Le Trough
Avez-vous turnip greens? You got?
Roast chicken gizzards smothered with truffles?
We hungry, eat a horse raw in french sauce or not.
It the grand opening at Le Trough, one them fancy
restaurant chains
specializing in southern dishes
fixed in the traditional french style. 
It gall-dang, gosh-darn, mighty powerful, 
lip-smackin finger-licking good. 
Union of the haute cuisine of two great countries.

Le Trough is French-Dixie. Exquisite and rare entrees—
polecat a la normande, porkchop sur le plat, 
pickled ham aux fines herbes, cauliflower cake, 
skunk Newburg, dandelion au gratin, 
tadpole flamed in brandy, turkey giblet 
aux duselles or just plain meatballs des nouilles?

Avez vous, hamhocks, sil vous plait? 
Some fried clam omelet, plate of scratch biscuits,
bowl of gravy, a whole bunch of Charles DeGaulle corndogs, 
trois juicy Johnny Jumbo burgers with a heapin' tall
side order of Giant Jacks onion rings, tout de suite. 
Mess of Bobo pie, fried green tomatoes
swimming in blue cow-tail cheese. 

Give me a helping of them sour cream fritters?
Glazed ham. A bag of them tasty Davy Crocket barbecue
des pommes frites, and I'll wash it all down with a glass
of Snake Eyes beer.

At breakfast, a bowl of Colonel Quacks rice cereal,
the breakfast of good ol boys. Two dozen frozen Fat N Fancy cinnamon rolls, 
three scrambled eggs, a side of Smoky Mountain grits, 
six pork sausages, two stacks of flapjacks 
and a pot of Robert E. Lee coffee,
the preferred hot beverage of the confederate army, 
endorsed by Robert E. himself 
and 'still the best dang stuff that ever wuz'.
	
Le Trough is buzzing with hungry southern people. 
The butter and egg kind of folks who don't count calories
or fat content. They love to eat up a storm. 
Pretty much you can count on their appetites being large. 

You taste them stompers, a kind of meatloaf made from squirrel,
blended with cornmeal and whiskey, fried on a grill
and served between two slices of cornbread.

Appetizers at Le Trough include acorn cookies,
owl crackers, sweet tweeties and nutty pops,
and down the line on a highly successful array
of snack foods from Big Belly enterprises, 
which include Frosty Finger candy bars, 
Boo-Hoo crackers, (the cracker so good it makes you cry)
and Mystery mints and Fink gumballs
and Juicy juice, a carbonated beverage,
and a chocolate drink called Muddy Moo.
	
Delightful and exotic southern delicacies
as squirrel pate, turnip de frois gras,
Grandma Huddles tangy chicken wings
simmered in moonshine sauce, apple oil,
goober peas, bubble gum, honeysuckle soup,
pecan pie with a crispy mooncrust,
rabbit bouillon cubes, dandelion mustard, 
Daniel Boone baked beans, Jimmy Dean greens
and Elvis Presley fishsticks. 
Not to mention, Big Foot peanut butter,
crunchy and smooth.

And don't forget the puree de grits de terre,
Dixie pommes in robe des champs, 
plateau de pork sausages, cuisses de grenouilles, 
specialite du chef possum souffli, cabbage ratatouille,
chicken gizzard au pistou, sur commande pigfeet,
varmint vol-au-vent, salamander supreme and beaver bordelaise.

Southern cuisine kicking up southern-style dishes---
cornbread muffins, green bean casserole, hickory nut pie,
fried chitlins in brown sauce, rabbit gizzards
swimming in buttermilk, possum belly rice,
roast duck, poached carp and chicken neck stew.

In the giftshop, grab a bag of Appalachian Trail mix, 
which comes in two flavors. Mild and wild. 
The milds has gooseberries, pecans and beef jerky in it. 
The wild's full of everything from pulverized bullhorn,
cornflakes, buzzard bits to pig rinds and dried fruits
like smoked apricots, raisins. A scattering of sunflower seeds
dipped in snuff, and once in a while you'll taste a pinch
of gunpowder, a sprinkle of jalapeno pepper to keep away
the mosquitoes and, in general, makes you feel strong as a grizzly bear.

Le Trough is east Tennessee's first drive-in Dixie-French Truckstop.
Reservations are recommended, as the crowds of folks get wind
of the unique combinations of them cultures thrown together. 
Mixed up and jumbled sideways to amuse and confuse the tastebuds. 
Right nicely.
	
	

Ernest Slyman


Back to the SNAKESKIN archive