Loaves & Fishes

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  There is a reason people go out to dinner. Usually it's to have something special, something different, something, well...better than home cooking. So what happens when you go out to eat someone else's home cooking and the home cooking isn't very good? Well you land in a place like Loaves and Fishes.
  
  I almost feel bad writing this review. Well...not really. Maybe just a tad. Loaves and Fishes is in Philadelphia, MS - a small, homespun town with probably as many churches as gas stations - possibly more. Needless to say, the local culinary options are severely limited. They unquestionably cater to those folks that are convinced that true happiness lies in the great beyond. In the mean time, I fear that canned creamed corn is often considered a delicacy. I'm not one of those people but I respect their opinion. In retrospect, as much as I loath corporate chains, I should entered the evil palace of Pizza the Hut.
  
  My wife and I sat down with our daughter in the recently constructed shack designed to look as if it had been there since the dawn of time. The walls were all stained to appear as weathered recycled lumber. Actually the rough hewn finish was a phenomenal dust trap - you couldn't even wipe it off!  Even the floor was laid with wide planks with equally wide gaps that reminded me of pioneer construction. There is a reason why building codes have improved and wide gaps in floor boards are a thing of the past - so that french fries and vegetables can't get lodged between the boards for all eternity to rot. I spotted a couple here and there that had nearly petrified -the mold could no longer grow on them.
  
  Anyway, I tried to order the gumbo. No gumbo. Bummer. Ok...how about the alligator? No alligator. Double bummer. No alligator? You sure? Crap....Ok, just bring me two salads. It's simple :
  1. Put vegetables on paper plate
  2. Hand soggy paper plate to customer and cross fingers.
  
  One word. Ok, make that two words: limp and limper. The bagged salad from Piggly Wiggly is far superior. How do you fuck up a damn house salad? Sorry for the language but come on! I really challenge the average person to botch a house salad. It's not easy. Oh...did I forget to mention that somehow the diet Pepsi tasted like vinegar? Hmmm - go figure.
  
  For dinner my wife ordered a fish sandwich. It was just OK. On par or slightly better than a Fillet O' Fish from Mickey D's I guess. At least it had a soft wonder bread bun and lettuce. For the baby it was cornmeal crusted tilapia with limp fries. Not bad - the baby likes limp fries - but I've had better at biker bars in Daytona Beach where they only wash their hands on Wednesdays. I ordered an oyster Po Boy. I have to admit it was tasty- much better than I expected considering the culinary adventure thus far... but $10 and 6" long? Oh, and the cold slaw had been pureed in a food processor -  essentially cabbage pablum. I was feeling a bit shortchanged. Was this revenge for me not paying a tithe? The great flying spaghetti monster was looking down shaking his noodle appendage at me in disdain.
  
  Now I forgot to mention the entire time we were eating, I was periodically wafted by a smell I knew all to well. At first I though I was wrong, but it hit me again and again with deadly precision. It's the same smell that comes from my Boston terrier's ass when we change his dog food or feed him eggs.  Was I crazy? When my wife wasn't looking I snuck a finger into the crack of my ass to check. Nope wasn't me. I sniffed my sandwich. Nope. Something was wrong - very wrong. Then it occurred to me dear Watson.  About 15 feet away, nestled right next to a cozy table for 4 were the mens' and ladies' rest rooms. (I'm sure the table over there enjoyed the view of the can each time the door opened only inches from their table.) It wasn't olfactory ventriloquism. Not even the Spleen of the Mystery Men had such precision.
  
  Each time a patron left the rest room, the rank odor wafted upwards from the floorboards beneath me.   The best I can relate it would be if someone was to hold two shit-covered fingers beneath your nose for ten seconds each time someone flushed the toilet. After thinking about the physics of the situation while waiting eagerly for a check, I realized there was a leak in the sewer line which ran underneath our table. God was punishing me for having such ill thoughts of a restaurant run by his (or her) devout groupies and wanted me to leave. For once in my life I was eager to take a hint.
  
  What can I say...I promised never to pull punches in my reviews and my wife begged me to be kind, but I think it would be cruel to give this place my blessing and subject anyone else to this disaster without fair warning. Maybe it was just a bad day for them- a very bad day.
  
  Loaves and Fishes has potential as does any homespun restaurant - but they desperately need two things post haste:
  1. A new cook.
  2. A good plumber. (Not necessarily in that order).

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  Posted on 07.03.12 Thomas W.

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