Muses and Music

My friend Win's voice had been drumming on my brain ever since I asked for his suggestions for our visit to New Orleans. "Well, of course you're going to listen to music" he said, with perfect clarity, like it is the main reason one would visit New Orleans.

 Never mind the beignets, or the gumbo, or the oysters, or the pork cheeks, or the boudin balls, or the bananas foster bread pudding, I had to listen to music and I had not listened to any music and it was the last night of our stay. John had a headache and was in bed. I was sitting on the couch inventing lies that I could use when folks said, "What music did you hear in New Orleans?"

John got up and said he was feeling a little better. I was so relieved cause I was really coming up empty with the lies. 

I regret that I've never been one to seek out music experiences. Sometimes I would get excited about someone I know playing music or some performer that I have always adored performing a concert, but overall I am not a big music fan. I didn't really understand what the big attraction was when I could just buy the CD  or "pandora" the artist.

But with Win's voice haunting me and John's generosity in rallying from his slumbers, we ventured out into the cold night on our music adventure. 

We decided we wanted to go to "The Three Muses" on Frenchmen Street in the French Quarter. We didn't recognize any of the artists playing, but it had food, which was something I understood well.

 We strolled down Bourbon Street, which is an experience the guidebooks dismissed, but one that I recommend. It was like a step back in time-- neon signs flashing all sorts of colorful slogans, colorful characters offering all sorts of promises and lots of colorful music. I told John it reminded me of Pottersvile in "It's a Wonderful Life" when Jimmy Stewart gets a glimpse of what his life would look like without him. We strolled past lots of alcohol in many shapes and sizes. In New Orleans, you can carry your drink out of the bar and down the street. We even had our picture taken with a giant sign that said  "Big Ass Beers" because John had some special friends he thought would get a kick out of seeing him carrying it.

We found Frenchmen Street and The Three Muses. Both were packed with people. We had to wait outside for about an hour before we could go inside. But in just a few minutes a big old brass band spontaneously formed on the corner and played this amazing music. I was so struck by their skill and their camaraderie and warmth. I was struck by the friendliness and fun that started to exude from all the listeners. I lost the eagerness to enter the bar and just took in the joyful music that was pretty much free to hear.

We did get to hear the music inside too and it was a great old country trio singing and playing piano, trumpet and a washboard. There was nothing staged or packaged about these performers. They were just good, wholesome musicians sharing their talents. I was starting to feel content. I felt that rare feeling of unity with strangers. I noticed my foot was tapping and I had little interest in food. Hmmm. I think it was the music.

You obviously must listen to music when you visit New Orleans!

Soul Food

Today was WARM! My shoulders have returned to their rightful place and I no longer feel like curling up in front of a fire and reading a book...even a guidebook to New Orleans. In my new mindset, I was reminded of an episode on Bizarre Foods where Andrew Zimmern went to a really cool place called Cafe Reconcile. I remembered it was a teaching restaurant that he visited and raved about the goodness of the food and the people there!

I did a little research and found it. It was just down the street from us. It is a restaurant that trains young people and provides knowledge and skills to help overcome poverty and prejudice and...it is delicious. 

We got there and the place was hopping, thriving. It was such a pleasure to see education working in such a smart and meaningful way. We had an authentic restaurant experience and got to try authentic southern dishes like a crawfish po'boy, collard greens with pork and the most AMAZING bananas foster bread pudding. It was topped with this amazing cross between ice cream and whipped cream that I could not figure out the culinary construction of. It also fed my soul which was starved!

I don't have a pic of my soul, but I think you might see its reflection in the bread pudding...and yes...I shared it with John.

Haunted in so many ways!

It's hard to be a hardcore foodie when you're used to three meals a day, and truthfully, two is more typical for me. I have come to understand that the true skill of the hardcore foodie lies in digestion.  Lots and lots of digestion. My stomach has been haunting me in recent days by asking strange ominous sounds...etc.

We have figured out some tricks to try more dishes by sharing and ordering several small plates. Hallelujah for the small plate. Sharing is only an issue when it comes to dessert. This is why I have to eat beignets EVERYDAY that I'm in New Orleans. We share an order each time, soooo "technically" I'm only eating half an order of beignets! Right? Of course right. If I'm going to really understand the complexity of the beignet, I need to eat many of them.

On a wholly different note, we had a haunted New Orleans tour of the French Quarter. My neighbor, who is an authentic New Orleanian, said that they were surprisingly interesting, and she was right. John and I were the only tourists, so our tour guide was very generous in his storytelling-- throwing in a few extras. We strolled by a convent that was one of the oldest buildings in New Orleans, and filled with stories about virgins and "not-so-virgins". We saw the house of Delphine Lalaurie who secretly tortured her slaves in a creepy room in the house. We saw a bunch of other haunted sites and learned their history. The tour guide was excellent and his storytelling added a fascinating perspective of New Orleans. I also felt good about supporting this local college student.

This all took place in the record breaking cold spell during which we have been unfortunate enough to visit, so I must have really liked it. The evening was supposed to end with music, but instead we scrambled over to... Yep...you guessed it...Cafe Du Monde for warm, sweet, BEIGNETS!

Confessions at Cochon

I am a fledgling foodie. I proved it tonight while we were eating at the restaurant I've been dreaming of eating at ever since I knew we were going to New Orleans...Cochon. Yes. It means Pig in French, and "real" foodies can see the fun play on words and the cultural spin that these clever chefs have used in creating this amazing place. I'm still just embarassed that I'm so infatuated with a restaurant called pig in French.

After a rather long and challenging decision process that involved a bunch of questions like which is your favorite? Which do you prefer the blue crab or the oysters? I think it's hilarious how much I look for the approval of the wait person in my decision. But I figure that my waitperson is the closest source to the impossible "right" choices I need to make. All of the questions are based on the painful, first world problem that I can't have a little bit of EVERYTHING on the amazing menu. 

But at last John and I decide on a dinner order. We choose braised pork cheeks, blue crab, bacon and satsuma salad with a jonny cake, fried livers with pepper jelly and toast, Lima beans ( yes, and they were amazing) and creamy grits. Now that seems like so little when I remember all the choices on the menu. 

As we wait for our food to come I enjoy a cocktail made with the juice of satsuma. Again, John "the food reductionist" translates the juice of a satsuma to orange juice. First he calls beignets donuts and now he's calling satsumas oranges. I did save myself from eating crow again though. He made light of the fact that satsumas were just Japanese oranges and although I was appalled that he would reduce an exotic food like satsuma to a simple food like orange, I did some research and alas, satsuma is a "large domain on the southern Japanese island of Kyushu, dominated in the Edo period by the great samurai clan of Shimazu" but in my reality it is the idyllic fruit that Truman Capote shared with his best friend in "A Christmas Memory". I'm working on forgiving John for this transgression.

It became a lot easier to forgive him after he had the BRILLIANT idea of asking for more bread so that we could sop up all the deliciousness on the plates without me having to embarass myself and lick the plates, which I was truly on the verge of doing.

The final angst filled decision of the evening was dessert. John and I agreed (with some guilt laden discussion) to "share" it. We couldn't agree on the chocolate mousse cake, the Meyer lemon farmers cheese tart or the gingerbread pudding with rum raisin ice cream, so I sought out the advice of our waitperson again and I was shocked and delighted when her response was "I will surprise you!". So we waited on pins and needles until the Meyer lemon dessert appeared before us. She had made a very thoughtful decision...I hope:/

But, the reason I am just fledgling foodie is that this is the only photo I managed to salvage from our amazing dinner at Cochon.

Mmmm Crow!

I think I might be a food snob or something. I get defensive about folks calling delicious, perfect foods like beignets, donuts. It might have started when I learned that donuts (as in Dunkin' Donuts) was properly spelled doughnuts. 

Or maybe it was when I was in line for lokoumathes at the Greek Festival and I enthusiastically told the woman behind me that they were a delicious tradition in my Greek family that revolved around the New Year celebration. And an old Greek woman next to us said, "Ah, they're just Greek doughnuts". First, a delicious, sweet, crispy fried lokoumatha is not JUST anything. And something as pedestrian as a donut? I THINK NOT!

Remember the beignets? Remember my rant about how wrong John was by calling them doughnuts? Well, last night we escaped a rain storm in the Cafe Du Monde and much to my chagrin, the sign before us totally betrayed me. Even the waitress with the cute French accent couldn't rescue me from the painful truth that beignets were called, by their very own creators...French doughnuts.

I was forced to eat crow when I reluctantly showed John the sign. 

But, it was delicious regardless...

Second Breakfasts

  Yesterday afternoon we had a few fun snacks! First we went to "Charcoal". The sign outside said something like, "if you're not a carnivore, don't bother to come inside". I have to say that I am a carnivore. I have tremendous respect for vegetarians and I know that meat is pretty bad for me, but I really love it. So when I saw that this place had Elk and Buffalo and Kobe beef, I was intrigued. Of course, it wasn't even lunch time. So I went the Hobbit route and decided to have "second breakfast". We ordered two very intriguing appetizers. (Although, I did whisper to John that if I were to order an entree it would be the Kobe Burger which is served on a Hawaiian sweet bun, with Thomasville Tomme cheese, Abita root beer carmelized onions, praline bacon, and more.) 

Our appetizers were really delicious and I was starting to feel like I had some status in the ranks of the foodies of the world. We had boudin balls and hogs head cheese. Both are local and traditional New Orleans favorites and I sensed an approving gleam in the eye of the chef when he slid our appetizers across the counter. 

It was becoming a day of appetizers. John had discovered that The Blind Pelican served 25 cent oysters during Happy Hour. I hadn't been to a Happy Hour since college days when we would go and gorge ourselves on appetizers for a cheap dinner. The experience was a great success and I still can't decide whether I like the raw oysters or the char grilled oysters better. As the saying goes...I guess I like 'em both hot and cold.

Sweets from a Sweetie

As I mentioned in my last blog entry, the people here are really friendly and charming.  I didn't mention that the guidebooks and guides don't hesitate to tell me that New Orleans is rated the 2nd highest state for crime in America. They warn me to be attentive to my environment and cautious with my belongings. So I'm feeling a little bit cautious as John and I stroll through the streets of the Garden District looking at the architecture and, of course, for a sweet shop mentioned in the guidebooks, appropriately called "Sucre".

We did finally find Sucre and settled down for a delicious brownie and a cup of coffee. But the highlight of my search for sweets came from a spunky, older black woman who strolled up to John and I and offered us drugs. Immediately my tourist instincts kicked in and I wrestled in my mind on how to handle this potentially dangerous scenario. She strolled along with us and offered us drugs several times. She was holding out her clenched fist before us and I waited for her to open it and reveal a joint or a pill or (God forbid) a fistful of crack. Slowly she opened her hand and there in her palm was a red and white wrapped peppermint.  

Of course, now I'm wondering whether it was laced with drugs. But as she walked along with us, she chatted about the festive gents she saw on Bourbon St at Christmas whose dates had overindulged and how they picked the women up and carried them on their shoulders and held their legs so they wouldn't fall over. Then she talked about the benefits of dark chocolate and how her doctor had prescribed it for her and after that she loved to freeze dark chocolate kisses and carry them along with her so they wouldn't melt too quickly. We chatted about the cold weather in Maine and the warm weather in New Orleans. She was warm and friendly and full of grace. She wins the sweet vote from me this time around.

Unfortunately, I only took a picture of the colorful macaroons at Sucre and not the colorful character I met on the street today.