Craving Krystal's

You know that craving you would be ashamed to admit to your closest friends? The one that can hit any time of the day or night. And just WILL NOT go away until you give into it.

I constantly crave Krystal burgers. As I type this with one hand, I am reaching with the other into the depths of a Krystal's bag and fingering three empty little cardboard cartons. Damn, I knew I should've ordered the 4-pack!

When you want a sack of Krystal burgers, nothing BUT NOTHING else will do. Not McDonald's, Burger King nor Wendy's. Hardee's? Oh please.

My craving is genetic. It must be. My father's first after-school job was steaming burgers at one of the first Krystal's ever in Knoxville, Tenn. He spent the rest of his life trying -- and failing -- to replicate those square little wonder sliders at home.

When I lived in Bay St. Louis, where there were no actual Krystal's restaurants, many's the night I tossed a coat on over my jammies and cruised the freezer section at the Jitney Jungle. And microwaved the whole boxful of those little frozen 2-burger packs. In one sitting.

Hattiesburg, praise the Lord, still has an actual Krystal's -- with a drive-thru. Not the nice clean convenient one from my college days. No, this one is located in an area I rarely venture into when I am not being held hostage by my craving, one near the highway and interstate adjacent to a truck stop and past a parking lot full of potholes.

The true measure of my addiction is that I willingly schlep myself there on a fairly regular basis and wait in the drive-thru line at all hours with the stoned college students, truckers, and other people in cars lacking mufflers, brake lights and license plates. But then, who am I to judge?

Author Jill Connor Browne, better known as the Sweet Potato Queen, is also a self-professed Krystal fan. She writes that Krystal burgers are the perfect food to sneak into a movie. I disagree. The two unwritten rules of smuggling food into movie theaters (not that I have ever personally done this, but I was formerly a movie concession stand professional so you develop a sense for these things) is that said food must be noiseless and odorless.

Yes, biting into those soft, soft steamed buns, onions, wafer thin meat patties, mustard and soggy dill pickle chips will yield no tell-tale crunch. But that smell. That seductive aroma will wrap itself into a visible arrow pointing straight your head like one in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. That smell will narc you out every time. And let me tell you those theater managers are getting to be real hard asses about it. Or so I've heard.

What will I do if my beloved, yet grungy, Krystal's ever closes?

I suppose moving is a viable option. If I want to be totally honest, easy Krystal access may be one of the reasons I still live here. Then again, I could try to make my own. Daddy was never successful at it, but I came across this recipe that sounds like it just might work (except for the catsup. Seriously, who puts catsup on a Krystal burger? It's un-Southern!)

Now I have to say that the strained beef baby food part is weirding me out just a little. And it's probably a really key ingredient so it's not like you could just leave it out. Tell you what. You try it and let me know how it works.

While you're doing that, I'll make a repeat run through the Krystal's drive-thru. They're open all night you know!

Happy Mardi Gras From The House Where The Black Cat Lives

The black cat says, "Laissez les bon temps rouler!"

Happy Valentine's Day From The House Where The Black Cat Lives

This Valentine's Day, take a cue from Ernie and Roxie: Find the one you love and hold them tight.

Hell, Hattiesburg Still Frozen Over

Now that it's been five days since the Saints won the Super Bowl, you'd think that hell would have had a chance to thaw out a little. But I awoke this morning to the landscape pictured above.

Now, for those who don't know, this isn't the Northeast. It's South Mississippi -- where it snows like this maybe once a decade. Except that we've gotten it now twice in two months.

Those pigs' wings must be getting awfully tired.

If you're not into building snowmen and making snow angels (or if you've already done that and looking for something else to do), Internet surfing is a perfect snow day activity. And I don't mean to all those practical sites where you research the best price on a new appliance. I mean those fun sites that have always intrigued you, but you never have the time to visit. Then again, if you're reading this, you're already ahead of me. (Public service message: Surf responsibly. Make sure your virus software is up to date before downloading files. Do not give out personal and/or credit card information on non-secure, non-trusted sites).

If you're a snowed-in cat lover, may I suggest you surf on over to the site "Stuff On My Cat." You will laugh until you cry.

And if you are also a dog lover, the sister site "Stuff On My Mutt" is pretty darn cute, too.

Happy Snow Day!

The Black Cat Sez "Who Dat?!"

Remembering Cat Lady Redux

Eight months ago, I posted this entry on this blog. In it, I announced the death of Hattiesburg's longtime cat lady, along with my memories of driving by her house when I was in college. I believe I even jocularly anointed myself as heiress to her title.

Just recently I became a member of a Facebook page entitled, "I Drove By Cat Lady's House When I was a student at USM." Now I'm not sure what surprises me the most:

a.) that there is actually a Facebook page dedicated to Cat Lady (whose name was actually Fannie "Goodie" Kyker),
b.) that the site has over 400 members, or
c.) that I joined this site (and actually posted something.)

Most surprising of all are the comments themselves. The page is really a lovely and touching tribute to a lady who obviously made a deep impression on many, many people -- even those who didn't really know her.

Many of the entries are tinged with sadness and regret at the thoughtless behavior of our younger selves and the pain some of us may have caused Miss Kyker.

Some are spirited defenses of a woman they say was kind and sweet, albeit definitely odd.

Others are affectionate remembrances of her feistiness and her refusal to let the bastards get her down.

Overriding all of it is a sense of sadness over the loss of an important cultural link to our past. It seems the world, well, at least Hattiesburg, is a less interesting place without her in it.

When you get right down to it, we Southerners prize eccentricity. We cultivate it. We honor those who have it.

After all, when we weren't driving past Cat Lady's house, a lot of USM students were hanging out in New Orleans, hob-nobbing with the Quarter characters.

Anybody, remember Ruthie the Duck Lady? Toward the end of her life, the many people who knew her only as that crazy lady spouting obscenities in a wedding dress and roller skates with her ducks waddling behind her, got together to ensure she got medical care, a roof over head, and when the time came a decent funeral.

So, Fannie RIP. You are remembered -- and missed -- here in Hattiesburg. And not just by your cats.

I would be honored to follow in your footsteps as Hattiesburg's cat lady.

Except suddenly, I don't think I'm worthy.