Christmas in New Orleans

Christmas in New Orleans is, in beauty, akin to Christmas in Paris--trade in the snarky locals for totally awesome laid back locals and they are equal in so many more ways than mere beauty.  This being my first Christmas in New Orleans I have tried to make my rounds and experience many of the town's holiday traditions.  Outside of seeing my first black Santa at the Thanksgiving parade down Decatur, my first stop was the Roosevelt Hotel.


 

 

I walked from the dark of night into an orgasmic wanderlust of sparkle and color and thousands upon thousands of lights.  It is magnificent.  It is also a little overwhelming, like a surreal cotton candy acid trip in the North Pole, but it is beautiful.  This has been a tradition of the hotel since 1994, but  the lobby had been decorated for Christmas off and on since the 40's, depending on the owners.  The birth of the version we see now, though it has evolved over the years, started in 2009 when the hotel reopened with a flourish after Katrina.

On Christmas Eve I had the opportunity to see the bonfires along the Mississippi. I'm always down for a good bonfire, add that to Christmas Eve and you've got a beautiful family evening.  Kind of feels like the kinds of things people would do where I grew up in North Carolina.  One of these families kindly brought me in to their bonfire circle and explained to me that the bonfires are supposed to guide Papa Noel, New Orleanian's Santa Claus.

I went to a play on a Réveillon dinner in the Bywater, which, for all intents and purposes, was a potluck. It has been explained to me by my lovely regular Miss. Gloria that when she was growing up the Réveillon dinner was the feast you ate on Christmas Eve that was supposed to ride you through Midnight Mass to Christmas morning. As most traditions the dinner has morphed into an opportunity for special prix fix menus at some of the best restaurants, gala opportunities in Uptown, and most importantly, an opportunity to get together with whatever form of family you have here and feast and drink and be merry.

My final Christmas in New Orleans moment included a walk to the Quarter to see the lights at Jackson Square, a chilly moment with the Mississippi River (this is for sanity, the river is so constant and calming), and a quiet moment along Decatur listening to a loan musician's rendition of Louis Armstrong's "Christmas in New Orleans".  My walk ended with Christmas Caroling at Washington Park near Frenchmen Street.  I had forgone the Jackson Square Caroling because I wasn't really in the mood for all of the people that would involve and knew the Washington Park one would be a good neighborhood activity.

New Orleans' Christmas has been criticized by some tourists for downplaying Christmas over New Years.  I have kind of seen this outside of the above, work hasn't been as busy, it seems like a lot of people went out of town, my neighborhood has been silent except for the random bursts of fireworks.  It would surprise me in no way shape or form if this was actually the case because New Orleans knows when to keep things sacred and when to party. 

Save the party for the eve of the New Year--which is in about 25 hours.

Dodgy Drunks & Pissed up Wankers. 2nd Installment

This morning I locked up my bike a couple of posts from a parked pick-up truck with the engine running.  I thought nothing of it at the time because the newspaper delivery guy drives the same truck and in my groggy 6am head I didn't even see the guy sitting in the front seat, and I didn't put much together very cognitively, I just assumed.... 

Almost an hour later I was bringing the out the patio furniture and was surprised to see this truck still out there, and still running.  After a brief consultation wit the famous Welmon Sharlhorne, whose artwork you can see at the Smithsonian, or here; who just so happened to be walking by, and which went a little like this:  "Can you kill yourself sitting in a running car if it's not in a garage?" and ended with Welmon, who looks like the spirit of the Saints barfed black and gold pimp glitter all over him, and is also one of my most favorite Frenchmen Street people, looking down at me from his lens-less gold rimmed glasses stating pointedly, "Oh, he's goin die".

After my co-worker and I knocked on the window for almost three minutes the man began to move as if coming out of a coma.  What looked like his attempt to roll down the window or turn the car off, I'm still not sure, he went on to run his hand into the radio like a blind zombie.  It was like watching life is slow motion rewind.  Three times he reached toward the radio but with no actual button triggered.  He then found the window lever and rolled it down a half inch and back up.  This guy was so wasted.  All the while he comes off as being completely oblivious to our yelling at him through the window, "Your car has been running for over an hour!" and  "Turn your engine off and sleep it out!".  He was moving around inside the running car with his arms and wobbling head, but denied us any response, much less a turn of the head to even look at us. 
 
Welmon said, "fu*% it, you woke him up.  You tried."  It was time to open the cafe so after a couple more attempts to get him to turn his engine off we went back inside, checking out the window every couple minutes to see if he was still there.  After a couple glances out the window, the truck was gone.  Vanished. 

The moment he was gone I didn't know what I regretted more, waking him up, or releasing this man to the world--in a vehicle. Shoulda called the cops, but it all felt like it happened so fast and even if we did, they would have never gotten there in time.

Fifteen minutes later in walks this sparkle faced, top hat wearing, vaudeville slaps the face of burlesque looking man. He was rather lively, his face was covered in red glitter, and he, being the only other person in the place at that time, went on to regal us with the stories of his night on mushrooms in New Orleans, starting with him in a nice suit and tie, and ending with him in a top hat, a burnt off tie (the knot and neck part still intact, and on him), a dirt covered blazer with matching tattered pants, and ridiculous sparkly red heeled man boots.  He apparently got slapped by a hooker, lost all his friends, found new ones, swapped shoes with a transvestite, rode a bike to the beginning of the Industrial Canal at the tip of Bywater across from the lower 9th Ward, was taken under the wing of Amzie Adams, the famous Frenchmen Street Artist and Spiritual Mentor, whose Art can be seen here, and caught a metal show at Hi-Ho Lounge.

His visit ended with us all dancing in the middle of the cafe to The Temptations.

Gene's Po'Boys

By: Amy Thomas

I just so happen to live two blocks from the pepto-pink beacon of po'boy greatness, Gene's Po'boys, located at St. Claude and Elysian Fields.


Out of all of the po'boy spots in all of New Orleans, this one is my favorite.  It's open 24 hours, it's so close to me, and it is that dirty little food secret that is sooo bad and sooo good all at once.  I already know that their roast beef po'boy with cheese is something that I will crave no matter where I am in the world for my entire life .  For me, it's a toss up between the hot sausage and the roast beef po'boy, but I have to say I think the roast beef wins for me.  Steaming hot roast beef, gravy, gooey american cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickles, mayo, on fresh french bread, mmmmm...makes my tummy happy and hungry just thinking about it.  And it is huge, I can never make it much further than half-way through the sandwich, and it is always great later.

Gene's only has something like 5 or 6 sandwiches on their menu, a couple breakfast ones (I'm not really sure, I stick the roast beef or sausage), the hot sausage, the roast beef, and hot ham and cheese.  That is it.  No sides, no bullshit, just a po'boy and a free soda.

The location is considered by some to be a 'bad' part of town, I guess thats relative, go in like you know what you are doing, you already have all the menu items to choose from above.  I literally only go at night, for some reason Gene's isn't the same in the sunlight, a couple beers in your belly doesn't hurt either.  They are cash only, and our favorite daquiri spot is right around the corner on Elysian Fields--andt they are owned by the same guy.
Keep it local.

I know what I'm eating for dinner....

Dodgy Drunks & Pissed Up Wankers: A Continuing Saga

Opening a Cafe on Frenchmen Street at 6 am on a Sunday is like walking into the Ceasar's Palace suite of The Hangover before everyone woke up meets a really lame zombie attack .   It smells, there is trash everywhere, people are milling about aimlessly crashing, stumbly, drunken and/or coming down from whatever they took the night before.  And there is always an interesting situation that arises when one of them meanders into the cafe to attempt to purchase breakfast or coffee. 

Last week this hipster Brit arrives and painstakingly orders a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich.  After much miscommunication between he and the barista the transaction is completed and he takes a half step over and procedes to fall asleep leaning against the counter.  Another customer entered and ordered around him, none are really surprised.  You have to be slighty desensitized to these kind of things here.

After tthe party...trash dat!

I rush his sandwhich, throwing it in a to go bag, no matter what the ticket says, and shoo him on out the restaurant.  This poor cat attempts to eat his sandwich on the chairs outside, this went unnoticed to us inside until I took a box to the trash and find him passed out, slumped down in his chair with the remains of his sandwich trickling from his mouth down his chest where the last remaining bite is resting in a sloppy mess of deli paper and melted cheese.

I wake him up with an abrupt, "Hey dude! You can't sleep here man.  Dude!" After a while he comes to and begins to argue and almost yell at me claiming that he was definently not asleep. 

"Asleep or passed out, you gotta get the hell out of here you pissed up wanker."

After another of these exchanges (I was a little hungover this particular morning and was feeling fiesty) he finally made his exit.  Mounting his bike like a man with brand new legs, and wabbled about 20 yards before literally just falling right over onto the ground.  It's like he just turned to dead weight, whatever happened, he and his bike fully ate it.  He popped right up like he was totally cool, as if nothing happened, remounted, made it to the corner where he tried to stop for a car, and ran into the curb busting his front wheel.  Taking it like a man, or the worthless drunken piece of clay he was at that moment, and vomited his sandwich right back on himself.

Shots Fired. Nothing New in New Orleans

We have now been here in the New Orleans's lower 7th Ward for over seven months and have seen a lot of good and a lot of change, and a lot of new experiences, good and bad. 

New Experience #1: 

Gun Shots. 
Gun shots are not something I have ever gotten used to in my travels around the world.  I was in a bar that was shot up/held up in Charlotte, NC one horrendous night, which was also one of the first nights I have ever actually heard a pistol shot with the exception of the reverberations of a hunting rifle in the distance while playing in the country growing up. 

In New Orleans, gun shots are something you can face on a weekly basis, sometimes more, sometimes less.  Things have been relatively quiet around here lately, but I can now precisely determine the difference between gun shots and a car back fire or fireworks. 

We have also had two drive-by's happen at the trap house (look it up) a block up the street.  One of which I was home for. I was on the phone with my boyfriend when the shots started, I stopped talking and hit the floor (bar shooting flash-backs have taught me something), subconsciously counting the shots as the echoed in my mind even to this day.  They stopped shooting.  I turned the lights off in the den and looked out the window to see people in the bar catty corner to me run out to see what happened.  Immediately after a police car actually came down the street (this ONLY happens when there are shots fired, the police are absolutely non-existent in my neighborhood otherwise, and I must note, my neighborhood is five blocks from the French Quarter). I went outside more to be with these people then to find out what happened.  I know what happened. But what I need is people to talk to about it and to feel that they feel the same terror and exasperation that I do.

Two men shot, the residents of these two blocks emptied out into the street to find out more information.  Drive-by, silver Chrysler, two men hit, one of them in the neck, 8 shots fired, the facts and questions now seem standard conversation.   The police erect their giant glowing night-time crime scene light stick that rises to over eight feet.  We are all now used to this.  The people that have lived here their whole lives are still concerned because these are there brothers, uncles, sons, and fathers. These are their streets and neighborhoods, friends and loved ones. 

We decided to go out after this. Stiff drinks help, they don't help to understand, but they help.  We saw one of the homeless guys that hangs on our street and comes out to the Marigny to beg telling us the guy shot in the neck passed away.

We return to a quiet and empty street and wake to buses of upper middle class white people being carted out to the Lower 7th to work on Habitat for Humanity houses oblivious to the tragic and constant battles of the night. And, no police presence until it happens again.

Red Beans & Rice...Let's Get Dirty

I was finally put to the most arduous task of making red beans and rice and be critiqued by the native masses.  This is no small task.  I am from the South, I understand how serious things like this are.  If you don't make it like they remember there grandmother's making it, then it is wrong.  At the same time, there are no two recipes that are alike, thus continuing Sisyphus' trip up the hill. For me, there is really only one way to make grits, fried chicken, or collards, yes, there are variations on additions, but at the core there is only one way.  One way.  So, I began by doing my research.

Red beans first came to Louisiana via the Haitian Slave Revolt that began in 1789 and flushed out all the refugee plantation owners and eventually freed and slave Africans up the Mississippi to New Orleans.  Now this emigration brought so much to New Orleans, variations on voudoux, new musical instruments, and sugar cane know how.  It shaped the depth of culture and tradition in the city in so many ways.

Red Beans and Rice is traditionally served on Mondays--it's all about leftovers.  As well, as something mindless to make that you can ignore to clean the house, wash the clothes, etc.  Also, the sausage is traditional served on the side, but this is not how my recipe goes, I cannot give up the unbelievable flavor of pork fat from beginning to end.

1 lb Camellia Brand red beans, its a good Louisiana company.  Soaked overnight and drained. If you have the money add some white wine to the water you soak them in overnight.  You can also add an onion quartered and some dried peppers to infuse more flavor into the beans.

1 lb Louisiana Jasmine rice

1 ham hock
1 1/2 lb smoked sausage, halved and sliced

1 vidalia onion, minced
2 celery stalks, minced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 bell pepper, minced

1/2 c. white cooking wine
6 c chicken stock

1 t. cayenne, depends on how hot you are ready to go!
4 bay leaves
8 sprigs of fresh thyme
salt and pepper

2 Tbl butter

• Sear the ham hock on all sides in a large pot.  Add the halved and sliced smoked sausage and get a good sear producing pork fat to suate the vegetables in.
• Lower the temperature on the stove unit and add the vegetables, being careful not to burn anything. 
• Add the well drained beans.
• Deglaze the pan with 1/2 c. white cooking wine, and cook until almost all of the wine is gone.
• Add the chicken stock, you can also just use water here or a vegetable stock depending on monetary and dietary restrictions.
• Add the cayenne, bay leaves, thyme, and a little salt and pepper.  This will be cooking on low for about two more hours so you don't want to add too much salt too early, the taste will intensify.
• Let it ride on a slow boil for about two hours.  Make sure the beans are neither crunchy or smushed.
• In the mean time, about 20 minutes before the beans are done, cook the rice.  Slightly season with salt and pepper.
• Add butter to the beans when it is done, stir until the butter melts, taste for salt and pepper and add more if needed.
• Garnish with green onion if you are going for flare

Halloween: Costume Your Face Off...In New Orleans!!

By:  Amy Thomas

In a town that thrives on masks, parties, mischief, and mayhem, Halloween is just the kind of holiday for New Orleans--and the nerve center of all this mayhem culminated in an exploding atom on Frenchmen Street.

 I work on Frenchmen so Halloween weekend meant a lot of work and long days and nights watching others on debaucherous jaunt in the street.  It also meant I had an excuse to wear ridiculous costumes at work, one night I was an overdosed disco chick and the other I went Tori Spelling in her Saved by the Bell Years. 

The payoff to all this work and no play was that I somehow had Halloween off. This was going to be trouble.  My costume for the big night was a murderous bad-ass Mayan forecasting the end of the world.  It took my a hot minute to get this costume together. I had chicken feet hanging from this giant neck piece/top I had, along with fake ears, cryptic writing, and blacked out eyes.  Like I said, costumes are taken very seriously in these parts.

I started out at R Bar, which is always nice, and conveniently is at the end of my street. People were spilling out of the bar in any and every type of costume.  The streets were starting to fill and cars were starting to be completely blocked from passing through.

 I didn't know what to expect at this point walking around the corner off Royal to Frenchmen and getting slapped in the face by thousands of people packing the streets for blocks and blocks.  It was a leviathan sea of enunciated inebriation.  There were unfortunate cars being danced on, DJ's in the street, bearded women, jello shots, kegs, a lot of men dressed as women, Tobias in blue men phase, glow sticks, elicit drug exchanges, trumpets and saxophones dancing into the streets from every bar, and Jersey vampires giving it to you with attitude.  It was a completely beautiful party. 

See you on the Halloween flip side, as Elvis says goodbye to the Leprechaun.

Catching Up

I haven't posted in a couple months...and I have been contemplating over the root of my complete lack of ambition towards writing things about settling in to New Orleans.

And I still couldn't tell you.

Isaac came and went, we spent a good week without power but nothing too horrible happened to the house.  The best part was the communities reaction to this event.  This is something you roll with down here, but it helps when there is a neighbor to help you collect branches, bring in trash cans, make sure you have water, and the ever present food trucks that majestically appear in your hood so you don't have to travel twenty minutes to wait in line at McDonalds or awful Rally's for another hour or so just to be disappointed and ridden with guilt and gas for the rest of the day.  The food trucks and Verti Mart kept my tummy full, and the Spotted Cat came through with a generator, a band, and cold beer.

We got disaster food stamps, went to the arena, saw the army corp, registered to vote in Louisiana-it was an experience, but after losing our entire fridge and freezer and a week of work, it was worth it.

Getting through a hurricane on these coasts is like making it through your intitiation to become an official resident.  Now, a couple months later, you can share stories with others.  Conversations have something in them like, "I ate there during Isaac" or "We met them during Isaac".  That means you've been here, you aren't a tourist, you aren't one of those tourists that stays on extended stay, which means you stay for a couple months contemplating moving here. You live here. 

There have been more incredible parades, more festivals, more anything in the world you can do outside once the weather went from hot wet wool blanket to the cool breeze of paradise. 

I have settled in to my job on Frenchmen Street, and we feel like we have friends, the ability to navigate the town without the GPS, the exact location of our favorite chicken fingers (Today's Cajun Seafood on St. Claude, believe me), po'boys (we stick to Frady's), pizza (Sugar Park), daiquiries (behind Gene's), bar (ever revolving), and so on.  We live in an incredible and unique paradise. It is now our home.

The part that is hard to write about New Orleans are the social issues.  The school system here is to shit.  The roads in neighborhoods off the Quarter or Garden districts are shit.  The mental health hospital for all of New Orleans shut down and moved and there have already been three deaths attributed to released patients.  There are gun shots, drive-bys, the constant threat of getting jumped.  The constant game in your head...look them in the eye when you walk by, say whats up, look straightforward, angry, assured, on a mission.  Watch out for groups of teenagers. Keep open businesses on your walk so you have somewhere to run if something happens.  These are all things that you have to consider every time you go somewhere. We live in the Seventh Ward, this shit gets serious.

If you write this out like this it looks like you would have to be a little insane to live here, and maybe that is true, we are definenlty a lot weirder than Austin thinks they are, but the pros so greatly outweigh the cons that sometimes you don't even notice them until there is a shooting a block away. 

A New Orleans with No Hubig's Pie, 7 Days and Counting

It has been a week since the 90 year old New Orleans institution Hubig's Pie burnt down.  I was slated for the 6am shift for that Friday morning and as I groggily turned the TV on to the news I was quickly awakened with the then four alarm fire that had overtaken the factory.  By that time the front facade had already fallen, the roof caved, the insides demolished, it was already over.  It would become a five alarm fire in the next couple minutes.


On my bike ride to work I could see the smoke billowing into the awakening sky, breaking the news to drinkers outside La Peniche, I rode down Elysian to see Dauphine closed off by the 35 trucks and 95 firefighters on the scene.  
  

I work at a cafe on Frenchman and it was all anyone talked about, we sold out of the pies within thirty minutes of opening.  One of the buyers was me, and it was my first Hubig's Pie purchase.  It's in this picture, and I actually just ate it.   I don't own a microwave, per the packages instruction, but I warmed it in my oven, and it was delicious.  It reminded me of a famous Southern Italian delicacy I have had with delicious fried pastry filled with a fruit flavored cream, and finished with a perfectly sweat sugar glaze.


It's not about the pies as much it is about the institution.  Hubig's is something New Orleans takes pride in and it burning down right in front of them tore at a sentimental part of their hearts.  


I wasn't worried that my first Hubig's Pie buy was my last.  As my dear friend Kenneth, a New Orleans native, said when the subject of rebuilding came up, "Oh, Hubig's will be rebuilt, we will rebuild it."

And that is why New Orleans is incredible.

Bastille Day 2012 in New Orleans, Fête de la Fédération

It's Bastille Day in New Orleans, or rather 'Fête de la Fédération'.  For some reason my boyfriend has been looking forward to Bastille Day for like 10 months, since before we even knew we were moving down here.  So it is a meritorious coincidence that we are here in costume in the middle of the maelstrom of Bastille Day, French Quarter style, on this Saturday night.  


First I must tell you about our outfits because they were ridiculous.  Bastille Day commemorates the day that the people rose up and actually stormed the Bastille in order to have ammunition to defend themselves from Louis XVI's Royal Military.  Parisians really knew how to do things in large numbers back then.  Their success brought about the Declaration of Rights of Man and of the Citizen and the end to feudalism.  I searched images of paintings of the 'storming' and all I could really find was an image of a topless woman with an off white sheet draped around her wielding a firearm and a flag of France.  The other kinda looked like Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman with a du-rag.  Otherwise, it was peasant wear, done.  We went and bought fabric and I got a brown color for my skirt, couldn't figure out a top, and finally ended up with this very cave womanish get up.  We had the brilliant idea for my boyfriend to wear a toga and he picked out fabric with the Saints logo on it. I know.  So our outfits ended in his time traveler Saints toga and me in the worst looking brown skirt ever, a cheetah shirt, and some strange leopard fur Russian looking hat thing, and a brilliant faux silk red sash.

The coolest outfit ever

We ended up storming a building on Frenchman 
Street, traveling around with the parade dancing, singing, stopping every  couple blocks to dance and sing some more, traveling along Decatur and  up the stairs to the balcony overlook of Jackson Square for the finale. 

Running of the Bulls, New Orleans

By: Amy Thomas

Its 7 am.  I do not want to be up right now, the alarm annoys, and I rise.  Coffee.  White clothing.  Bike across the Quarter at 7:30 in the morning to get your butt smacked.  Literally :)

Today is not only the same day as the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, but it is also Bastille Day, the celebrated storming of armory for weapons in Paris of the people, and New Orleans is taking full advantage of both.

Why the white clothing you might ask..well, first up for the day at 8am is the Running of the Bulls, which consists of hundred of white clothed, partially inebriated 'runners' and Roller Derby girls wielding plastic bats  and horned helmets as 'bulls'.  

The horn blows and we are off, actually running from these ladies, getting smacked in the but every couple minutes or seconds, scurrying when one comes up from behind, and taking in the other 'runners'.  You have everything from families, girls with their hair straightened and their short skirts and tiny flip flops unable to hack it in the early heat, old men dressed as matadors, a motorized cooler bike, and my favorite a Zach Galifinakis look-a-like with white cut-off shorts, a white shirt tucked into these oh so tiny shorts, suspenders, a white matador jacket, a beret, a case of beer in his hand, pilot goggles,and the most hilarious jaunt fleeing from oncoming bulls.

Check out more at nolabulls.com

'Uncle' Lionel

What an incredible weekend to be in New Orleans.

I stop here because I don't even think I can begin to explain the happenings of my day.  The great brass drummer 'Uncle' Lionel Batiste passed away this week, and ending the week long celebration of this incredible musician's life the Treme's second line went on parade starting in North Treme and ending on St. Claude at Sweet Lorraine's.  Sweet Lorraine's is less than a hundred yards from our house so I rush us out with the first trumpet sound I heard and step onto the street to see hundreds of people lining the streets and gathering about a block down a St. Claude and St. Bernard.  The parade began and with that came the music, the white clothes the lady's in their Sunday hats, the umbrellas, the dancing, the occasional tears.

The joy of this life, this incredible loss to New Orleans soul, it was indescribable.  Two bands slowly made their way down St. Claude, one U-turning to end at Sweet Lorraine's, and one going rouge and traveling down Touro rounding out onto Frenchman Street from Royal.  This was the path we chose along with a train of locals, gawking tourists, bee-bopping happiness hop stepping its way around Marigny.  On our way home we ended up walking back by Lorraine's and stopping for a while finalizing our excursion with a couple Coronas and a most excellent char grilled sausage.  


A couple moves with my man the 'Dancing Man', roof top solo's, and musicians I now recognize, it was a good night.  It all ended with us finding out we have an incredible view  from our front sidewalk of the river fireworks celebrating the eve of Bastille Day.  I close the door immersed in the air of New Orleans's unwillingness to allow its heritage, history, scars, and glory to fade into line with the rest of the country.

List of Trash Seven Years After Katrina

Here is a list of rubbish in our backyard left from Katrina, 7 YEARS LATER.  Most of it was pushed up against the back of our fence, backing up to St. Bernard Ave.



After over a month of cleaning, the backyard stil looks destroyed - June 2012

• one leg to a  baby doll
• one way sign, including the sign post
• beer & liquor bottles and cans, almost five large trash bagss worth
• shoes, at least 8 different shoes, none of which match
• seven trashcans full of  glass shards
• mattress
• futon
• shells from Lake Pontchetrain
• carpet from at least a 12x20 ft. room
• more carpet in more colors
• 3 vhs tapes
• concrete
• oyster shells
• clothes
• bicycle wheels, rims, gaurds, & frames
• book binders
• some other street sign too destroyed to read
• bricks, two doghouses worth (some of these are now our fire pit)
• three garden hoses
• a room worth of floor tile
• another room worth of roof tile
• a cooler
• the head of a ceramic duck
• parts of a baby carrier
• cell phone and battery
• cell phone case
• 1 broken record (ha!)
• tube of toothpaste
• every part of a house possible to fall off
• insulation
• frisbee
• 6" piece of braided hair tied with twine (yes, this is incredibly creepy)
• deoderant 
• the tenant of my house during Katrina's wallet

I am continually adding to this list as we unearth more of the debris layer by layer....

June 2013 - Our backyard one year later.  We've doe a lot of work!

GW Fins

By:  Amy Thomas

My mom is visiting for a couple days, which means I not only get to see my mommy and have a familiar face around in this new town, but also we get to eat somewhere schmoozy that I could not otherwise afford.  We made reservations and Aaron, my mom and I hit the town for an impressive night out at GW Fins.  As nice as the restaurant is, the decor reminds me of one of those bland high end prohibition big band joints, sans the band and debaucherous jaunt of illegal mischief.  The ambiance was simple, tight, and extremely polite.  The service on every single level was outstanding, from the front of house manager, to the general manager, to the water top-offer, we met every single one, they were all immensely professional, helpful, observant, and well spoken.  

Blue Crab Potstickers with Pea Shoot Butter

I'm a chef, so the front of house is important but I'm about the back of the house-so lets get to the kitchen.  We started with the Blue Crab Potstickers with Pea Shoot Butter.  They were filled with blue crab, chanterelles, roe, country ham, and catfish, I'm really not sure how you can go wrong with this.  Give it a light pan fry and top it off with this earthy and delicate pea shoot butter and this melange of land and sea come together in this delicious appetizer.

Blackened Swordfish with Crispy Shrimp, Spinach, Mashed Potatoes, Roasted Corn Butter, & Chili Hollandaise

Next came the entrees, my mom and Aaron don't understand how to eat somewhere incredible and diversify their orders, and both ordered the Blackened Swordfish with crispy shrimp, spinach, mashed potatoes, roasted corn butter, and chili hollandaise.  Yum.  The Swordfish wasn't overcooked which is sometimes a concern of mine, it was juicy, meaty, with just the right amount of seasoning, and mating perfectly with the flavorful chili hollandaise and the sweet crunch of the roasted corn butter.  The mashed potatoes and spinach justly served themselves, reconciling the serious flavors in the dish.

Red Snapper, with Shrimp Etouffee, Louisiana Jasmine Rice, & Lobster Butter

I ordered the Red Snapper with shrimp etouffée, Louisiana Jasmine rice, and lobster butter.  The Snapper was perfectly seared with perfectly crisp flavorful skin. The etoufee was light and delicate, and the lobster butter savory.  I can only say that I would have liked some actual lobster meat in the butter, I either missed out on the ladle or it was an infused butter.  I was determined to finish my plate, almost to the brink of over-fill, avoiding the allowance of one scrap of food on my plate to be wasted on a trash can.

It was good, everything was cooked perfectly, everything was done right.  I guess I wanted a little more, it was stiff, unimaginative, and without the playful New Orleans culinary personality I expect everywhere I dine in this city.

New Orleans Ramblings...

Things around here are constantly changing, consistently evolving, whether for the good or the bad I cannot say.  The thing about a city with this much of a pulse, a writhing succubi fireworking a siren's song, is that it is next to impossible not to also transfigure (also whether for the good or bad, I cannot say).  That is the thing about New Orleans, you can't help but get involved.  I think it would be almost impossible to become a recluse here, barring some life shattering event.  There is too much life in New Orleans not to be alive.

Cafe Rose Nicaud

This will be the first of many posts about Frenchmen Street...

Frenchmen Street delivers a cozy Euro-Creole feel to the locals of New Orleans reminding elders of the French Quarter-minus the schnockered rapaciousness and crap gift shops. Walk along the street at night and be tantalized with a string of music clubs, bars, restaurants, tattoo shops, beautiful architecture, and b&bs.

My goal today is Cafe Rose Nicaud, a coffee shop named in memorandum of Rose Nicaud, the very first coffee vendor of New Orleans, as well as an African American slave.  She used what little she saved outside her master's tax to purchase her freedom and open her own coffee shop in the French Market.  She was known for having the best coffee in town.  Cafe Rose Nicaud is also owned by an African American family, one that holds Rose's entrepreneurial enterprise close to their heart.  Just a few short blocks walk and I land on Frenchmen off Dauphine and take in the beautiful Washington Park anchoring Faubourg (neighborhood) Marigny.  Enter Cafe Rose Nicaud and take a moment to relish the smell and the feel of the place, allow that robust aroma to arouse your intelligent senses, god I love coffee shops!  The staff at this place is awesome, they will help you find anything, and if you come in more than once it seems like they have already started remembering your specific drink.

What you get from Cafe Rose Nicaud that you don't get from every other coffee shop is the inviting feel of community.  You've got friends there.  I know that sounds kind of silly, but its very true.  It's the place where locals go, or, where people go to be a local.

Along with an excellent coffee shop they also offer an delicious small menu of breakfast and lunch, along with a varying aray of absolutely delicious tarts, soups, bread puddings, and quiches, that change every day.  There are also croissants, gluten free pies, handmade scones and muffins, biscuits, and bagels-including house-made jams that are to die for.  I had an orange strawberry jam that was delicious!  They also have wraps, sandwiches, and salads for lunch as well as a full breakfast menu all day with yummy rosemary mozzarella grits, and a the now famous Rose Benedict, a layering of grits, biscuits, portobellos, tomatoes, avocado, two sunny side up eggs, and shaved asiago cheese.  The food is quick and consistent and the staff is excellent, make sure you tip them and show your love!

Alligator and Andouille Sauce Piquante Recipe

5 lb Alligator meat
Cajun seasoning
1/4 c + 1 t. Olive Oil
1 1/4 lb diced smoked andouille sausage
5 tomatoes, crushed
1/3 c Margarine
1/3 c Dark Roux
1/4 c Chicken Base
4 c chopped Spanish Onion
1 c chopped Bell Pepper
1 c diced Celery
1 ts Cayenne Pepper
2 tb diced Jalapeno Pepper
1 ts Sugar
2 tb chopped Garlic
3 c fresh sliced mushrooms
2 qt Water
1/2 c sliced Green Onion Bottoms
1/2 c chopped Parsley
3 c cooked Rice
Mixture of cornstarch and water for thickening -- optional

Rub both sides of alligator meat with Cajun seasoning and cut into 1 inch by 1 inch pieces. If possible, allow to marinate overnight. Brown alligator in olive oil over high heat. Remove from pot. 

Sauté andouille in same oil for 5 minutes and remove from pot. Pour crushed tomatoes into pot with remaining oil. Stir sauce over high heat until it is very brown, burned. Keep stirring until a thick ball of paste forms. Add margarine, roux, chicken base, onions, bell pepper, celery, cayenne pepper, jalapeno peppers and sugar. Sauté until onions are clear. 

Return alligator and andouille to pot. Add garlic, mushrooms and 3 cups of water. Bring to a boil and then reduce to medium heat. Cook for 1 hour, adding water as needed. Once alligator is tender, add green onions and parsley. Cornstarch mixture may be added to thicken gravy. Serve over hot cooked rice. Chicken, squirrel, rabbit, turtle or duck may be substituted for the alligator. Regular smoked sausage may be substituted for the andouille.

Half Shaved Head: Hipster Quo

My poor friend and her hair

Seeing as New Orleans is Travel + Leisure's #4 hipster city in America, ranked only behind Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco, it is no surprise that it is the home to a lot of the infamous 'half-shaved' hair cuts.  Yes, this is a social commentary on 'half-shaved' haircuts, which I have now deemed a half Danzig.  So this is what I have to say:

A.) Your hair should only be shaved on the side if you got too drunk, passed out, and have horribly unfunny friends, head surgery, or something cool like a head tattoo.

B.)  It is not punk.  It wasn't punk when Cindi Lauper did it, it became pop when Rihanna did it, and then that dude Ke$ha did it, and now you might as well be in line for tickets to a Hannah Montana concert.

C.) If everyone is doing it, it is conformity!

D.)  You wish you were half as cool as Danzig

E.) I appreciate watching it grow back

Oyster Festival

Check back in a couple of days for my take on the 2012 New Orleans Oyster Festival and its celebration of this sensual Louisiana bivalve at Woldenburg Park Saturday and Sunday May 2 & 3

Saturday, June 2

1:00 – 2:15 — Treme Brass Band

2:30 – 3:15 — P&J Oyster Shucking Contest

3:30 – 5:00 — Rockin’ Dopsie

5:30 – 7:00 — Benjy Davis Project

7:30 – 9:00 — Wet Willie

Sunday, June 3

12:30 – 1:30 — Zion Harmonizers

1:45 – 3:00 — Acme Oyster House Oyster Eating Contest

3:15 – 4:30 — Kermit Ruffins

5:00 – 6:15 — Bonerama

6:45 – 8:00 — Irma Thomas

New Orleans is Bipolar

New Orleans is bipolar. It is both manic and depressive all at once.  The high is a lust for life and the pursuit of something beautiful, like the last luster filled sliver of sun setting on the horizon that lasts a shorter time each day, and can be missed if you look away even for a minute.  
The low, the all out war for survival.  Either as a rebellion against their crumbling societal infrastructure, other races,  their anger at the rest of the world for Katrina, or their own irrelevant situation; resulting in crime, theft, burglary, and drug use around any corner.

The storm was like an extreme traumatic event in a one’s life that forces them to split into multiple personalities in order to make it through each day with any sense of sanity.  And that is what New Orleans has done in order to survive. Synchronously lovely and horrific.

Muffuletta Olive Salad Recipe

1 gallon large pimento stuffed green olives, slightly crushed, drained

1 quart jar pickled cauliflower, drained and sliced
2 small jars capers, drained
1 whole stalk celery, sliced diagonally
4 large carrots, peeled, thinly sliced diagonally
1 small jar celery seeds
1 small jar oregano
1 large head fresh garlic, peeled and minced
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 jar pepperoncini, drained left whole
1 pound large Greek black olives
1 jar cocktail onions, drained  

Combine all ingredients in a large bowl or pot and mix well. Place in a large jar and cover with 1/2 olive oil and 1/2 canola oil. Store tightly covered in refrigerator. Allow to marinate for at least 24 hours before using.

I add an extra can of pickled cherry peppers to my personal recipe, and put this on almost every sandwich or salad that I eat.

Denial of FEMA Demolition

I was randomly searching the internet for Katrina pictures of the neighborhood I live in and I stumbled upon a picture of a house nearby.  Upon further investigation, (I literally clicked on the picture) I found the Preservation Resource Center and found out that just a month ago this house, along with 29 other homes, was up for consideration for demolition by the Neighborhood Conservation Districts Committee but was denied for a FEMA funded demolition.  That was it.  No explanation for the denial of demolition.

update:  11.14.2012

The house is gone. And you know what it took??? A Habitat for Humanity house being built next door.  Turns out, it is a huge hazard to having a teetering potential cinder of a building next to a connected non-profit home.  Go, New Orleans!

Frady's One Stop Food Store, Bywater

Aaron and I were just looking for somewhere quick and easy for lunch and came upon a most excellent spot in Bywater today. I love it when I sound like some awfully radical Bill and Ted flashback.  Anyway, what we stumbled upon was an idealistically dusty and quaint family owned store called Frady’s One Stop Food Store offering meatloaf, spaghetti, greens, pies, tamales, and po’ boys, along with some grocery items.  We both went chef’s choice and got the roast beef po’ boy all the way.  What I opened up was this incredible sandwich, now I must also note this is my first New Orleans roast beef po’ boy, but this gravy, roast beef, Swiss cheese, french bread monster delicacy beats out most of the sandwiches I have had in my life by its mere simplicity and warm comfort it gave my belly.  Yummmmm.

Frady's One Stop Food Store

3231 Dauphine Street  New Orleans, LA 70117

(504) 949-9688