Families have their carnival traditions through the season as well. It might be a tradition which parades to go to every year, and often families have a traditional spot to watch those parades every year.

A tradition I witnessed going on full tilt at Bacchus this year is the traditional tossing of beads from the crowd at the Baby Kong float. I was unaware this was a tradition—I just thought the people on the neutral ground had gone nuts. Reverse throws pelted the float. Who knew?

Carnival has its traditional rituals that bring the season to a close Mardi Gras day. One grand, one ignoble.

A grand spectacle, the meeting of the courts of Comus and Rex signals the end of the formal carnival season. Since 1892 Rex, his queen, dukes and other court members leave their ball and travel to the Comus ball where the monarchs meet. Shortly after the ball, and carnival, end for the year.

On the streets a different ritual takes place at midnight on Mardi Gras day. State troopers and New Orleans police mounted on horses form a wall at Bourbon and Canal and push the crowds back, making way for a fleet of street cleaning trucks. This is the official close of Mardi Gras. It’s an awesome sight, I’ve witnessed it a couple of times in my younger days. Seeing this article on NOLA.com got me thinking about it again.

On the other end of the scale there is just plain rudeness. Read Nola’s post and the ensuing comments. But I think there has to be a sliding scale of rudeness when you’re talking about Carnival parades. And location has to be taken into consideration, as well as the scale of the event. In the end it just may not be worth it to try to stake out a claim in strange territory to an open-ended event.

Endymion’s return to Mid-City was a really big deal. Business along the route counted on parade day to be a real revenue boost as food and booze sales increase with the crowds. More importantly, a lot of churches along the route sell parking spaces, food and beverages for Endymion’s passing to the point where they may not need to hold any other major fund raising events during the year. For the two years when they needed it most, after the storm, these churches and businesses were hard pressed to make up the lost revenue.

It shouldn’t have been surprising that when Nola, CS, guests and I arrived for Endymion at 1:30 (to park in one of those church lots), the neutral ground was already completely staked out by ladders the length of Canal Street as far as you could see. The non-retail business up and down the street (law offices, insurance agents, etc.) cordoned off their front yards and held private parties. There was a lot of grilling going on, luscious barbecued meat aromas wafted about. Our 25 pieces of Popeyes kept the hunger at bay, though. We weren’t totally unprepared.

We staked out a corner and sat on the curb; ate, talked and people watched waiting for the parade. We wondered when the police would come to close off the intersection, surprised they had not done so earlier and doubly surprised traffic still flowed down Canal fairly regularly as four o’clock approached.

Next thing we knew one person put a chair down in the street. Then a few more, and within minutes the street next to our little corner was blocked off by portable chairs and ice chests and the twenty or so people who had been standing around increased tenfold. Nola tells the tale from then on pretty well.

Two standout events. First, one of the drunken fools encroaching on our space pulled out a bottle of Crown Royal and offered it to me. Given the earlier tensions I was kind of surprised, but grateful. I had just been thinking about fighting my way to the bar.

The second event was something I was trying to prevent. Last year, as Endymion was winding down, I was walking down the street not paying attention and WHAM! big pair of beads in the face. This year I vowed to be on the lookout at all times. Vigilantly on the lookout, I caught a pair in mid-air, looked down at them, thinking, “That was a pretty good catch,” when WHAM! a big pair of beads in the face.

So maybe no more Endymion, or at least not on Canal Street and not without an early escape route.

A Different Day, a Different Corner

So Sunday was a new day. Rested and recuperated we headed out. I vowed to be better prepared and go by a chair before heading to the route. We got started a bit late, not realizing our preferred route to the uptown roost near Tipitina’s was blocked by Thoth. I got CS and guest as close as I could and unloaded the beer and food for them to carry the rest of the way while I went to park; doubling back eventually to Jefferson and St. Charles.

I began the long walk, toting camera bag containing camera, whiskey and two water bottles. Once I hit Napoleon I decided to take a break, watch the parade and pour the first cocktail of the day. Moving on after a swig or two I finally located the rest of the crew enjoying sandwiches in the shade on Napoleon Avenue. SoMo has some pics and a pleasant, non-Grinchy account of the day.

Long story short, no one invaded us. Great place to watch the parade. Saw Hulk Hogan, Coach Miles and the Tigers. Got a doubloon from the Hulkster and caught a lot of beads. Sun and the other kids had a good time. Got a ride back to the car, and back to the house in time for the last 3 minutes of the Superbowl just in time to watch the Manning Miracle. And no beads in the face, either.

King cake from Fresh Market in Mandeville. Another winner, not as flavorful as the Marguerite’s from yesterday, but moister. Plus, it comes with doubloons!

Now I must fulfill my obligation and get one for Monday. I’ve got a PJ’s on the way into work, along with Rouses, Walmart and Nonna’s. What’s it gonna be?

Here is today’s king cake. If I had arrived any later it would have been disappeared like an Argentine dissident. It’s from Marguerite’s in Slidell by way of the PJ’s in Covington, who sells them in St. Tammany’s western sector. Great king cake, anyone with a Slidell connection out there should look into getting one. Very moist, cinnamony with an almond extract flavor, either in the icing or the cake, I couldn’t tell.

Nola has pretty much laid out the krewe’s story and the theme of last night’s parade, so I’m just going to add a few more pics. It’s probably going to be my last parade until Mardi Gras weekend; I’ll make up for it in the upcoming weeks by posting some pictures of carnival past.

And of course, the Leg Lamp at Flanagan’s. I knew I was deserving of a Major Award.

I started to leave a comment in response to her question, but it started to be as long as a post, so I decided to just post it. So here goes.

What do I do on Fat Tuesday?

I could write several books on the Fat Tuesday adventures I’ve had from high school through grad school. Always shared with great friends and family, sometimes with out of town visitors (I love playing tour guide). Some of the times were hilarious, some were beautiful, and some were truly horrible; none are necessarily fit for public consumption.

I will briefly share my most memorable Fat Tuesday. Some friends of mine who lived on State Street uptown near Prytania had several out of town guests. From Ireland. After spending a crazy Lundi Gras with them and crashing on the floor, we rose early and packed up all the booze we could carry and set off on Mardi Gras morning. We walked, from State Street, down the length of St. Charles Avenue. Through the course of the day we caught Rex at St. Charles and Napoleon (too late for Zulu). And then truck parades. Lots of trucks in those parades.

As the day and the infinite truck floats coursed on, we walked down St. Charles through the crowds, running into people we knew and making friends with some we didn’t (usually through a shared bottle or flask), always keeping an eye out for the Irish who were absolutely floored at everything that was going on.

We ended up in the Quarter around 4 or 5pm. Wandered in and out of bars; at midnight, as the police and street cleaners shooed everyone out, stumbled onto Canal Street where an empty cab just happened to have stopped. We cabbed it back uptown safe and secure, beaded and besotted.

The past two years I’ve started going back to the parades in the city. Big confession here: I have not done Fat Tuesday in the city since I don’t know when.

I hate to say it, but after the Friday-Sunday mayhem with Krewe D’Etat, Hermes, Tucks, Endymion and Bacchus and so on, I’ve been sufficiently satisfied with Mardi Goodness that I’ve counted my blessings and gone back into exile on the Northshore before things really ramped up for Lundi and Mardi.

This year I solemnly pledge to at least stick around for Lundi Gras, if not for the big day itself. I will take advantage of the lodgings that friends and family have available—either in Jefferson, Metairie, or perhaps, in the French Quarter. Yes, I have a place I can stay in the Quarter. A place to rest my head, yes; a place to park my car…maybe not so much. Time will tell.

I was going through some old pictures on my computer and found some parade prep pics I’d like to share. Parade goers know that no parade is complete without the Budweiser Clydesdales. The eight-horse teams pulling the big red beer wagon are an awesome sight for kids. The one-ton beasts with dinner plate-sized hooves loom over the crowd and definitely made an impression on me as a young parade goer.

I caught them as they prepared for a Slidell parade, the Krewe of Perseus. I was lucky enough to be introduced to the team: Scott, Bud, Smokey, Ace, Luke, Duke, Mick and Archie, along with their human handlers and canine mascot, Doc the dalmatian.

First step, get the horses out of their luxurious travel trailers. Believe me, these horses travel in style. I think there’s a guy who cleans up if they poop while the trailers are on the interstate.

Next, a little grooming.

Time to put the harness on. It’s a three-man job. The things weigh over 100 pounds.

After the horses get hitched together and to the wagon, Doc, the canine member of the team, takes his place next to the driver.

A driver’s-eye view of the team. From closest to the wagon to the front of the hitch: Scott and Bud; Smokey and Ace; Luke and Duke; Mick and Archie.

And my favorite shot, this one as the team arrives for the night parade of the Krewe of Olympia in Covington. Mick and Archie are in the lead.

That’s how the Budweiser Clydesdales prepare for a parade. What’s your story?

And now for a closeup…

What’s lurking in your office?

There’s more to Mardi Gras tradition than parades, beads, doubloons and king cakes. The costumed balls thrown by various krewes and organizations like the Twelfth Night Revelers are heralded by elaborately designed and printed invitations. The invitations evolved into works of art themselves and have become treasured keepsakes among the families who are lucky enough to receive them. Souvenir favors handed out at the balls also become collectible treasures.

Mardi Gras: It’s Carnival Time in Louisiana is the Louisiana State Museum’s permanent exhibit at the Presbytyre next to St. Louis Cathedral. Examples of the giant knives, stylized king cake pieces from Twelfth Night Revelers are on display there. Many examples of invitations, ball favors, costumes, gowns and the kings, and queens’ jewels from krewes over the years are on display.

Along with the page at Mardi Gras Unmasked, I also ran across an article in a Northshore publication with a history of Mardi Gras ball invitations and favors and resources available for studying them at The Historic New Orleans Collection and the Louisiana State Museum. It also has an article with good info on king cakes, their history, and a run-down of Northshore king cake bakers. One of the Northshore bakeries in the article is run by a couple of French ladies who bake a traditional Galette des Rois, a puff pastry concoction filled with almond paste.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t ever recall turning down a piece of king cake. It’s just hard to find a perfect one for me. A fine balancing act has to be maintained between dryness and icing; and then there’s the question of fillings. I really don’t mind fillings in a king cake, they do a lot to counteract an otherwise dry dough. But the problem is that I find fillings to be too…filling.

So a perfect king cake for me would be one with a lot of flavor, very moist, icing not too thick, and especially not too thick a coating of the colored sugar. That can be kind of gritty.

So, traditional, non-filled king cakes I’ve really liked include Haydels, Randazzo’s and also a place on the Northshore called Nonna’s. I can’t say which filled ones I really like because the filling kind of takes over, I’m usually glad when eating it that the cake is not dry.

Threw my bad fortune off of the top of a tall building…

PJ Harvey, Good Fortune

I’ve been collecting fortune cookie fortunes for a couple of months now from the Chinese place near the office where I eat about once a week or so. Not to go all Seinfeld on you or anything, but have you ever noticed the varying quality of the fortunes stuck in those things?

Take this for example:

It’s a nice thought, but it’s like they’re not really trying. It does have the quality of a fortune in that it attempts to foretell the future, but it’s also a fifty-fifty shot in the dark. I will, or I won’t, enjoy good health. What’s good health? Vibrancy, or just being cancer, diabetes and heart disease-free?

Then there’s this one:

It’s better—it’s not a fortune, but it is funny.

Another one that’s pretty lame:

Confucius say Donald Trump in wrong business.

This one had instructions that required immediate action:

It didn’t say anything about actually winning the lotto, though.

My favorite fortune of all time:

It’s a proper fortune, it has a suggestion on where success might lie with me, and it’s not a fifty-fifty absolutist dichotomy. It guides me to a field where I may choose to prosper. A field that is not boring, but whacky. Gotta love it.

And the most recent one, which is sending me straight to the lotto store to play the numbers on the back:

“An unexpected event will soon bring you fortune.” See you at the lotto!

…[W]ill highlight authentic restaurants and food experiences across the state, and provide materials for travelers to create their own eating itineraries during their visits here.

Lt. Gov. Mitch Landrieu and chef John Besh were among those announcing the three-year initiative Wednesday at the Sheraton New Orleans, during the annual Louisiana Tourism Summit.

Unlike the golf trail, no highway signs will be placed to guide travelers to their next stop. The trail will be web-based; suggested “trails” will be provided to help guide the uninitiated through the state’s culinary treasure troves.

Stacy Brown, president of the Shreveport-Bossier Convention and Tourist Bureau, explained how the system will work:

“We’ll have a Web site that will allow you to design your culinary trail and combine it with other things you want to do or see,” Brown said. “There will also be a lot of suggestions for different types of food, different types of restaurants.”

The site will list all Louisiana-owned restaurants free of charge and will have enhanced listings with logos and ad copy available for $150.

Chef John Besh was quoted in the article (which was picked up by the AP and ran in CNN.com and other outlets) saying culinary trails aren’t anything new.

Besh pointed out that culinary trails have always been here. When he was little, his mother would go to Gambino’s or Gendusa’s for bread; to Progress Grocery or Nor-Joe’s; to the butcher shop or the fish market.

“The great thing is that this is all natural for us,” Besh said. “We’re the real thing.

Imagine that—planning your vacation activities around an itinerary based on places where you’d like to eat. Isn’t that how we plan our day-to-day lives around here?

Homework assignment for the day: What would your ideal culinary trail itinerary be?

If you’re not familiar with him, Bourdain is a chef, food writer and fiction author who is also a traveling TV host. He’s doesn’t do the normal how-to cooking show. It’s really a travelogue, with Bourdain working in local cultural tid-bits while tasting the indigenous cuisine. He’s got a very dry style and tries to maintain a kind of “bad boy” image. He drinks and smokes a lot, curses some, but is always informative about, and appreciative of, the food he’s being served; whether it’s 5-star fancy restaurant food or some sort of skewered meat from questionable parts of a questionable animal purchased from a street vendor at 3 a.m.

He did an episode here on his old Food Network show but it was pre-K and all touristy and stuff. Central Grocery, a soul food place and Jacques-Imo’s were about all he covered. Hope he covers more in this one.

The Travel Channel’s teaser for the New Orleans episode says:

New Orleans, a city known for its love of food, music and life, was forever changed by the storm of Hurricane Katrina; yet today, New Orleans is still a vibrant and spectacular town, and who better to explore the true impact of Katrina than Tony Bourdain?

And speaking of Jacques-Imo, Abita beer is now bottling its Jockamo IPA, previously available only on tap at the Abita Brew Pub. “Jockamo,” as in “joc-a-mo-fee-no-ah-nah-nay” is part of an old Mardi Gras Indian chant. Mardi Gras Indians are one of the most intriguing New Orleans traditions arising out of the Mid-City African American community. I urge everyone unfamiliar with Mardi Gras Indians to commence to the Googling immediately!

If Bourdain runs across any Jockamo IPA or Mardi Gras Indians, he won’t help but get a clue what this town is about, K or no K.

Despite the antics of some anarchist natives, an informal tally of Ohio State fans versus the LSU faithful shows the Buckeyes are outnumbered by a wide 11 to 1 margin.

And what exactly is a buckeye, anyway? Answer: A poisonous nut.

The Ohio buckeye is found growing along streams and river banks in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Kentucky, Indiana, north to Michigan and south to Mississippi. It flowers in May and June, and on account of the unpleasant odor given off the tree is often called fetid buckeye. From Henriette’s Herbal Homepage.

Need I say more?

Courtesy of the Earthlink free wi-fi for New Orleans residents. How cool is that?

Even cooler–my new laptop with built in webcam.

The day started with a return to the office from a holiday break. Tied up a few loose ends, not too much going on. My family is in town; parents staying with my sister in the Quarter, brother, sister-in-law and nephew with sister-in-law’s brother in Metairie.

My brother had made plans to have us all go to the LSU-Tulane basketball game at the New Orleans Arena last night. The crowd was sparse, we had awesome tickets right behind the press box on the floor at mid-court. LSU lost, but it was a good opportunity to meet up with some of my sister-in-law’s family I had not seen in a while.

An evening highlight was dinner at the Bon Ton Cafe on Magazine Street. Before retiring, my dad worked on Poydras and Magazine across the street from the restaurant. He ate their frequently and had not been back since retiring 17 years ago.

The food was great, although we stayed away from the etouffees and jambalaya that the Bon Ton is known for. Mom got a cup of the gumbo, which I did not taste but she was happy with it. Remembering Nola’s post on the subject a while back, ordered the Denise salad; boiled shrimp and lump crabmeat in a creole-mustard vinagarette with tomatoes and asparagus. Yum.

Entree-wise, Dad stuck with his favorite fried oysters, Mom her favorite softshell crab, and I the broiled drum, not necessarily a favorite but pretty darn good anyway. We met the owner on the way out, it turns out he and Mom are both from the same town in southeast Louisiana, Houma. It’s-a-small-world-after-all talk ensued; reminiscences on the Houma that was and the people they knew.

The chilly part came in after dinner. We parked in the Superdome parking lot. The wind was whipping up between the dome and the arena and the walk from and back to the car after the game was simply brutal. Brrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Hulk Hogan to reign as king of Bacchus
Posted by The Times-Picayune December 18, 2007 11:52AM
Categories: Krewe of Bacchus

Hulk Hogan, star of the wrestling ring and reality television, will ride as Bacchus XL two days before Fat Tuesday, the megakrewe announced today.

Hogan, who will lead Bacchus’ nighttime procession on Feb. 3, said one factor that motivated him to accept the title was the chance to visit the patients at Children’s Hospital, a traditional stop for Bacchus’ monarch, according to a Bacchus statement.

…

The Krewe of Bacchus has always chosen a celebrity to lead its parade. Granted, not always an A-list celebrity, but someone who is generally well-known and popular. Danny Kaye was the first Bacchus king, and many out there today may not know who he is.

But I do know one thing, and that in the history of carnival, this is as low as it gets. Hulk Hogan may be a “celebrity,” and that may be the sole qualification of who is chosen king.

But Hulk Hogan is no Danny Kaye, or Raymond Burr, or Jim Nabors, or Phil Harris, or Bob Hope, or Glenn Campbell, or Jackie Gleason, or Perry Como, or Henry Winkler, or Ed McMahon, or Ron Howard, or Pete Fountain, or Dom Delouise, or Charlton Heston, or Kirk Douglas, or Lorne Greene, or John Ritter, or William Shatner, or Alan Thicke, or Billy Crystal, or Dennis Quaid, or Steve Guttenberg, or Gerald McRaney, or Harry Connick, Jr., or Jean Claude Van-Damme, or John Larroquette, or Dick Clark, or Tom Arnold, or Drew Carey, or Jim Belushi, or Luke Perry, or Larry King, or Nicholas Cage, or John Lovitz, or Elijah Wood, or Sean Astin, or Michael Keaton, and he’s certainly no James Gandolfini, who reigned in 2007.

Now, some wonder why not some other celebrity, such as Harry Shearer, Brad Pitt or John Goodman, who have a connection to New Orleans? I can see how Brad Pitt may not be able to be king for scheduling or logistical or security concerns, but come on now, Hulk Hogan? I just can’t get over it.

And it’s the same night as the Super Bowl, which we all know the Saints will be starring in.

Pete: “I don’t have anything to write about.”

Nola: “What about Lüke?”

Pete: “O.K., we need more food porn on the site, anyway.”

Dinner at John Besh’s Lüke restaurant, featuring Pete’s sister’s steak, Nola’s shrimp “en cocotte” (shrimp & grits), Pete’s sampling of mixed meats à la Lüke; and CS’s mussels and sarcastic gang signing.

All was fabulous. Sun was along for the ride and was an exemplary baby.

Here’s what is known on the internets as “food porn” with descriptions from the menu.

Steak au Poivre: Grilled strip sirloin with green peppercorn sauce

Jumbo Louisiana Shrimp “En Cocotte”: with Anson Mills cream white corn grits and Jacobs andouille.

Choucroute Maison: Housemade sausages and slow cooked Berkshire pork belly, cochon de lait, and knuckles.

Moules et Frites: Prince Edward Island mussels steamed with garlic and thyme with housemade fries.

I was at my parent’s house near Hot Springs, Arkansas, having arrived there the day before, after fleeing my home in Slidell, Louisiana, in advance of Hurricane Katrina.

I had been tracking the storm, which had hit Florida a few days before. I had an amateur theory that if a hurricane was in the Gulf, and it was north of say, Sarasota, Florida and east of the mouth of the river, there was no way it would end up hitting New Orleans. Every storm in the past inevitably curved to the east as it moved north; if it was east of the mouth of the river and north of central Florida, it would be impossible for it to hit New Orleans, right?

Katrina almost fit this bill. As it crossed Florida and entered the Gulf, it started turning north. All the experts and computer models had it going east as it traveled north. It was to curve and hit back in the Florida panhandle somewhere.

But it kept going west, and not north, and then started going north, but not east, on a path straight to New Orleans. And as it went north, but not east, it grew quickly, and big and strong.

So Saturday night, I was at my cousin’s house. We were trying to decide whether to leave or not. I’m on my own, but she had two kids, a husband, 4 cats, a dog, and a tarantula to move, so it was not an easy decision for them. Most everyone else I knew had already evacuated.

As we watched the TV Saturday evening, there was still a chance the storm would turn east and hit Alabama. I got the two kids chanting with me, “Mobile!, Mobile!, Mobile!” while throwing a gris-gris gesture at the satellite picture, pushing the storm away from New Orleans. The five year-old thought that was fun. I went home, no decision had been made.

At 5am on Sunday, my cousin called and woke me up. Exact quote, “Get your ass up and leave.” It had not turned, it was still headed right for us, and was now Category 5. She and her husband came over and helped board up the house. I was already packed, and left around 8:30 to head north to Arkansas. A quick stop at the office to get my computer and some other stuff, and away I went.

After a fairly uneventful 9 hour drive to Arkansas, I arrived at my parent’s home just as the outer bands of Katrina were hitting New Orleans.

Stay tuned for more…

I have to confess that I’ve been a Nathan’s Famous hot dog fan for years now, ever since seeing a History Channel special on hot dog lore throughout the US. A good bit of the show was about Nathan’s and its Coney Island origins. Hot dog competition back then was fierce, and dogs sold by unscrupulous vendors had the reputation of containing what we can call “mystery meat.” Nathan’s dogs were all-beef, high quality products. To prove to the public his 5 cent hot dogs were good to eat, he made a deal with local doctors: eat free if you eat in doctor’s garb so people can see you.

A while after seeing the show and learning this tidbit of food history, I was in the local Winn-Dixie one day, and low and behold, on the hot dog shelf there sat packages of none other than Nathan’s Famous, available without a trip to the Big Apple. Needless to say, I bought a pack, and they were pretty good, juicy and great flavor: a lot more of a garlicky taste than most dogs.

Back to today. A whole slew of contestants were introduced and as they made their way onto the stage they passed in front of a board listing all the previous winners. I noticed the winner from 1984 with 9 1/2 dogs eaten to win. Astonishing, as the pre-contest hype revealed that last year’s winner Takeru “Tsunami” Kobayashi (also the winner from 2001-2005) ate 53 3/4 hot dogs.

This year, the hype was about Kobayashi’s claim that a sore jaw kept him from opening his mouth more than “two fingers” wide. The great American Hope, Joey Chestnut, was expected to take back the crown for the USA.

Indeed he did. Leading Kobayashi for all of the contest except for a brief moment with about 2 minutes left, Chestnut downed 66 dogs in 12 minutes, a new world record. It wasn’t pretty. At the end, with a few seconds left, Kobayashi spewed out a dog’s worth or two, or, as the ESPN announcers called it, had a “reversal.” Wikipedia referred to it as a “Roman method incident” which could have led to his disqualification. After careful review of the spew, (eww), the judges ruled in his favor and the Tsunami ended in 2nd place with 63 dogs (officially) downed.

Well, we finally made it to Mr. B’s in the Quarter last Thursday. After a hard day’s work helping Pete’s mom and dad, who have been painting at the sister’s still-hurricane-ravaged condo building out at the lake, we went down to the recently re-opened bistro for nice dinner. We started off with some cocktails; mom had a Chopin vodka and tonic with lime, dad a Crown and water, and I with a vodka martini, straight up with a twist. Sister stuck with iced tea.

We decided on a crab cake and tasso shrimp for appetizers, both fantastic. Soup three ways for mom and dad–demitasses of gumbo ya-ya, seafood gumbo, and soup of the day, which was tomato-basil. I just had some of the gumbo ya-ya, Mr. B’s signature thick, dark, smoky and spicy version of andouille and chicken gumbo. Entrees—dad the barbecue shrimp, mom a softshell crab, sister a bowl of the gumbo ya-ya and a tomato salad and I the shrimp and grits, despite my original craving for the grilled fish.

Celebrity sightings: James Carville walked in while we were eating, and earlier in the week sister’s landlord said hello to Angelina while walking on Royal Street. She was walking on the sidewalk, and passed a woman with a child in a stroller. Angelina told her hello, sister’s landlord said hello, and was inside the house before she realized it was Angelina she had passed.

I dove in right away with the food, joining CS in an initial dose of calamari. Add some lemonade, and another shot of Ouzo, and then I went for the souvlaki, which is a shish kebab of grilled marinated pork tenderloin, which they sold in a combo with some Greek sausage, also on a stick. The souvlaki was definitely the tastier of the two, and I should have gotten the hint that some of the people were requesting two souvlaki’s instead of one souvlaki and one sausage in their order.

Nola’s awesome purchase of many pastries rocked; the almond covered crescents and baklava hit the spot for dessert.

Getting there early was the key. Around 7or 8 the lines at the food booths were staggeringly long. There were also some booths with jewelry and art for sale. If you wanted, you could even climb Mt. Olympus (or Mt. Olympus, Jr.). We passed.

But the standout item is a re-creation of Ignatius J. Reilly’s favorite drink, Dr. Nut. Working with New Orleans food guru and Dr. Nut aficionado Tom Fitzmorris, she’s developed a sno-ball syrup which captures the almondy essence of this extinct New Orleans soft drink.

Bot & Nola’s is on Hwy. 59 just south of Abita Springs. There’s a playground for the kids and umbrella-shaded picnic tables to enjoy your delicious treats. Summer’s almost here, people.