Imodium, I love you.

This week I was in lovely New Orleans; you know, home of Louis Armstrong, creole and Cajun cooking (which I only longingly gazed at), jazz, an abundance of fried food, the blues, sweltering heat, pralines, Bourbon Street, the Garden District's lovely Victorian mansions, Southern drawls, and all things hospitable (I was called darling and ma'am more times than I can count).

If you want anything in the South, it comes fried. Crohn's be damned, I was gonna make like a local. "So the half seafood platter is for one person, right?, I asked our waiter. "Oh, sugar, it sure is! (Say this to yourself with a Southern drawl while thinking big hair and sweet tea.) "It's our small portion." Okay. "And everything is fried?", I continued. "Sure is! You'll love it!" Oh hell, fine.

Please see below, what those in the South consider a "small" portion. Pay special attention to the WHOLE fried crab, perched on top...eyeballs and all. Just staring. (Below is a little ditty I like to call: fried crawfish balls, fried catfish, fried oysters, fried shrimp, and to just to have all our bases covered, french fries). Tada!