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)