Mobile, Alabama oozes with charm to me. The ancient live oaks that arch over the traffic on Government Street are majestic. A tugboat moans low as it heads out toward the bay. It’s Mardi Gras season and beads hang from lamp posts and second story railings that have stood here for over 300 years.

I have returned to The Port City each January for over twenty years, now. I used to come here for business and seafood. But now that I’m just an aimlessly wandering retired old guy, I’m here for the seafood.

I asked Marion, “You wanna go to Mobile?”

“Is there seafood involved?” She has a way of getting right to the point.

“Yes,” I said.

“I’m in.”

It rained the entire drive down here. Dense fog has settled over the Mobile River. As we make the incline up the massive double bridges over the river, the roadway and railing and support arches disappear into the sky. We drive up hill into pea-soup-thick-fog thinking we might be driving into heaven itself. And poof! Just like that we disappear into the clouds.

We visited the convention center to see old friends at the trade show which was part of the reason for making the trip in the first place. Young lads with rosy cheeks in nursery caps. Familiar faces sitting in exhibitor booths, eating cold sandwiches for lunch. Saw a couple of retired nursery guys wandering the aisles same as me. Even sat with Ralph for a minute who pointed out that he is 82 and one-half years old and still happy to be working plants.

God bless him.

It was about 5:45 in the evening before we got to the main event. Wentzel’s, downtown on Dauphin St., is a slice of heaven when it comes to seafood in Mobile. Good seafood is being served up all over the bay area, but if you want the best, Wentzel’s is hard to beat. There were five of us. We split a dozen raw oysters and a basket of fried pickles.

For a brief time, moans replaced words.

When the meal was served, our table was covered in dishes of bacon-wrapped shrimp. Fried jumbo shrimp. Red snapper. Grilled shrimp. Lemon wedges. Light-as-a-feather hush puppies. And cheese grits so perfectly salted and buttered and creamy I might have possibly wept at a memory of my mama.

Our waiter was good. He was in and out constantly without ever making his presence noted. He took every order without pen and paper. Tea glasses disappeared and returned full so quickly you never knew they were gone. The only disappointment was that there was no room for dessert at the end.

Most of the restaurant reviews around Mobile are about the delicacies that come from the salt waters of the bay and gulf. But after twenty years of coming here, I want to give a shout out to what I would call the best breakfast in Mobile. Not everything is about shrimp and oysters down here.

Way out US 90, well west of downtown, in a buzzing little section off I-10 called Tillman’s Corner, you will find the faithful patrons of Dick Russell’s BBQ. Don’t let the BBQ fool you. This place is a full service, 3 meal-a-day restaurant. I discovered it about 15 years ago for supper one night. I saw the breakfast menu and knew I had to come back.

Since, while in Mobile, I’ve never eaten breakfast anyplace else. It’s that good.

The breakfast menu takes up two full pages. Eggs any way you can imagine. Omelets galore. Bacon so thick, smoked and cooked so perfectly it’s a spiritual experience unequalled anywhere. The pancakes, or hot cakes they call them, are fluffy and full-bodied. It is impossible to eat more than two of them in one sitting.

Karen is our waitress. She’s been here since 1997. She’s mid-50s with jet black hair. I’m assuming there may be some color in a bottle involved. Not that that matters. She is delightful and a great source of information.

“We’ve got a few folks that have been here a long time. Take Carlos, our cook in the kitchen, he started here when he was 30 and he’s in his 70s now.”

“It’s always been such a good place to work. Good people, too,” she says.

This is a typical American family dinner with an atmosphere to match. Wagon wheel lantern lights hang from the ceiling. Red peach basket lamps hang over each booth. Red checked tablecloths on every table. Even the framed artwork around the side walls adds a touch of warmth and class to the place.

Karen places our plates in front of us. I have the two pancakes with ham. Marion has the two pancakes with bacon. I’m wishing I had ordered the bacon.

It seems to me like the décor has changed slightly since my last visit. I ask the girl who pours our coffee about a deer antler chandelier I thought I remembered, but she has no idea. She did say there was a kitchen fire not long ago and a lot of things had to be replaced in the seating area just because of smoke damage.

I steal a piece of bacon from Marion. I can’t help it. Karen comes by to check on us.

“There’s only one Dick Russell’s,” she says. “They tried to open up another one somewhere out north of town back in 1982 but it didn’t work because everyone expected it to look and feel like this place. It was different. No one liked the change. I think it stayed open six months before they closed it down.”

Dick Russell’s was founded in 1954. It had a few other start-up locations before landing here.

“This building used to be a Bonanza restaurant.” Karen is like the restaurant historian. “Some of the serving trays we use still say Bonanza on them. We don’t care. As long as they still work, we’ll keep using them.”

I try to chime in. “I know you’ve got some faithful customers. I’ve seen a few in here who look like regulars. They sit down and you bring them food without ever ordering anything.”

Karen gets animated. “Let me tell you about our customers. Back during Covid, when we had to shut down, we kept the drive-thru window open, and we did more business through that window that we normally did out here in the restaurant. The line was all the way out to the highway some days. Our customers are the best.”

We finish up. Karen brings us two extra biscuits to go with the ham we’re taking with us. Out in the parking lot, Marion pauses to take a picture of the huge live oak that spreads out across the parking lot.

Mobile is in the rearview mirror. Marion is driving. We’re headed to Purvis, Mississippi to see some friends of hers.

I’m sitting in the right seat pecking away at my laptop. I have misspelled most every word in this story twice due to all the bumps in the highway. The view out my window is miles and miles of pines and swamp.

I’m smiling to beat the band.