I Miss the One I Care For...

I own a shirt that reads, "I found my heart in New Orleans."
In a city in which I have experienced such turmoil, such frustration, such fragility,I truly found my heart. Here, amidst the brokenness of both a city and of myself, I have re-discovered love.
I have discovered love, and passion, as it relates to one of the essentials of life: food. I know now that almost nothing makes me happier than preparing food. I want to study it, to talk about it, to help people to realize that food is more than just an energy source, but it is a part of local economies, of culture, of community. Continuing to commodify it has negative effects on our health, in both a personal and corporate sense.
But more importantly, I have discovered the love of community. The people that I've found here have reminded me that we're not meant to live our lives in isolation. This community that we've built for ourselves revolves around enjoying the city together, cooking together, eating breakfast, lunch, or dinner together, exercising together, worshiping together, doing nothing together. My life here, with the community I've made here, is the one I've been wanting since graduating college.

But I'm leaving.
I'm leaving this city that still holds a piece of my heart. When I think about turning and walking away, it hurts. But there is something more out there. There is family, whom I miss more each day. There is another city that I have loved for my entire life. There is a piece of my heart, residing out there near Puget Sound. But ultimately, there is home.

I leave in a little over two weeks. I have to make it quick, like a band-aid, or I'll linger on and on. But in those two weeks we have Krewe du Boo, we have a pumpkin party, and we have Frenchmen Street. There are still more restaurants then I will be able to visit in this short amount of time. I hope to see y'all before I take my leave--you are the reasons I stayed so long, and you will always have a place to crash in Seattle.


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Now playing: We Shot The Moon - Please Shine
via FoxyTunes

I'm tryin' to find you something better inside me

So August has come and gone and we're nearly halfway through September.

August. I waited for it. I wanted for it. I counted down the days as July inched its way onward. And then August broke me apart. In many ways. I was broken by a loss of hope and by a loss in my confidence to believe in my intuition. The hopeless romantic in me had to face reality, and that reality hurt. But more than that, August broke me by shattering my simple thoughts about home. Since moving to New Orleans, I've felt at home. Yet returning to Seattle...I don't know. I can't explain it well. There is something about Seattle/the eastside that is rooted in me. My sense of place is defined by that area, so much more even than in Oregon. Seattle is home. The grey, drizzly days. The smell of the trees. The mindset of people. The sight of the lake when I come down from the hills. I still love New Orleans. But if I'm honest with myself, I've felt like a visitor here, a sociologist observing but not quite living within the culture. It's time to go back to my world.

And so September came and my world flipped. It's a new month, a new perspective. I've had plenty of time to contemplate, and I'm understanding more and more what I want. I want to supplement my MPH with training in public policy. I want a job at a nonprofit with a health focus, and more specifically with a global development focus. Ultimately I'd like to be a policy and/or research analyst at The Gates Foundation. I want to get back to a place that feels like home, that is closer to family, where I can feel healthy.

I'll carry a piece of New Orleans with me, probably forever. But home is calling.

I'm on her coast so maybe I should stay.

Hello again faithful readers...just a quick note to let you know that I am apparently applying for permanent refugee status.

The advice of the weathermens, the random friends, the airport peoples, it all comes together and then reaches me in the form of my parents saying no, no no, why don't you just stay here? So I'm staying a couple extra days to keep an eye on Ike. It seems that it might not be so wise to go back just yet.

But wow, what a week here. What a week. Some extremely cool people to hang out with...and, well, one significant wonderous person to hang out with. I'm not sure that many who go on evacuation vacations end up with a relationship out of the deal, but hey, I'm not going to complain. I'm happy. It's fun.

What happens next, in terms of where I land, in terms of when I go back to NOLA? I don't know yet, but of course I'll keep y'all posted.

It happened too fast to make sense of it

So here I am in Seattle. And I'm conflicted.
I want to be here in Seattle. But I didn't want to be here this way. This hasty way, of more or less running away, of fleeing a city and not really realizing what it all meant. I walk through my neighborhood and I think of all that I love and didn't realize that I missed: the smell of the evergreens, the ability to walk through parks, the excellent coffee at Tully's, how beautiful the lake looks and how much I miss its movement, the fact that buses actually run, my mountains.
But now I'm far away and discovering just how much I will miss the city that has settled into my heart. I miss the smell of jasmine in the evenings. I wonder where the hot sauce is at restaurants. I say hi to people on the streets and am sad when they don't say it back.
I worry for my city. I worry that it won't survive another blow. That no matter how much people love it, that it won't be able to re-recover. I'm doing my best to distract myself and not think of Gustav, but at this point, what is the hardest is not having people around that understand what it means to miss New Orleans. Texts are flying frantically, facebook is helping, but it's hard to not have anyone here who knows what it means to love a city in such a way that you worry for its safety. I am aware people have, for the most part, escaped the city. I'm not worried about my stuff--it's just stuff, and the few things that can't be replaced are with me. I'm worried that the spice and the smell and the sentiment of this distinct place will be forever lost.

I'm trying not to watch. I'm trying not to think. I'm trying not to pace in nervous circles. I'm praying, I'm crossing fingers, I'm searching for stars to wish upon. Stay safe NOLA. Stay safe.

Do You Know What It Means?

I had a perfectly lovely post planned out in my head. And now I can't find the words. I've tried to express today what it is like to be here, and how hard it is to now be one of those people, the ones that need to make that choice, the ones that need to leave their homes, the ones that are saying goodbye to a city they love. I tried to explain and the words fail.

Anyone who reads this blog knows I have a passionate love for this city, one that borders on slight insanity. Yet I've been thinking about leaving it. So why is it so hard for me to walk away this weekend?

Because I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what might be lost. I fear that another hit and the city will be gone. The buildings might survive but the life won't come back.

After only a short time, New Orleans lives in me. I want to take her spirit where I go, create her foods, hear her music and smile. If the life of this city is gone, think of what it is that we will lose.

It's late, and it's been a long day.
I'm coming home. At least through Tuesday. But I'll be watching Gustav, and crossing my fingers, and praying like I've never prayed before that our city is spared. More thoughts will come, I'm sure, when I'm away from this place that has managed to slip under my skin.

Live the Life You're GIven With the Storms Outside.

Hi all.
The newspaper is covered with it. The news won't stop talking about it (I hear). Every Orleanian status message includes the word "Gustav" And yet it seems no one outside SE Louisiana has heard about the oncoming storm. Yes, it's early, but we're all a little on edge, and no wonder--tomorrow is the third anniversary of K-day.
Don't worry. I'm getting out.
I'll post more later after I know about whether there's an official evacuation.
Much love.
k

When It's Raining on Sunday

Storming like crazy...

It just makes me want to cuddle up in bed.
I don't know what it is about Louisiana, but the rain seems so much more romantic here. Is it the sound? The smell? The distant rumbling of thunder? The break in the heat?

There are twenty thousand things I should be doing at this moment, most of which involve cleaning or cooking. But the combination of the heat, the rain, and the lack of sleep leaves me with little motivation to do much of anything.

I have blueberries to freeze. Scones to make. Tomatoes to turn into pasta sauce and salsa.

Yet all I want right now is to lie in my bed, stare at the ceiling fan as it makes its lazy rotations, and get lost in dreams.

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Now playing: Anberlin - Naïve Orleans [Acoustic]
via FoxyTunes

I've Been Up For Days; I Finally Lost My Mind

I watched a lizard fall off the roof onto the banana plant this morning.
Butterflies danced from flower to flower.
A breeze did little to disturb the absolute silence of the backyard.
The Mexican coffee was strong and black and wonderfully necessary after only a few hours sleep.
It was near perfection.

This week was one of the most stressful I have encountered in my professional career. Youth ministry was difficult, but it always had the added benefit of the kids being able to lift me up with their laughter and amazing ability to always love. Trust me when I tell you that scientists do not have this same ability.

Yet as long as I give people a chance, they are still able to pull me out of a black mood. I couldn't do it yesterday--I was too beaten down to face even one person, much less a large group of them. But forcing myself to go to Cobra Starship with Amanda on Tuesday, and then sharing a "Time Bomb" (Ha...they really should call it that; it's the perfect description) in the shadow of the St Louis Cathedral while talking about all kinds of random stuff--that was one of the best nights in quite some time. Going to Taqueria Corona with Lauren and hearing about her European adventures made my Wednesday. Mary coming over and helping me make pasta with sesame broccoli and red peppers was a great finish to Thursday, and something that definitely needs to happen more often. And parents, you'll be happy to know that if I fall into a ditch, Emily is on it--I didn't even have my email open yesterday and so didn't answer her, and I got home to a text and a phone call. Even though I didn't have the energy for DQ/Scrabble, having someone that cares lifted me up.

I'm glad Mom is home and had an amazing experience in Romania. I missed her emails and being able to talk to her. I'm happy my dad knows how to text and that I have revived my Mariners interest (strange season for this to have happened) so that we can exchange random texts about that game. And I'm so excited that I'll be able to see my family in four weeks.

Yeah...I'm happy. Giddy even. Strange, I know. Amanda wondered where my cynicism went...until she realized I can still cleverly mock emo kids and shout essential advice at Texas drivers, and realized I have not completely lost my mind. I've only lost a piece of it--but it's definitely making me giddy.

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Now playing: Copeland - Choose the one who loves you more
via FoxyTunes

You're the Only Thing That I Love, Scares Me More Each Day

Sitting on my porch with my cup of coffee this morning, I watched a hummingbird hovering over a cone-shaped, magenta flower. And I sat and I thought about something that I've discussed with a few people over the past couple months.

I sat and I thought about love. I thought about how, when it all comes down to it, it's much harder to be in love with a city than it is with an individual. Our nation is one of transience. It is a place where people move for jobs, or for family, or simply for a change of place. And so to fall in love with a city, to have a desire to put down roots, that's intensely scary.

Especially in this city. This is a place that often focuses more on its past than its future. It is not a place that is thriving, where people go to make a name for themselves. It is not at the forefront of agricultural development or community food planning.

There is also the issue of falling in love with a place before falling in love with a person. For awhile, I thought B got it--but he didn't, doesn't, get this place in the way that I do. He didn't want to know everything he could about its streets, its history, its lore. He didn't read Gambit--not even the food issues. There's such a distinction between not caring about the place, not understanding the place, tolerating the place, and diving in and letting this place swarm all over your skin.

I wonder if I could even fall in love anymore with someone that doesn't understand what it means to drown in this city. I do know that I fear falling for someone and that person not wanting to be here, here in New Orleans where nearly every inch feels like home. It was a decision that was staring me in the face for awhile...and one that actually caused tension in my old relationship. I didn't want to leave. So it's a genuine concern.

And that's what I mean when I say it's harder to love a city than a person. She's captured me, and I'm afraid that she won't let me go.

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Now playing: Mae - Sic Semper Tyrannis

Finally have a place I'm staying.

Sorry for the lack of posts...but now I realized the HH could come out any day with an announcement that there will be a tour of Bywater in my blog...and there is none.

So here we go--photo happy!

Bywater is a funky little neighborhood that attracts artists, hippies and, shall we say, free thinkers. A current campaign is to "Ban the Ghost", ie, stop the greying over of graffiti. They contend that street art is better than a vast grey wasteland.

The neighborhood officially begins when you step over the tracks and are greeted by a sign made by Dr Bob, a Bywater artist known for his funky signs that proclaim "Be Nice or Leave." Apparently we don't go quite that far in Bywater. We do, however, have no qualms about making fun of people. This sign is directed at the morons who fly down our street at 50mph trying to beat a train that stops two blocks down--and stays maybe two minutes.

I travel home through Marigny and cross the tracks into Bywater. It's longer but much more relaxing. This is a shot of the church tower across the street, which kindly reminds me each day that 6am is the official end to my sleep. The next landmark I pass is the highly opinionated Two Sisters landmark, which first told us that the surge wasn't working, and now lets us know that it's time to impeach Bush (or perhaps another who fits this description). In case you haven't figured it out, the neighborhood is quite liberal, and there are Obama signs, stickers and such in nearly every other home.

I then continue on to Bywater BBQ, home of the $3.95 breakfast--formerly $3.5o. It buys eggs, bacon/sausage (or black beans, thanks y'all), grits/homefries, and the most delicious biscuit. $2.50 gets you a Bloody Mary or mimosa. The boys miss me--the Farmer's Market job means I can't make it by the 10:30 deadline. Sad.

Sometimes if I feel like being with people or watching a baseball game or the Hornets playoff games, I wander up to Markey Bar (No, Dad, never at night, never alone).
at least everyone treatIt's my local, it's cheap and everyone knows my name...no, not really buts me like a long lost friend.

Other Bywater essentials:

Life is slow paced. Sit on your porch. Have a beer. Use your legs to move. Cars are used as a last resort, not a primary mode of transportation.


Color is good--the more cacophonous the combo, the better. The only rule seems to be that your double shotgun needs to be painted the same on both sides. The two story house reminds me of a hostel in San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua.

In Bywater we're on a ridge, so much of the neighborhood received less flood damage than many parts of the city. Still, residents are proud of their Katrina marks, and often paint around them so that they stay fresh. This one shows that the home was checked on 9/6/05 by the TXI unit and no entities were found.

Well y'all...thanks for sticking with me on my Bywater tour...hope you enjoyed seeing my tiny corner of the world where I've made my home.

Act like kids in love when the sun goes down

Sometimes I wonder if having a life just might be the death of me.

It's Celebration Week here. Please don't ask me what Celebration Week actually means. I'm on the fringes of the idea of this week and I just go where people tell me to go. It's kinda becoming a new life motto.

Anyway. Life is changing in New Orleans. People are leaving. People are getting married. People are unsure as to whether they will return. It's kind of an element of life in this city of transportable lives. Many come only for weeks, for months, many for just a year. And so people transition out and I'm sure that others will transition in, but there will definitely be noticeable holes.

But this week isn't a time to mourn what will be lost, but to have a few last hurrahs before it all starts to change. And so it is time to sacrifice sleep in favor of enjoying the heat of summer in this crazy place with these crazy people.

Tonight: "Date" night with E and C to plan the trip to Alabama for our real last hurrah at J&CD's wedding at the end of the month. Shopping for baking supplies. L and I keeping each other awake...so we can make it to Rebirth. I've lived here 14 months and still have yet to go to Maple Leaf on Tuesdays. Tonight, this will change. Oh, just learned there's no date night tonight. Just BBQ and Rebirth.

Tomorrow: M's birthday. Cake decorating. Contests in creative icing? Not exactly sure.

Thursday: Lunch "date" with T to hear about his Mexico mission. Poolside bridal shower for J. Something else? I feel something is missing.

The next day: No plans! But people start leaving...at least the leaving girls will be returning.

Saturday: Market work. Shopping with Clinton, aka L, for a dress for the wedding. Must look good. Who shops with Stacy to make sure she looks good? I mean, good.

And then...sudden quietness. E is gone, but only for the weekend. C leaves Saturday. L leaves Monday. I think M leaves sometime that week. The boys go off for their boy adventure.

So then, then I will sleep.
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Now playing: Jimmy Eat World - Polaris
via FoxyTunes

Today is tasting the honey

The New Orleans Food Co-op and the Crescent City Farmers Market found some much-deserved attention in the Green Fork blog from Eat Well Guide (see my "Screaming in the Night" section for more from them). In a city that often forgets how to eat healthy, and often even takes pride in the unhealthiness of its cuisine, these are two organizations that remind us that fresh and local doesn't have to only mean beans, rice, and sausage.

The Co-op Action Team had set a goal of 300 members by May 1st, so that we would be more prepared to move forward in establishing a store. We gained 100 new members in the first few weeks of April, and we had 302 by April 24th! I've been at the tables a few times, talking with potential members. It's clear that New Orleanians want better food access, they want local food and they want to be able to own a part of their own store. It's exciting to watch it all taking shape.

The Farmers' Market is one of my favorite places in the city, and I plan to start volunteering there regularly after next Saturday. The market requires that vendors sell only what they produce, so those selling at the market are usually directly involved in food production. They can tell you when the fruit will be sweeter or how to store your carrots or that they will set aside a dozen eggs for you if you can't make it at 8am (shhhh...don't spread that one around). I love knowing where my food comes from and how it's grown, and I love that they often can tell me the best way to cook it or use it in a recipe.

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Now playing: Amanda Shaw - Pretty Runs Out
via FoxyTunes

This thing from your heart crawled into my bones

There's a name for my condition.

(No, not my genuine medical condition, but the state of my mental health.)

It's called "NOLAgoraphobia."

I learned about this from a Times-Picayune columnist, who spoke with a self-diagnosed NOLAgoraphobiac: "I apparently have internalized the entire city as my home and thus am as nervous about leaving the city as a conventional agoraphobiac is about leaving his house," Huey says. "It creeps me out to leave town. It's such a comfort factor here. Whenever I'm driving home, I always feel good. I can't wait to get back."

To the possible disappointment of my west-coast readership, I feel the same. Even when I leave the city for suburbia, my heart lifts when I cross back into Orleans Parish. The columnist points out that "true Orleanians" feel their immune system start to break down when going long periods of time without our red beans, po-boys, gumbo and shrimp. To that I add this: My spirit starts to break down without the constant hellos of strangers on the street. It needs a steady diet of Spanish colonial architecture, live oaks and the smell of jasmine.

NOLAgoraphobics become disoriented when they leave their city. We try to ask for go-cups in the bars, and policemen step closer and follow when we approach our vehicles. We drive, disheartened, through neighborhoods, looking for a corner shop and not a chain-restaurant. We even become confused when we drive down smooth streets or arrive at an event ten minutes late to find that it has already started.

It worries me at times, this self-diagnosed condition. But then I pop a Louisiana strawberry in my mouth, or become involved in a fifteen minute discussion when tourists ask which restaurant nearby they should visit, or scoot my way through the Vieux Carre, or stop for a conversation with my neighbor, or just sit on my back patio and watch the butterflies hovering over the banana tree, and I no longer remember why I'm worried about having such intense feelings for a city that is clearly courted by many who may possess charms greater than mine.



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Now playing: We Shot The Moon - Tunnel Vision
via FoxyTunes

My Heart's Lost in New Orleans

I love this town.

I know I've said it before, probably so many times that it's growing tiresome, but it seems that nearly every day I fall in love with it anew. This place, so full of dirt and grime and crime and poverty, gives me hope. I can't express exactly why, but it does.

What a day...what a wonderous, weird, bewitching day. I woke up at Emily's house and made my way to the market, of course, but only picked up a pound of tomatoes, some lettuce and a chocolate croissant. I headed uptown for a facial, completely indulgent but sometimes it's just what we need. From there I raced back to Bywater in time to make it to my favorite breakfast joint for the $3.50 early bird special. I sat on the patio for an hour with my eggs, grits, biscuit and bloody mary, before the rains forced me out. So home I came, played in the compost pile for awhile, and had a drink with the neighbors on the front stoop. The strange thing is that this is all starting to feel normal. Then it was naptime before driving out to Kenner to pick up a returning friend from the airport, and then through Broadmoor back uptown to the Whole Foods on Magazine. After blowing a little too much money on organic dark chocolate ice cream, mint green tea and a still-hot loaf of sourdough, I drove back downtown with the windows open, loving the smell of the rain.

And so here I am, home in my messy kitchen, listening to the dryer and dishwasher as I wait for the storm. I plan to spend my night under the ceiling fan, reading a book and waiting for the unmistakeable sound of Louisiana rain crashing on the roof.
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Now playing: Buckcherry - So Far
via FoxyTunes

Today's the strike of a match

All publicity is good publicity, right?

Well, maybe not when you're a politician...but publicity in Gambit Weekly sure is good publicity. Gambit is one of those free papers that you notice stocked around town--but I can almost guarantee that more people in this city read the Gambit than read the Times-Picayune. We pick it up while waiting to be seated in a restaurant, flip through it while sipping cafe au lait or snag a copy on the way out the door of Creole Creamery. So if the New Orleans Food Cooperative is one of the major stories in the "Green Issue," it is likely that at least a few people will contact us for more information.

Our first working group meeting is tonight at 7pm. With a target goal of 300 members by May 1st, and only 7 weeks to go, we have a lot to accomplish--and I'm excited!

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Now playing: Alanis Morissette - Perfect
via FoxyTunes

To Take This Town and Make This Home

So I'm exhausted! I was meant to go to a movie tonight with the girls, but what a weekend. 13 hours of co-op planning can really drain your energy. But I've come away with a positive perspective on the co-op and a definite role on the leadership team. It means bi-monthly meetings but again, I feel this is something that I'm called to do.

Clearly I didn't get much cooking done this weekend. Went to the market on Saturday morning before the meeting started and bought tomatoes (they're growing them hydrophonically in a greenhouse and they're some of the best I've ever tasted) along with strawberries, tamales and eggs, as per usual. Made another quiche tonight but am looking for other ways to use my spinach. Got a new perspective on vegan cooking this weekend. I've never been one for vegan ways since I love my eggs and cheese too much, but one of the co-op members made some very tasty lunches. Particularly a carrot salad with canola oil, lemon, and cinnamon. Yum!

Once again my week is piling up, with something Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night now, along with the gym at the least tomorrow. Hopefully Wednesday too. Got info on a free yoga class in Mid-City on Tuesdays that I'd like to try but not this week. The garden is surviving, yay, and there's another garden up the block I'm going to help with. I'm realizing more and more that this really is home, and that I'm finally finding a place to put down roots--literally!

What a plan to set in motion
Wanna try to make this all our own
To take this place and make this home


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Now playing: Sister Hazel - Strange Cup of Tea
via FoxyTunes

There’s things that aren’t worth giving up I know

What am I doing this weekend?
I am voluntarily giving up not one but both of my weekend days to attend a financial meeting. Oh joy, oh fun, oh bliss.
Why, one might ask, considering I have absolutely no concept of finances or ability to create a business plan. I'm doing it for the sake of the New Orleans Food Cooperative.



Most people don't realize it, but NOLA has some of the worst food access problems in the United States. The nearest grocery store (as opposed to a corner market) is at least five miles away from our neighborhood. My neighborhood is Bywater, which is separated from the Upper Ninth Ward by one street-St Claude Avenue. While Bywater is a fairly mixed income neighborhood, full of plenty of hippies and liberals and whatever other dirty names you might like to call us, when you cross St Claude to the Ninth it's nearly uniformly poor. I hope I'm not making too much of a generalization, but most in that neighborhood cannot afford to 1. pay high prices for groceries or 2. take a lot of time out of their day to make their way five miles to a lower-priced grocery store. So what happens? Most end up buying groceries at the corner markets or meals from the po'boy shops. Not too many fruits and vegetables in those locations.
So the mission of the NOLA Food Coop is to allow access to healthy, fresh, affordable groceries for everyone. We've been offered a 5,000 square feet space that straddles the Bywater, St Claude and St Roch neighborhoods--places where people desperately need access to groceries.
But now what we need is a plan, a way to make sure that this is feasible. And that's what we're doing this weekend, sketching out that plan.

It feels sometimes like I never rest. This weekend, of all weekends, I could've used some good-old-fashioned down time. But this is important to me. If I didn't go, and didn't offer all that I could, what would I be? Just someone who blahs and blabs and blogs about the importance of food but never actually does anything to change the situation. So instead I'll whine a little about the lack of free time and go give a bit of myself
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Now playing: Jack Johnson - Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

We're Something, But We're Starving

Let's celebrate the humble pig, the eater of scraps, another of our fellow mammals that has the audacity to sweat. Pigs are the reason that I was never able to be a true vegetarian and pork products remain the only meat that I savor. This is why my trip to Cochon, back in late fall, remains one of my favorite restaurant experiences in New Orleans. And now the New York Times has recognized it as one of the top ten new restaurants outside New York (snobs).

Cochon won a James Beard award in 2007 for Best Chef: South. In New Orleans, if you claim to know your food and celebrate it like so many of us do, you best know that the James Beard awards are the Oscars of the food world, and you also better know that it's Donald Link that's the chef at Cochon, and that he's also the chef at Herbsaint. These are just things that you need to know to proclaim your foodiness in NOLA.

We're proud in this city, rightly so, of the amazing food that can be found almost anywhere, at almost any price. It makes it hard to eat anywhere else. For instance, during Mardi Gras I stumbled upon a homemade sign pointing me to Jazzy Po'boys, at a new location. I turned the car and ended up with the best roast beef po'boy of my life, all the while chatting with the chef and owner. I can have absolutely delicious red beans and rice, or mac and cheese, for about $2 in the cafeteria of Tulane Hospital--a cafeteria! In a hospital! It makes it difficult to visit other places and be faced with the choice between a McDonalds and a Taco Bell for lunch.

So thanks, NYT, for acknowledging this. Cochon is one of the most delicious places in a city with too many places to try. We may disappoint vegetarians but we're people who maintain lists of "restaurants to try", who keep the reservation numbers in our cellphones, who find it hard to narrow down the list of restaurants to take visitors. Food is part of the history here, food is part of our rebuilding effort, and food is our way of life.

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Now playing: Bright Eyes - I Must Belong Somewhere
via FoxyTunes

Once Again, The Carnival Closed Down

I realized today that the Harwood Herald could go out and announce to everyone that they could find out more about my Mardi Gras Trois...and I don't have the blog up yet. That would be a little upsetting. So here we go...photo heavy. If you want more photos check out my facebook.

The only non-"big weekend" parade I went to was Krewe de Vieux, which parades through the French Quarter (all other big parades go up St Charles or Canal) KdV is a politically satirical parade that themes their floats around local events in New Orleans
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As some of you might know, my oldest friend, Ramona, came to visit for the "big weekend", which to me means the Thursday before Mardi Gras, when Muses parades, until, well, Mardi Gras, but R left on that Sunday. Unfortunately, the weather didn't cooperate and parades were canceled Thursday night, which meant we watched four parades on Friday night, culminating in Muses, which is the largest all-female krewe. The prized throw from Muses is a decorated shoe, and they are almost always given to guys--in fact, this is about the only parade where guys score more throws than girls, which pleased my friend Trevor, who also came to visit for that weekend.


We tried to catch Saturday night's parade, Endymion, but since it reverted back to its traditional Mid-City route, it took hours and hours to reach Canal Street, and after a day of exploring Audubon, taste-testing po-boys, and checking out bars near the parade route, well, it didn't happen. After R left Sunday, T and I checked out Thoth, one of my favorites. Thoth parades further uptown than most other parades, so that they can visit the Children's Hospital and other locations where people are unable to view the parades. Because of this Thoth throws lots of plush animals (plushies), inflatables, and plastic toys. They also like to aim through windows of houses along the parade route (occupants seem resigned, so they must be compensated for damages). I don't know the people in this photo, but I liked that guy's seat atop the roof. I caught the boa I'm wearing in this photo.


Monday for me was a recovery day. I was exhausted from hostessing, going out every night, not sleeping due to the increased amount of snoring in my sleeping space...so I slept and slept in preparation for Tuesday, Mardi Gras. Which turns out to be the only day of the year that New Orleanians get up early. I don't know...maybe they don't go to sleep. I was making my coffee and Baileys (it's Fat Tuesday, you know) to take with me uptown when I heard a commotion outside my door, a ringing of bells and loud shouts. I opened the door to a parade of skeletons, dancing, clanging cymbals, ringing loud bells. Then I went uptown for Zulu, the African-American Krewe. Zulus prized throw is the coconut, as you can see my friends Will, Mary and Ben holding in the photo. But Zulu took an extended break and we wanted to see Rex, the parade that closes the Carnival season, so we headed back to the boys' house right across from the parade route. Rex has beautiful floats that were based on a river theme this year...but not so good throws. They're traditionalists and only throw beads in green, purple and gold.
So now it was only about 10:30 in the morning...we headed back to the boys' house for a brunch and some socializing, but mostly we all felt like, "What now? What do we do now that Carnival is over? I still don't have the answer to that question!

Some might wonder what New Orleanians do with all their throws. Well, besides storing them in the attic, adding them to care packages, decorating our homes and leaving them on street corners, we get creative. This chain of Rex beads kept Herb the plant safe in blustery weather.
My Mardi Gras ended with a trip to Bourbon--this photo is from about 4:30pm. The perks of being adored by a production engineer for Shell is that I got to tag along to two parties, one at Acme Oyster Co and one on a balcony at the Royal Sonesta Hotel. At Acme we truly celebrated Fat Tuesday, with grilled oysters and plenty of fried seafood. The balcony was a blast, much more fun than anticipated. We had fun dangling beads over the edge to tempt the pedestrians, who walk around with their necks craned upward. We left around nightfall, when people were starting to get a little too crazy and some on our balcony were becoming obnoxious.

So that was my Mardi Gras, part trois. And then I proceeded to contract the post-MG death flu as well as a sinus infection. Such is life.

Good Morning, America, How Are You?

Don't you know me?
I'm your native son
I'm the train they call the city of New Orleans...

Waking early in this city is so strange--if people are awake, it's because they have been all night. But every Saturday, a group of us are there, in a parking lot on the corner of Girod and Magazine, vying for the best produce.

This week:
Broccoli (huge crown)
Baby carrots (they are no relation to the chopped and bagged fingers of the grocery store--they look and smell like a carrot!)
Huge bag of spinach
Organic satsumas
Pint of strawberries
Pint of whole milk

I indulged in:
Oyster mushrooms
Queso d'bola (like Mexican cheese but less crumbly)
Lemon blackberry scone

So now what to make? I thawed some chicken and didn't realize just how much there was, so I'd like to make a soup, and probably a curry. With the mushrooms and spinach I'd like to do a pasta, risotto or quiche. Problem is, I'm alone this week, and there's still a giant pot of red beans in the fridge--I don't want to make a bunch of stuff that won't be eaten. Guess I should try to feed people!

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