[title type="h5"]Wednesday, April 8, 2015.
Cowbell.[/title]
I passed in front of Cowbell a few times lately, and was reminded that I have not been there in a long time. Another good reason for going is that a renovation of the converted old gas station appears to be nearly finished. At the very least, that will bring under cover many more tables. A lot of people prefer dining outside at Cowbell, but given the heavy traffic on Oak Street and Leake Avenue and the wide-open concrete apron, it's something less than peaceful out there. The renovation closes in just enough low walls and high roof to make the place much more appealing.
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Brack May, chef-owner of Cowbell.[/caption]I attack this newly-enclosed area from the Eagle Street side and find myself hailed by chef-owner Brack May. He is eating a sandwich at one of his new tables. I ask if I may join him for supper, and as long as I'm here to learn the story of the renovation.
It is not a mainstream look. Most of the walls are made of wood construction scraps. I recognize it as such immediately: that's one of Mary Ann's favorite building materials.
A long train passes by. Across the street from Cowbell is one of the two transcontinental railroad trunk lines, taking long hauls from the western lines to the eastern lines. A lot of tank cars remind me of several recent wrecks and explosions elsewhere in America lately. But for me all passing trains qualify as scenery.
Brack tells me he is supposed to have dinner at Impastato's tonight. Do I know where it is? he asks. "Do I know where it is?" I say, New York City style. (When you ask a New Yorker a question, they begin by repeating the question. Try it next time you're there.)
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Vegetable soup at Cowbell.[/caption]
We have a few minutes to talk about the currents of the restaurant industry, and then he is off. I get a large bowl (but there is a bigger one) of minestrone, with a nice broth, lots of vegetables, a few non-standard pasta shapes, and big chunks of what I think is crispy pork belly. It's very good, but the entree comes almost immediately after. (Why don't servers know better than to do this?, I ask for the 4204th time to myself.)
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Skirt steak at Cowbell.[/caption]
The entree is a skirt steak served with black beans, sweet potatoes, peppers and onions. It is grilled beautifully but could have been sliced more thinly, for people like me with substandard choppers.
I get an apple pie, a disk of pastry dough with the apples folded into the edges. It looked too big to finish, but was good enough that I did. It ends the best meal I've ever had at Cowbell.
I can't come to this spot without thinking about a potentially unfortunate incident that I escaped from unscathed in the summer of 1964. I told a guy I worked with briefly at the Time Saver (I will call him "Guy," not his real name) that I made a good bit of money cutting grass. He said that he had a back problem cutting grass, and that he'd pay me a dollar (the going rate) if I came to his house and cut his grass.
I said I would, and on his day off I bicycled the nine miles from Little Farms (what we call River Ridge now) to the site of today's Cowbell. It was then an active Gulf Coast gas station. Guy lived a couple of doors away. He and I went there for a quarter's worth of gas for the lawnmower. I cut the grass in about ten minutes--wasn't much of a lawn. Six bucks an hour! Wow! I only made seventy-five cents an hour at the Time Saver.
Then Guy asked if I wanted to come inside and cool off. I was thirteen and worldly-unwise. But a voice in the back of my head told me not to do that. Instead, I noted that all Gulf Coast gas stations carried Big Giant Cola--a sixteen-ounce drink for the price (seven cents) of a ten-ounce Pepsi or a seven-ounce Coke.
Guy gave me a dollar and bought the Big Giant Cola. And then, with a summer storm brewing, I told him I'd be heading home. He offered to drive me back to the store. But bicycling such distances on such days was something I did all the time. I topped off my tires at the Gulf Coast station and pedaled up River Road.
I stopped for another Big Giant Cola at the Time Saver, where I told all this to the manager. He was alarmed to hear the story. He told me that I should never again be alone with Guy, and that he didn't want me ever to work at the store when it was only Guy and me there. Remembering Guy now, I think that the manager had reason for concern.
Fifty-one years later, I am almost to the point where I think about the food at Cowbell instead of grasscutting when I traverse the intersection of Oak and Eagle. Thank you, Brack!
[title type="h5"]Cowbell. Riverbend: 1200 Eagle St. 504-866-4222.[/title]
