Forgetting about it at Rosie's Cantina

March 15, 2007

Dear Pat,

For spring break, Midwestern college students go to Florida or Cancun to get sunburned, drink beer and flirt with students from other universities. Midwestern male golfers go to Alabama, home of the Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail, to get sunburned, drink beer and flirt with the beer cart girls. Afterward, at night, they tell their wives almost all about it on the phone.

I'm too old to flirt with girls on beer carts and don't bother telling DC about my day on the golf course because she dislikes nothing so much as stories about golf. She's right about that. For a sport that holds such fascination for so many, few tales are as stultifying as the retelling of someone else's round of golf. Your own round of golf, of course, is endlessly interesting.

The golf trail was designed by one of the most famous golf architects in the world. The 18 courses are reasonably priced, open to the public and scattered about at eight cities around the state. They have made Alabama a tourist destination.

My friend Don and I decided to play the Shoals courses in Florence, Ala., in the northwestern corner of the state because Florence is only about a half day of driving from Cape Girardeau. Florence was named for the famous city in Italy but is short on sculptures and cathedrals, long on shopping malls. It's the birthplace of both blues pioneer W.C. Handy and actor George Lindsey, who played Goober on "The Andy Griffith Show." Two of Florence's biggest events are the blues festival named for Handy and the film festival named for Goober.

DC wonders what it could be like to spend a whole day playing golf. Most times it's pleasingly exhausting. Sometimes it's brutal.

One of the Shoals courses, Fighting Joe, is a humongous 8,000 yards long from the championship tees. A strong headwind blew the day we played it. Fighting Joe beat me up.

The next day the course was crowded, and we had to wait to tee off on many holes. The excitement of playing golf can easily turn into impatience. We exchanged pleasantries with the other waiting golfers, most consisting of comments on the swings of the golfers up ahead who were slowing everyone down. "This is the first time one of the guys has ever played, and he isn't even the worst player in the group," one golfer groused. Brutal.

Rosie's Cantina, though, made all the bad golf and disagreeableness go away. Rosie's is in a former grocery store decorated with salvaged wooden beams. A mural depicting a Mexican market scene is painted on one wall. Mexican art and colored lights are everywhere. Mariachi music plays over the sound system, and the waiters and waitresses seem to enjoy being there.

Being at Rosie's was like happening on a festive party where everybody is welcome. Good salsa and guacamole are good medicine.

Now that I am paying more attention to what I eat, what I eat has become more interesting to me.

Rosie's Famoso Shrimp Burrito, for instance, is a tortilla filled with sauted jumbo shrimp, onions, peppers and mushrooms topped with an avocado sauce. It's served with cilantro rice and a black bean soup with sausage. Good with a couple of Bohemia beers and finished off with coffee and chocolate Kahlua flan.

Don had the chili relleno, which I'm sure wasn't as interesting.

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.