Features
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A GUIDE
TEXAS
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TO THE HIKING
BEST OF BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA RED
B L U F F, M I S S I S S I P P I
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TAKING
ROAD TRIPPIN’ THE
LONG WAY TO
MUSTANG
ISLAND,
W
E VA C U AT I O N H AV E N S
When God Sends You to Alabama . . . FRENCH BISTROS, LOCAL BREWS, AND BOTANICAL GARDENS IN BIRMINGHAM By Chris Turner-Neal
M
an plans; God laughs. This past summer He got some particularly good giggles out of my attempts to make travel plans: my boyfriend and I arranged to go to the Netherlands, canceled the reservations because of the Delta variant, planned to go on a North Alabama road trip as a consolation prize, canceled the Alabama road trip when my boyfriend needed his tonsils out, evacuated New Orleans for Hurricane Ida two days after Frankie’s surgery, and wound up in an AirBnB in Birmingham anyway. But even if our plans make the Almighty laugh, it’s not always at our expense: we had so much fun in North Alabama we priced apartments. The pretty steel city in the hills where the Appalachians peter out was a perfect home away from home and made the evacuation almost restful. We stayed in the Five Points South neighborhood near the University of Alabama at Birmingham and had plenty to do; late in the trip, we went to eat and drink in Avondale, where we might have been able to occupy another week—a good excuse to return.
Beet Salad at Ocean in Birmingham, courtesy of the restaurant.
D
Eat
The French Bistro, Chez Fonfon draws on Parisian charm, serving dishes like country paté, escargots, and a Basque cake. Photo courtesy of the Birmingham CVB. 36
A P R 2 2 // C O U N T R Y R O A D S M A G . C O M
Birmingham deserves a reputation as a food city. The worst meal I had here was merely good, and the best restaurants we tried could easily go head-to-head with their counterparts in New Orleans. I took Frankie for an early birthday at Ocean, an upscale seafood spot in the Five Points district. The catch of the day is displayed fresh on ice next to the expansive raw bar, whetting your appetite as soon as you enter. We started with a house cocktail called the Ocean Martini—we thought we were ordering a joke drink (in our defense, it had blue curacao in it), but were put in our place by a balanced drink that matched the seafood well. We ordered a flight of East Coast oysters: smaller and lighter than their Gulf sisters, they were varied enough to inspire conversation (and fantasies about a trip to Nova Scotia). After a round of exquisite oysters Bienville, our mains arrived: halibut over ricotta dumplings with chanterelles and peas for him; grouper over a fennel and quinoa salad for me—perfectly-cooked fish in both
dishes, with accompaniments good enough to compete but not overpower. Dessert was a lemon-lavender pound cake with fresh strawberries and baklava ice cream: baked Alaska’s Levantine cousin, with ice cream wrapped in phyllo, flash-fried and drizzled with honey. We fought to lick the plates. A friend had recommended Chez Fonfon, a French bistro a block from Ocean. The name is the only funny thing about this flawless restaurant. We ordered small plates: a summery and glorious heirloom tomato salad, a country paté with an unusually light and herbal seasoning profile, the best chicken-liver mousse of my organ-meat-tasting career, and a half-dozen sumptuous escargots. Dessert was a summer berry trifle fat with fruit and a Basque cake, in effect a fancy pound cake served with vanilla crème anglaise and figs. The excellent coffee was a respite after a week of K-cups. During ordinary time, start the day at The Original Pancake House, which offers a vast diner menu of breakfast specialties—if you have the time, it’s
