Holy Nola

People have been asking me how Mardi Gras went. Besides the immediate answers that erupt forth without hesitation (“AWESOME!” “AMAZING!” “AWE INSPIRING!”…see the following photos for visual proof), I always follow up with something else:

If you have never been to Mardi Gras, you have no idea how wonderful it actually is.

Given its notorious image as a ‘Girls Gone Wild’, drug and alcohol-rampant, voluntary nipple-slip extravaganza, it is easy to see how the historical, cultural and social connotations fall by the wayside.

Mardi Gras is first and foremost the biggest manifestation of the ‘keep it local’ trend. It is secondly about family and community. Third, it celebrates the deep rooted history of one of the most culturally diverse cities in the world.

Yes, there is alcohol involved and the French Quarter does get a fair amount of boob time on Fat Tuesday, but these things pale when you consider the aforementioned bullet points of M.Hunt’s Guide to Loving Mardi Gras Even More Than You Already Do (Nipple Free Edition).

Mardi Gras is made up of several ‘Krewes’, which are often named after Greek and Roman deities (Orpheus, Zeus, Bacchus, etc.). Many have been around for hundreds of years (Rex was officially formed in the 1870’s, though Carnival festivities had been going on for a previous 100 years), and some are new (the all-female Krewe of Nyx was formed just this year). Krewe membership is private, and usually limited to the New Orleans upper crust. Each Krewe is responsible for coming up with personal theme each year, obtaining their own parade permit from the city, and raising funds for Carnival festivities (which include parade floats, ‘throws’, or beads and other fun trinkets thrown off said floats, and sponsoring invitation-only, ritzy masked balls).

Translation: Mardi Gras is entirely funded by local residents. The city of New Orleans pays nothing. Sponsorship and revenue comes in the form of membership dues, private funding and the monetary support of hundreds of thousands of people flocking to one of the biggest block parties ever.

And flock they do. People from all over the world line the streets. People from around the corner set up tents, camp out in lawn chairs, arrange barbeque pits for sustenance. Local businesses shut down. The trolley stops running. Savvy entrepueneurs make a killing lining up portable toilets along parade routes. Bars modify their menus to better accommodate the vast hoards looking to satisfy their thirst. Parents hoist children to their shoulders or set them atop custom made ladders, poised to get the best throws from the towering floats.

There is an undeniable sense of freedom, of comraderie, of joy. Your first Mardi Gras or your 50^th all elicit the same reaction: you have been waiting all year for this week. Live it up. Do what you want. Love everyone.

You are in a city that encourages you to get lost in the madness, to put all other worries and cares on hold, to thrive in the cultural immersion. The beat of that second line bass drum somehow mimics the beat of your own heart. Your outreached hand, stretching up to a stranger slinging beads with blinding ferocity, mirrors that of the little boy across the avenue. The cheerful greeting given out genuinely to passersby ripples across the city, spills from your very own lips.

Mardi Gras is magic. In a city that has faced incredible loss, both physical and economic, where crime is rampant and poverty tirelessly awaits, this wonderful tradition endures. It has survived fires, floods, violence, corruption. It brings together families, neighbors, countries, generations. It is a manifestation of joy, equality, generosity and tenacity. Mardi Grad exists even when it should not. It is magic certainly. But I would also call it miracle.  

And there are SO MANY MARCHING BANDS!

And here we are again.

A month later. So much has happened.

One thing remains true: this is still the greatest city on earth.

As we play catch up this will become clear (if our previous posts weren’t evidence enough), but here is a teaser of everything you’ve missed:

Visitors from New York!

Creole Creamery

Restaurant August

Harrah’s Casino

Southern Food and Beverage Museum

The ferry to Algiers

And of course, that living, breathing, ferociously decadent and all encompassing party for the spirit: Mardi Gras.

For all of that, stay tuned.

For now, La Petite Grocery.

Situated along everyone’s favorite boulevard, Magazine Street, La Petite Grocery is a small, yet satisfying, gastronomic adventure with a rich history. Opening in the late 1800’s, it was originally a coffee, tea and butter depot, later converting into an innovative grocery store, then a floral shop, and finally the current fine dining establishment in 2004.

Being similar in style and atmosphere to Cochon and Coquette, we instantly loved the huge wooden bar, the dazzling sunlight spilling into the dining room and the antique hutches with their plethora of mason-jarred vegetables and preserves. Upon viewing the daily specials, we knew that good food stuffz were in our future.

The highlight of the meal was the fried sheep’s milk cheese with braised lamb, san marzano tomatoes and fried sage. The creaminess of the cheese and the sweet acidity of the lamb and tomatoes paired beautifully with the earthiness of the sage, making this dish a highlight of the trip thus far, and definitely of the meal.

A deliciously silky cauliflower soup with soft boiled egg and pancetta also gave us a good start.

We each had a fancy sandwich (moi, taking a change of pace and going for a B.E.L.T, T a rabbit and pimento cheese concoction), though both, while delicious, weren’t exactly what we were expecting. The gold was the first course; go for that fried sheep’s cheese!

To walk off all that sandwichey decadence, we did come antiquing along Magazine street. Sighted:

Amazing vintage bicycles.

Amazing antique bureaus, chairs and chifferobes.

Amazing china, glass bottles, silver flatware. Amazing.

No day-off-together would complete without a visit to Frenchmen Street, which is where we bicycled to for champagne happy hour at Three Muses, followed by the sweet tunes of Chaz’ Washboard Trio, and finally back to Three Muses for some ‘small bites’: lamb pizza with pickled onions, mac and cheese, saffron and onion crostini, Mexican chocolate ice cream.

Note the future visitors: Three Muses is a winner on all accounts, whether music, atmosphere, cocktails or food. We will be going here at some point/multiple points when you visit.

Congratulations Nola: You’re still awesome.

Carnival Season.

Has it really been a week since you, faithful reader, last delighted in reading updates on our Crescent City adventures? What bloggers worth their salt would deprive their loyal followers the entertainment provided by the seamless network of well-constructed sentences? Us. It’s us. Why the absence? Because fortune hath smiled upon us, and we’ve been able to explore together for a change. Highlights from the week that was:

- A lunch trip to Butcher, Cochon’s aptly named little brother of a deli/butcher shop. We’d peeked in before our lunch with Bob and Suzanne, but it was M’s ravenous cry for PROTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN that terrified me encouraged me to suggest Butcher. We drooled over the assorted meats, smoked, cured, and otherwise while waiting for our sandwiches; a muffaletta for M and the day’s last short rib po’ boy for me, karmic retribution for never getting an everything bagel at Stein’s. Most of the lunch crowd was from the American Meteorological Society conference just down the street. I wanted to yell “there’s a 100 per cent chance of this sandwich being amazing,” but a few contented grunts were all I could manage; the delicious interplay of braised meat, melted cheese, and fried onions too much to allow for anything more.

- Our bikes have names! Meet Jasper and Valerie.

- M raved about the Fat Hen previously and rightfully so.

Two words: The. Imposter. Eleven more words. Fried green tomato. Fried Egg. Bacon. Roasted poblano. Pimento cheese. Sourdough. Inexplicably this is not on the breakfast menu. Read those ingredients again. Thass a breakfast sandwich folks. And a mighty fantastic one at that. Hey hangovers, meet your kryptonite. 

- A trip to the best happy hour in town, and it just happens to be where M works. Half-off cocktails and 50-cent oysters. Yes. Please. A couple two tree French 75’s and a dozen and a half suprah fresh bivalves will get anyone’s mind right.

-Three course lunch at Coquette. One of the best deals in town at $20. Going on Wednesday, when every glass of wine is only $5, ups the ante. Gulf shrimp with sambal, olives, and grapefruit, duck confit, and sweet potato tart with salted caramel and bourbon chantilly for M. Turnip soup with city ham, pork belly lettuce wraps, and chocolate cake with banana milkshake for this guy. Presentation, flavor, service; you name it, Coquette does it right. Want coffee? How ‘bout your own French press? We sat at the bar, and I asked the bartender how the pork was prepared. He was unsure, but tracked down a very thorough answer for me (brined, sous vide at 165, finished in the oven, if you’re interested). If you find yourself in New Orleans, you must go to there. 

- Beignets, finally! Cafe du Monde is a wonderful place, especially at 9 o’clock on a Monday night when only a handful of people remain. Put on a suit. Or a dress. Get the slightest bit tipsy. Eat sugary squares of fried dough. Thank me later.

- Meeting, and drinking with, strangers. Charlie Weiss at Luke. Not that one. Peggy and Michelle at Pat O’Brien’s. Hope y’all make it to Frenchmen Street and don’t forget Coquette on Wednesday.

Coming soon: Musings on hotel bars, and I reevaluate my stance on burger construction.

-T