Put Down the Salad Fork. "Oyster Bar" Markham St.,Little Rock, AR (c) 2008 Paige Buffington
Opting for a big, green salad is my usual fare in both restaurants and at home, but the force of Arkansas roots in my genetic composition lured me to the Oyster Bar last night. My definition of getting wild is eating anything fried. So last night, I got rebellious and had dinner with a friend at the Oyster Bar on Markham Street in Little Rock.
For all of you sophisticates reading this, musing, and wondering, "Well, yeah, we all know how good the Oyster Bar is, country girl, where the hell have you been all these years?"
"New York City," I say.
Why did it take me so long to go out to eat in Little Rock? Four years to be exact. I blame it on Manhattan cuisine, where you can get a tofu burger, sushi and sashimi at the corner deli, with an Italian espresso, and a German pastry, for a nominal fee. Snobby? Me? No. Just practical. I mean, like a good friend of mine once said, who quoted his dad, "Why eat hamburger, when you can eat steak." (This is possibly a misplaced metaphor, but what the hell, we're all friends here, right?)
It all started with the "Star of India," another eating place in Little Rock, winter of 2004. Not only did I move here from New York City on December 21st, 2004, touching down 15 minutes ahead of yet one more memorable Christmas ice storm in the flatlands of soybean, cotton, and rice growing, "the natural state" Arkansas, I attempted to eat here.
On the fateful evening in 2004 (after the ice had melted), my friend Robin and I went to the "Star of India." After a dry and overpriced lamb dish, I took a vow to never be disappointed again. I can make my own Indian food, and I do. Can you blame me? My taste buds cannot forget...........................
Since 1984, and on numerous occassions my friends and I, lugged wine or beer into a train car size Indian kitchen that held few tables. It's a well known fact that on 6th Street, aka "Indian Row" in the East Village in Manhattan, one can eat a full course meal, with appetizers and dessert, and pay no more than $10 for a fine dining experience. Sometimes they even had professional musicians playing for free. I know what you're thinking now. "Boy, is she a cheap date." And I am. Cheap is good. Stop.
So last night, I did go wild. I gave it another chance. The fried and raw oysters, while petite, were melt in your mouth. The okra in the fried okra was soft, fresh and pungently okraish. The hush puppies and onion rings, a perfect texture. I'd be fibbing if I said I didn't eat a salad. I did. It came as a side dish with one of my favorite dressings; Ranch. Not only did I enjoy my meal, I had an international meal, close to the kind they sell at the corner deli. I drank a pint of Guiness
For all of you sophisticates reading this, musing, and wondering, "Well, yeah, we all know how good the Oyster Bar is, country girl, where the hell have you been all these years?"
"New York City," I say.
Why did it take me so long to go out to eat in Little Rock? Four years to be exact. I blame it on Manhattan cuisine, where you can get a tofu burger, sushi and sashimi at the corner deli, with an Italian espresso, and a German pastry, for a nominal fee. Snobby? Me? No. Just practical. I mean, like a good friend of mine once said, who quoted his dad, "Why eat hamburger, when you can eat steak." (This is possibly a misplaced metaphor, but what the hell, we're all friends here, right?)
It all started with the "Star of India," another eating place in Little Rock, winter of 2004. Not only did I move here from New York City on December 21st, 2004, touching down 15 minutes ahead of yet one more memorable Christmas ice storm in the flatlands of soybean, cotton, and rice growing, "the natural state" Arkansas, I attempted to eat here.
On the fateful evening in 2004 (after the ice had melted), my friend Robin and I went to the "Star of India." After a dry and overpriced lamb dish, I took a vow to never be disappointed again. I can make my own Indian food, and I do. Can you blame me? My taste buds cannot forget...........................
Since 1984, and on numerous occassions my friends and I, lugged wine or beer into a train car size Indian kitchen that held few tables. It's a well known fact that on 6th Street, aka "Indian Row" in the East Village in Manhattan, one can eat a full course meal, with appetizers and dessert, and pay no more than $10 for a fine dining experience. Sometimes they even had professional musicians playing for free. I know what you're thinking now. "Boy, is she a cheap date." And I am. Cheap is good. Stop.
So last night, I did go wild. I gave it another chance. The fried and raw oysters, while petite, were melt in your mouth. The okra in the fried okra was soft, fresh and pungently okraish. The hush puppies and onion rings, a perfect texture. I'd be fibbing if I said I didn't eat a salad. I did. It came as a side dish with one of my favorite dressings; Ranch. Not only did I enjoy my meal, I had an international meal, close to the kind they sell at the corner deli. I drank a pint of Guiness
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