Wake up call

So I was in bed Friday night and my phone rang at 1:45am.  Yeah, I know.  That's pretty early to be in bed in New Orleans on a Friday night.  Or any night in New Orleans, for that matter.  I'd had a long day...

Anyway, I was just about to fall asleep when the phone rang.  It was Michael Kavanaugh.

Michael: "Girl!  What are you doing?"

Me: "Sleeping!"

Michael: "No you're not.  I'm coming to get you.  I'll be there in five minutes."

I'm so glad he did.  Because this was happening on a street corner three blocks away:





   

There was a beer and wine stand.  Someone was selling lamb curry.  We danced for I don't know how long.  It's funny, I KNEW I'd heard drums when I got home that night.

All right, all right.  I'll stop saying how good it is to be home...

Mardi Gras Indians

When you go to New Orleans, make sure you always have your camera handy.  Because you never know when some shit like this is going to break out...

 

                                            



Yeah.  Just your average November afternoon in the Big Easy.  Have I mentioned how good it is to be home?

Letter to a beautiful boy

                                           
Saw this while walking down Decatur the other day.  Felt like I'd been punched in the gut.  Still?  It's been what, six years?  Maybe more?  I don't think I'll ever be able to see that sign without remembering the day I first saw you.

You were so beautiful.  And so smart.  I could tell just by watching you work.  I was with some lesbians and couldn't make a move.  But I came back for you.  Oh, you bet I did.

You were 21 but smarter than most people twice your age.  I was six years older, but that was OK.  You'd been working at Fiorella's for a year, moving on from a troubled past.  You had a dangerous history.  Some trouble with the law.  I didn't mind.  I saw nothing but potential in those soft brown eyes.  Oh, those eyes.   They were the death of me.

I remember every conversation we had.  Every kiss.  Those walks by the river.  That night on my couch...

I would have moved heaven and earth for you.  Given you the moon and the stars, all those stupid cliches.  I had some competition though.  There was another girl.  She won.  You were a stand up man about it, which made me love you even more.

I hope you are well, my dear friend, wherever you are.  We spoke once after the hurricane.  I knew your neighborhood was destroyed, but I also knew you were smart enough to still be alive.  You were doing great.  You were still with that girl.  Had started your own moving company.  I'll never forget you telling me, in that delicious New Orleans accent, "Girl, I'm a contractor now!"  I swallowed the lump in my throat and reminded you that I always said you were going to be a success.  You were quiet for a moment, then you said, "Yeah, girl.  You always did believe in me."

Yes, baby.  Yes I did.  Always.

Blitie

                             

This precious little schnauzer's name is Blitie.  Have you met Blitie?  If not, you really should.

Blitie is 13 years old.  He was born in Maine, then moved to Miami.  He stayed there for nine years, then moved to New Orleans about four years ago.  Blitie has been around.

Blitie has a younger brother named Bucky.  Don't have any pictures of Bucky.  He's kind of shy.  Bucky is four months younger than Blitie.  They have never been separated.  It was a promise that Don made to his mother-in-law before she died.  They were her dogs originally.  Her wish has been granted, through hell and high water.  Literally.  Don Starr is a man who stands by his word.

I love Blitie.  You would love Blitie too.  Everyone loves Blitie!

                            

WHO DAT!!

The Saints are 9-0.  For the first time in history.  And I am in New Orleans.  There are no words to describe the magic in the air around here.  Everyone's pretty happy...

                                                 

And we ALL love Drew Brees right now.

 

Breesus saves.  Oh yes he does.  Bless you boys.  We believe.  Who dat!

                                             

Shadow Shot Sunday

A broken knee and crutches didn't stop me from having a good time on a boat in Maui.  Didn't even slow me down.

                                       

  Shadow Shot Sunday

WHO DAT!!

 I have it.  Do you?  Let's geaux Saints!

We're all watching the game at Don's house tomorrow.  Rose is bringing hot dogs and chili.  Rose makes amazing chili.  We're going to have beer and wine and mimosas.  I wish you could be there.

Don't get me wrong, I love watching Saints games at the Black Magic Voodoo Lounge in San Francisco.  I really do.  But there's nothing, NOTHING like watching a Saints game in your friend's living room in New Orleans surrounded by food and friends and family and freakishly fanatical fellow fans.  Yeah you right!

                                        

Mid City! It's been too long...

I always forget how much cool stuff is going on in Mid City.  I don't get to that neighborhood much, especially since I moved away.  Just had one of my best days in recent memory over in that part of town.

My friend who lives out there came to pick me up in the early afternoon.  First we stopped at that big, beautiful Rouse's supermarket to pick up some snacks.  Forgot how nice that one is!

After catching up and relaxing around the house for a while, it was time to venture out for some real food.  We were paralyzed with indecision.  Where to go?  So many wonderful choices!

And then we drove past Five Happiness.  Oh, Five Happiness...

If you're in New Orleans and you want Chinese food, Five Happiness is the ONLY place to go.  Seriously.  Neither one of us had been there in years, since long before the hurricane.  We couldn't think of single reason not to stop the car.

So glad we did.

After, there was only one logical place for us to go for dessert.  Total no-brainer.  If you're in New Orleans and you're in Mid City and you want dessert, you go to Angelo Brocato's.    

Yeah, there was a line out the door.  There's always a line out the door.  It's been there since 1905, run by the Brocato family for one hundred and four years.  And, yes, it's THAT good.

                                                

He got the Sicilian pistachio.  I got the mint chip.  We probably didn't need the cannoli.  But we just couldn't help ourselves.

We rolled back to the house all fat and happy and threw on a movie.  Two stuffed pigs, all sprawled out on the couch.

Wow.  All that, AND the most delectable Cajun to walk the face of the earth for a late-night snack?  It's so fucking good to be home...

                        

Mike and Jarius and alligator bisque

When you go to New Orleans, you must go to the Hermes bar at Antoine's to see my friends Mike and Jarius.

Michael and I used to bartend together at Muriel's.  We were a dangerous duo.  Some of the best times I've ever had behind a bar.  I've never had the pleasure of working with Jarius, but I would love to.  Maybe when I move back!

Anyway, you really should go see those guys.  Great guys.  They will mix you a perfect sazerac, and they will feed you alligator bisque.

  You will love it.  Trust me.

And before you ask, yes, Jarius is pouring those sazeracs into to-go cups.  It's legal to order drinks to-go in New Orleans.  That's why it's the most civilized city in the U.S.

Laissez les bon temps rouler, cher ti bebe!

Boudin balls

How has my trip home been so far?  Well, two hours after I got off the plane I was eating a duck po-boy and a bowl of gumbo from Crabby Jacks...

                                

Six hours after I got off the plane I was eating a plate of boudin balls...

                                       

And eight hours after I got off the plane I was naked in a jacuzzi.  Don't have any pictures of that.  Sorry.

What are boudin balls, you ask?  Well, you know what boudin is, right?  No?  Oh dear.  Let me try to explain.  It's sort of like sausage but not quite.  They take ground pork, season the fuck out of it, mix it with rice, and stuff it into a casing.  You then squeeze the meat and rice mixture of bliss into your mouth from one end, sort of like toothpaste.  You're not meant to eat the casing.  That would be nasty.

Now, when they make boudin balls, they take that same wonderful pork/rice mix, but instead of stuffing it into a casing, THEY DEEP-FRY THAT SHIT.  A culinary masterpiece, I tell you.  I love New Orleans!

So yeah, I'd say my trip home has been pretty good so far...