Gulf Coast Eats: Where Y’at?
The M.F.K. Fisher in me just can’t help but link places to tastes. New Orleans is a town of rich, spicy and fried. To partake in the food is to partake in the culture and New Orleans loves to share its culture. The camaraderie that goes with eating in the Big Easy makes you eat more. It’s true.
Parasols is my favorite po’boy stop. They also serve a giant basket of the best fried pickles. I practically needed someone to roll me out the door and into the Garden Distrcit after finishing my shwimps sandwich. The leftover pickles came in handy a few hours later after sucking down giant cocktails on the sidewalk at Igor’s, waiting out an afternoon rain.
The New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival is known for its food vendors. No two vendors are allowed to sell the same thing and the food is closely curated by the festival organizers. This year’s standouts included the red beans and rice, crawfish etouffee and duck po’boy. Every few hours a beer and food pick-me-up is just what the good doctor ordered at Jazz Fest.
To celebrate our anniversary, Ted and I dined at NOLA, Emeril Lagasse’s French Quarter restaurant. I appreciated the friendly, high end service. The food was spectacular, from the duck gumbo to the ribs to the mint juleps we favored instead of wine. It’s the south, y’all, and I’ve never found a red wine that matched a gumbo. I could have made a meal from the jalepeno cornbread muffins.
In Gulf Shores, Ala., we sampled fried alligator, which tastes like chicken. The Royal Reds were in season and I ordered a pile of these steamed, large shrimp. I love the ceremony of peeling and cleaning as well as the accessories of clamps, picks and shell bucket. As is true with most food eaten in the deep south, these delicasies were paired with a frozen cocktail.
After years of longing and reading Streetcar Named Desire, I got to eat at Galatoire’s. We were lucky enough to join Dr. Lutz, a fine southern host and member of New Orleans society, on our excursion. We got a corner table downstairs and could watch all the goings-on in the mirrors. Jackets are required and there were a handful of straw hats hung on coat hooks around the dining room. I ordered eggs sardou, a dish I discovered in New Orleans 15 years ago (artichoke bottoms covered with creamed spinach and each topped with a poached egg). It’s become the default Christmas breakfast for my family. Enchanting.
Our last afternoon in New Orleans we stopped for a muffuletta. The receipt read “One large muff.” I love a dirty ending.
(Photo by TedR)
Comments (be first)L’aissez Les Bons Temps Rouler
Things have been quiet around these parts because I’m on vacation. That’s me with Ignatius J. Reilly. Can you guess where I am? I’d love to tell you more dear readers but pitfalls of blogging on this trip include spilling a daiquiri or getting sand on my laptop. I’m taking a break from everything but Ted, naps, frozen booze concoctions and shellfish.
Love You Long Time
It’s our anniversary! Ted & I have been married for four years. Which is as long as it takes most people to get through college, except for me because I’m slow. Cheers, to our diploma of love! Ahem. Surely you didn’t think I’d post clown pics and not make a bad joke.
Why the clown noses? Sillies. We were thanking our guests for coming to our big day when someone (Candace?) passed Ted a clown nose. No one knew I’d pinned a clown nose inside my gown in case someone got choked up during the ceremony. Happily we were all laughs that day — it was a funny wedding. Some people prefer this photo, taken when the wedding should have been underway.
L’amour!
Waffles! Art! Music! Sunday Afternoon!
Can I make you a waffle? What about a waffle topped with my special bacon-maple whip? I’ll wear an apron.
This Sunday I’ll be slinging batter at a benefit for a friend who didn’t deserve the year she’s been dealt. The gallery space is light and airy. You should come.
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Polly Harrold’s Sometime Gallery hosts an afternoon of musical performance art and waffles on April 20. Come hear Crank Ensemble and Cheryl Leonard in the glass-lined sun-shined aerie. Popping, plinking, clacking, clicking, Larnie Fox’s Crank Ensemble creates rhythmic and repetitive patterns using handmade crank-operated machines. Cheryl E. Leonard, with A.L. Dentel and Karen Stackpole, will perform new compositions and improvisations inspired by ocean tides. Instruments will include shells, kelp, salt, sand, water and stones.
1 p.m. Waffletime
2 p.m. Musical Performances
Tickets are $10 and are available at the door or through the performer’s webpages. Come early and enjoy conceptual waffle performance by the Proprietor and Assistants; donations to benefit a friend.
In the Big Green Building at the Dutch Boy: 4701 San Leandro Street, Oakland, 94601.
(510) 536-6970
The Sometime Gallery
Park on the street | stroll to the rear | step up three flights. Look for a sign.
Paris: The Last Bites
The club at the Ritz Hotel is the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten. It has a top-layer of bacon outside the bread. I ate it with knife and fork while sipping a perfect Negroni and people-watching. At a table next to me was a fashion photographer and an agent who was trying to lure new talent. Seated at the other table was Sean Avery, the hockey player, who spoke with the management about being concerned with paparazzi. I had no idea who he was but he kept repeating his last name to the staff so I Googled him. After leaving the Ritz’s Restaurant Vendome I ventured down to Bar Hemmingway for two more perfect drinks. After four cocktails in four hours it was time to make my exit. The doormen got me a cab, an unmarked black Mercedes. I had a Princess Diana flash — Ritz Hotel, Mercedes, Saturday night — as the car headed through the Pont d’Alma tunnel where her fatal accident occurred. I held tight to my seat belt and closed my eyes.
At La Coupole I dined on fresh green salad, oysters and sole meunière. I’d read about the dish in Julia Child’s My Life In France, a book I finished my first week in Paris. The sole and the memoir were a joy to consume. The restaurant is a beautiful brasserie, rich in history.
My favorite meals were at La Potee des Halles (3 rue Etienne Marcel, 1er), a traditional Paris bistro. The first night in Paris I went looking for a restaurant but couldn’t find it and ducked in here out of frustration. What a find! They were so kind to me from the moment I walked in. The waiter brought around a chalk menu and I selected osso bucco. He refilled my wine glass repeatedly while I slowly ate and read my book and took it all in. My second trip to the restaurant I was delighted that he remembered me. I ordered coq au vin and it was the most succulent I’ve ever had. I noticed the small brass plates along the banquette with the names of regulars, some deceased. I loved sitting under the high-up stained glass tulips and listening to quiet French conversations. I decided to make my last dinner in Paris at La Potée des Halles. When I walked in the waiter called out “Bon soir, madame! Your regular table?” The day’s special was honey-braised pork belly. I cleaned my plate but was too blue to drink my glass of wine. When I left the waiter kissed me on both cheeks. I promised to return.
This is the only picture of me with the Eiffel Tower. That’s the tower sticking out of my head like an antenna. I set out on my final morning in Paris to take portraits; I got to this spot and realized I’d left my camera and tripod (and lipstick!) behind. I asked someone to snap a pic with my iPhone. So it goes.
Paris: Au Revoir
My bags are packed and a taxi’s been called. Paris, these are our last moments together. And so, a toast, to us!
If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.
- Ernest Hemingway
Paris: Last Day
Paris, it’s time for our last tango.
The Olympic torch came through Paris today and there was a large protest. Check out the sign on Hotel DeVille (Paris City Hall). I saw the end of the protest but I was a few blocks away buying shoes. There, I said it. I saw a unit of horse-mounted officers (is that how you say it? horse cops?) trot through stopped traffic.
Today I visited Montparnasse and ate at La Coupole. I visited a cemetery and came back to my little apartment to pack. I’ve finished my beer and now it’s time for one last cafe. It’s late afternoon and the weather is cold but clear. Later I’ll dine at my favorite restaurant. Tomorrow it’s up and at ‘em.
Paris: Why You Gotta Be So Cold?
Oh, Paris. I’m melancholy. Has it really been almost two weeks since I arrived and is my trip really coming to a close? A few days ago I was homesick something fierce, missing the fam and longing for conversation. The weather is inching toward spring but today it’s colder than it’s been during my trip and raining. It matches my mood, wistful and reflective. I walked around Montmartre listening to Terry Callier and Ray LaMontagne on my iPod. I retreated back to my apartment around 5 p.m. after deciding I’d drank all I wanted from a rainy Sunday.
Tomorrow is for odds and ends — shopping, sitting in a cafe or three and a final dinner at my favorite restaurant. I want to stay relaxed and enjoy my final day in Paris.
Awesome Text Messages I Received In Paris
Here is a sampling of the texts that came my way in France.
Tom: You’ve now faked out the pros which means you ain’t faking any more.
Monique: Are French bears actually fat?
Candace: Chanel dress??
Doug: Enjoy that Frenchy meat and cheese!
Ted: Moxie still waiting for you, sleeping on your side of the bed.
Jules: Objet Volant!
