Acme is the kind of place artfully constructed to feel like a dive without actually stooping to that level. It still manages to do the Southern/Cajun thing very well, if with a bit of kitsch. The ceiling is corrugated tin. A rusted Texaco sign adorns the back wall, near the bar. Bottles of hot sauce line a ledge, underneath portraits of deceased Southern rock and soul legends painted on raw board. The food is fried and the beer is cold. It’s just enough to make one want to spit chewin’ tabacca on the ground. Luckily, the restaurant’s laws of decorum frown upon such behavior. Screaming out “Free Bird” while raising your Swamp Juice to Ronnie Van Zandt is probably okay, though.