Uncle Bubba's Savannah Seafood

Introduction It's not everybody who's lucky enough to make a living at what they love best. Me? I'm one of the lucky ones, and boy, don't I know it! My whole life has been about cooking, eating, and swapping stories. Now that I have a restaurant where I get to do those things on a daily basis, I try never to forget just how blessed I am. Most every day I put on my baseball cap and visit with the fine folks who are eating in our restaurant. I stop by each table and eyeball what they've ordered. Could be a plateful of my chargrilled oysters or Georgia sweet shrimp with homemade cocktail sauce. Either one will make you want to clean your plate and beg for more. I always say, "Hey, y'all, I'm Uncle Bubba. Where y'all from?" People appreciate the personal attention and lots of times say they never realized that there really is an Uncle Bubba. I say, "Yep, that's me, and I'm proud to be a good ole Southern boy." My family and I have never been what you would call fancy diners. Growing up in southwest Georgia, we never had white tablecloths or silver candlesticks. We just wanted to eat good, laugh a lot, and have a good time. When I opened the doors at Uncle Bubba's Oyster House I tried to carry on what I describe as down-home Southern style. I want people to come just as they are and enjoy what I think is the greatest seafood ever, like my oyster stew, for instance. It's just like the stews I ate when I was a boy growing up, made by my Mama, Corrie Paul Hiers, and my Granny Paul. (That's what I preferred to call her; Paula called her Grandmomma Paul.) To make oyster stew, we start with sauteed onion, pour in real milk, add some real butter and a few other special ingredients, and then add the best oysters you've ever put in your mouth. Like I said before, I'm proud of the name Bubba. Yep, people kid me about it all the time but I just laugh because it's a nickname that fits my personality. I was named for my daddy, Earl Wayne Hiers Sr. He was a great guy who never met a stranger. He and Mama didn't want me to be called Little Earl or Junior so they called me Bubba, which in the South is slang for brother. Most of you know that I am Paula Deen's one and only baby brother. But believe it or not, Bubba isn't my only nickname. My Granny Hiers called me Sonny Boy. Come to think of it, that's what she called everybody. One story about her gets me laughing out loud every time I tell it. When I got out of high school I was dying to have a motorcycle bigger than the Honda 50 I scooted around on in Albany, Georgia. My Aunt Peggy Ort, my Mama's sister, just about had a fit when Mama bought me that first motorcycle. She reminds me of that motorcycle all the time and how she couldn't believe that her sister would buy a motorcycle for a fifteen-year-old boy. Anyway, after high school I bought a Honda 750 and decided to ride it to Florida because I had met a girl who lived around Winter Haven, which was close to where Daddy's relatives lived. I grew up around good cooks. I can still taste the chicken, with the secret barbecue sauce, that Daddy used to put on the grill. It was truly finger-lickin' good. Food like that was my downfall when it came to my weight. When I went to college I started working out because I wanted to get to know some of the good-lookin' girls on campus. I went to the gym and, before long, I had dropped about thirty pounds. So, lookin' all handsome, I took one of my old belts, strapped it around my suitcase, hooked it to the back of the motorcycle and took off down Interstate 75. My first stop was Winter Haven because I wanted to visit Daddy's baby brother, Uncle Bob, who, by the way, used to be a model in New York. (I guess that's where me and Paula get some of our good looks from.) Around the corner from Uncle Bob was where Daddy's Mama lived. I pulled into Granny Hiers's driveway and saw her pushing open the screen door. She wavedHiers, Earl is the author of 'Uncle Bubba's Savannah Seafood ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780743292832 and ISBN 0743292839.