If you people of Knoxville think you can have a good time, wake up and smell the Cajun spices, my friends.
Don’t get me wrong, Tennessee fans can turn game day into a bank holiday. However, we have a reason to party and celebrate because we always have a victorious team.
At LSU, winning is hard to come by but having a good time is something that the people of Louisiana live for.
This past weekend, I and my co-workers, Bryan Mitchell and Elizabeth Olivier, experienced a weekend unlike any Friday and Saturday in Knoxville.
It all started Friday evening when we were searching for our hotel. We decided to pull over at a tiny convenience store and send Bryan to ask for directions.
Moments later, this colorful Cajun native came out pointing frantically as he gave directions. In his Cajun drawl, he asked if we were with Tennessee and wished us to have a great stay. What a nice guy.
That night, we went searching for some spicy Cajun eats. Bam! There it was standing all alone in the bayou. It was Mulate’s and it was the self-proclaimed No. 1 Cajun restaurant in Louisiana, although a lady walking out claimed it was No. 2.
At any rate, we strutted in like any Tennessee native would do and asked for a table. It would be 45 minutes before we could be seated, so we waited at the bar with Jerry.
Jerry Mitchell, a white-headed man dressed out in a shirt and tie, has been going to LSU football games since 1945. He was the perfect gentleman and filled our heads full of SEC football stories and tales from the bayou, some believable and some not. Mr. Mitchell bought us, total strangers from Tennessee, a round of drinks and then he vanished into the night. What a nice guy.
We finally made our way to the table only to find that a live band was about to play their second set of the night. It wasn’t an ordinary band that you’d find on our strip. No, this was a true Cajun band made up of 45- and 50-year-old men strapped with guitars, drums and an accordion.
Our trio was hidden in the corner jamming to the music. However, we were the minority as several older couples danced the night away in front of the stage. There was even an elderly woman dancing in her wheelchair as her friend pushed her from side to side.
The whole scene was breathtaking. I mean, we live our lives in stress and anxiety centered around such tiny problems when this entire restaurant was living it up without a single care.
There was nothing that could beat the atmosphere of that place except for the food.
After the food, our trio decided to check out the nightlife of Baton Rouge at a place called Tiger Land.
Tiger Land was full of sports bars and clubs. However, we chose the quiet scene on the corner building. It was Stadium Club and it was dead. But we stayed, watching the locals during their fashion show and stare downs. Bryan and I were in awe at the ability of Louisiana to produce such fine females.
On Saturday, we had to get food in us before the game so we went back to Tiger Land. On the opposite side of Stadium Club was Freds, a small sports bar dominated by Vol fans. It was just right.
After finding a seat, Bryan proceeded to ask the bartender for a menu.
We don’t have menus, he said. All we serve is steak.
What more can I say?
Although the Vols lost the game, I was enlightened to a whole different world just nine hours south of us. There’s no hustle and bustle. Everything on the bayou is laid back and relaxing. And the people? The people are surprisingly nice and welcome all visitors.
In a nutshell, Baton Rouge is the true South. From the scenic views to the authentic food, Louisiana is the place to be.
You should .
