There is a fantastic Cajun restaurant in the middle of the projects up in Nashville that is a must-visit every time I'm in town. The man who owns it is from Lafayette, Louisiana, and the place fits 20 small-sized people. It's a shack with falling roof pieces and walls full of country music singer pictures. The neighborhood it's in is full of industrial complexes filled with smoke stacks and railroad cars that absolutely tower over the joint. The only way a potential customer would know it was there is because a sad little sign protrudes out into the street and reads "Breaux's Cajun Cuisine."
Regardless, this little treasure has a platter that any Cajun would fish in the Ponchatrain for. Boudin (that's boo-dan), crawfish etouffee, gumbo, jambalaya, red beans and rice and more flavors of shrimp than even Bubba could come up with. The flavors drift to your nose and instantly your mouth waters with the little perks under your jaw going crazy. It's the French Quarter and voodoo all mixed in one. It's the swamp, Mardi Gras and witch doctors. This is the type of Cajun I'm used to.
And last night I found another. Served up on iron skillets with sweet tea and Cajun bread...Wetumpka's Cajun Grill is NOT Breaux's but it sure is close. Situated in a tiny little strip mall between the nail salon and auto parts store, I almost missed it. But like a fly to sugar, it screamed at me as I passed it on the highway. All I need are candles for the spirits, jazz musicians and moss on the trees.