly built brick walls. Even though there were no employees out cleaning the streets, they were as clean as if they had been paved yesterday.

There was a jeweler shop here, quite an odd location for a jeweler, indeed. I ducked my head in to ask the jeweler, “Where is everyone? Is it always this quiet?” He answered affirmatively. “Is this because of the corona virus of 2019?” I inquired.



“Nope, this place has been open two years and no one is ever here.”

I have seen ghost towns depicted on Western movies, and this had the same feel and sounds of that. I heard every single footstep I took. How often on pavement do you notice every single of your footsteps? That is how quiet it was. Visually, though, everything was new. Perhaps a better comparison for this place would be the empty cities of China, built for residents but not yet populated, like Nanhui New City.

The main draw of the park is the Six Flags-esque rollercoaster land. While I begged Mother to let me enter, she resisted. “We are not here for that lollygagging. And you still have not finished your sentence for getting banned from Jazzland.”





Mother’s reference is to an incident between me and a female, not a lady, in 2000. That summer, I had a season pass to Jazzland, the crown jewel of the East, that was revoked because I “harassed other customers.” What management failed to impress upon my parents during that meeting was my entire argument -- it was really an impassioned discussion -- with that lady centered around her prurient outfit that had no place in a place for families and adolescents. Mother’s memory of my foibles is greater than my memory for small details.I still blame this disagreement on her forcing me to live with Captain Mike in Bucktown, U.S.A. the following summer.



Already, AWO has seen the closure of Wahlburgers. Although officially people are saying that it closed as a result of the virus shutdown, our waiter told me that it closed because it never achieved any significant level of business during its three year run at the park. A restaurant owned by an Irish rapper from Boston failing in Alabama? Is nothing certain anymore? I was happy to be able to see its sign before it leaves the park. Signs are gifts to and directions for us.



Unlike other theme parks, the faux city is outside the gates of the rides, so walking the area is encouraged, even if your parents do not allow you to ride the rides. The stores look inviting, but like some of my birthday parties, no one accepted the invitation.



Whatever the fate of this place, the developers continue to throw money at it. "Build it and they will come" must be their mantra. If people are not going to come, then by my leg, we will keep building. Construction of an indoor waterpark is currently underway. There are also a good number of sports fields, baseball and soccer, already constructed. I imagine the developers hope this will become a sports and recreation mecca for the South. To me, this whole complex appears to be a chimera.