A trip to the Land of Guys

I didn't make remoulade today, the first Sunday I'm missed since I started my remoulade diary. I have two excuses. One is that M and I went to Dallas and I sort of didn't have time. The second is that I'm tired of remoulade and boiled shrimp. I still have remoulade from two weeks ago in the fridge, and I just finished off last week's in a salad a few days ago. There are only two of us, and we can only consume so much remoulade in a week. I just don't want another jar of it right now, all right?

But I did have remoulade today, and I had it during my first ever trip to Guy Land--Bass Pro Shop. I had only seen its vastness as I drove by on I-30. I gaped as it was built, amazed by the great expanse of concrete that was poured before the building itself started to go up. That is one big building. And now as I drive by, I keep thinking, Geez, can they sell THAT many boats?

While I was away at a two-week techie camp earlier this summer, M checked the place out and told me stories of an indoor waterfall and pond with fish and just lots and lots of guy stuff. We had also heard from friends (one of whom is a caterer whose cooking skills we respect) that the restaurant is a good one. So on our way to Dallas, we stopped and tried it.

It's not a quick in and out, as anyone who's even seen one of these "shops" from the outside can no doubt tell. It's very much like a Guy Mall where you have to make your way through lots and lots of merchandise before you get to the food court. I guess I was mildly surprised that there were so many families in the "shop" itself, but then I shouldn't have been since I've actually been to a Hooters and was really astonished there to see so many families--I mean, they had a kid's menu! So BPS is sort of like an amusement park where there's way more gift shop than rides. For example, there was a shooting arcade area although I wasn't quite clear on what one was supposed to aim at. There may have been other stuff like this as well; I didn't explore much of the store.

I had already been thinking that I likely was not going to be making any remoulade today, so as I ran my eyes over the menu, I was pretty pleased to see that I could order a crab cake sandwich with remoulade. It wasn't bad. The remoulade sort of looked like thousand island dressing, but wasn't sweet. It was a tad bland; I probably should have perked it up with some Tabasco, but the crab cake wasn't bad considering how far we are from any actual living crabs. I can't say I feel compelled to return to the restaurant (the name of which I simply cannot remember). It was pleasant enough--huge as I should have expected, with lots of fishing kitsch on the walls and "island"-themed music playing (Jimmy Buffett, Bob Marley, you get the picture). Big place, big plates of food.

But the trip to the Land of Guys resonated on another level because I've been reading a lot of guy literature recently for a dissertation committee I'm on. I started with Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian, which I will admit that I loath. Then I read his No Country for Old Men, which I think is terrific. Now I'm making my way through Ellis's American Psycho. Eww. And then I'll be moving on to Tim O'Brien's Going After Cacciato and The Things They Left Behind. Prior to this I had read Philip Roth's Exit Ghost, which is very much an old Guy's book. The representations of women, in all, so far, are pretty limited, and I'm dreading what's coming next in American Psycho since I'm getting lots of foreshadowing that doesn't bode well.

Guy Land is pretty foreign territory, I have to say. But let me say in my defense that I like guys a lot. I'm married to one who's still amazing me with his fabulousness after a zillion years of marriage, and some of my best friends are guys. Still, I just don't get Bass Pro Shop or Cormac McCarthy.

I mean, take this sign, for instance:


This made me think for a second or two before going in, I can tell you.

There was a sign on the stairs to the bottom floor, too, advertising some sort of special on Glocks as well.

I see a connection here between Bass Pro Shop and Blood Meridian, if I can just articulate it. It's an epic tale of the border between Mexico and Texas in the latter half of the 19th century, and the epic includes unspeakable acts of violence. But I found myself, after 100 pages or so, reading and saying to myself, oh, more scalpings. Hmm, here's another horrible death. It became no big deal. In fact, I found myself perking up and reading with more zeal when the characters stayed in a hotel and had baths. I figure Bass Pro Shop is where the Judge (back to Blood Meridian) could go and stock up on ammo these days.

Now I'm not saying that customers of Bass Pro Shop go out and commit unspeakable acts of violence. The clientele seemed like very nice men in bermuda shorts, tee shirts, and caps. But both McCarthy's world and Bass Pro Shops are, in many ways, foreign to me.

On a nice note, M and I went to the farmer's market in Dallas and, among other things got these lovely heirloom tomatoes along with peaches, cantaloupe, and a delicious Israel melon. And we went to the Dallas Museum of Art for a show by artist On Kawara.


So life is good, and I'm very happy that I'm not living on the Texas-Mexico border in 1849.