Tales of the Cocktail 2009 is now over. From the opening ceremony Wednesday, July 8 (celebrating the 75th anniversary of NOLA’s own Herbsaint), to the Wormwood Society’s grand soirée closing things out on Sunday night, it was a whirlwind of boozing, networking and learning.

Tales of the Cocktail’s official cocktail, the Creole Julep, on the bar at Cure.

I went to last year’s Tales (my first) because I had been assigned to write a feature on absinthe and its return to the market in general and to New Orleans in particular. Alright, not so much assigned to write it as having the editors accept my suggestion that absinthe would be a great topic.

2007 was the year the first genuine absinthe, made with grand wormwood, Lucid, was cleared for sale in the U.S. I learned later that there was plenty of absinthe to go around in New Orleans, if you knew who to talk to, but that’s another story. Some friends of mine began drinking it after they discovered Acquistapace’s Covington Supermarket was carrying it in November of 2007. That was my first exposure to the spirit. By July 2008, when Tales took place, there were eight or so brands available legally here. During Tales of the Cocktail 2009; 55 or so are now available, with more in the approval pipeline.

T. A. Breaux, absinthe pioneer, creator of Lucid and distiller of the Jade line of premium absinthes.

The first day at Tales, I ran into T. A. Breaux, the guy who really pushed and did a lot of the leg work in getting absinthe back (legally) into the U. S. I snapped his picture with my phone, (excuse the quality) and didn’t realise I would be running into him (and luckily, it turned out, his products) quite often in the next few days.

A New Orleans native, and chemist by trade, Breaux analysed vintage, pre-ban absinthes, and discovered that these well-crafted spirits contained less the maximum amount of the chemical that caused absinthe to be banned in the first place—thujone—than was permitted by U. S. law. He went on to reverse-engineer absinthes he had chemically analysed, eventually coming up with the Jade line of premium absinthes, and Lucid, an absinthe made the old-fashioned way with more readily available ingredients that’s crafted and priced for more of a mass market.

I’m a real big fan of his Jade Nouvelle-Orléans, having sampled it earlier this year (it was approved for sale late October, 2008). In tasting, it was lighter and more complex than the other brands I had tasted up to that point; but with more layers of flavors that developed as it lingered in my mouth.

Best souvenir ever—bottle of Jade Nouvelle-Orléans signed
by maker T. A. Breaux.

The name, Nouvelle-Orléans, held great appeal for me, as did Breaux’s story behind its creation. He explained while the other Jades are his re-creations of vintage absinthe brands, Nouvelle-Orléans is completely his own recipe, wanting to make a testament to the early days of absinthe in New Orleans, when it was taken as a medicinal drink. If you want to see how its made, the show Modern Marvels on the History Channel featured a segment of Breaux producing a batch of Nouvelle-Orléans at the Combier distillery in Saumur, France. Here’s a YouTube video of the episode.

Back to Tales of the Cocktail. One of the things I had signed up for was the Green Hour, and it appeared to be a seminar-type event. I was wrong. It was a festival celebrating the flood of absinthe that’s come into the country since last year. Just about every manufacturer/importer was set up in the place, pouring generous samples of brands I had read about and wanted to try but would never be able to afford to taste all in one, maybe two, years. (Absinthe is an expensive habit, look to pay at least $50 for a bottle of one of the decent brands, and higher for premium absinthe, like Nouvelle-Orléans (around $110/bottle)). Not only were some European-made brands newly approved for sale in the U. S. represented, there were also some sampled that are now domestically produced.

Breaux was serving Nouvelle-Orléans, a real treat; Gwydion Stone, founder of the Wormwood Society, was pouring Marteau, an absinthe produced to his specifications in Switzerland as of last year’s Tales, but is now produced by him personally at a Portland, Oregon distillery.

Gwydion Stone at the Green Hour event.

New brands that were on my “too try” list that were being served included Vieux Carre (U. S. produced; another winner on name alone, a solid, if a little minty, product); La Clandestine (a clear Swiss absinthe with a great story behind it at their site; it’s tied for second place with Marteau as my new faves behind Nouvelle-Orléans), La Fée Absinthe Parisienne (not a fave); Duplais, Vieux Pontalier and Mansinthe, all products of distributed by Tempus Fugit Spirits (first two very nice; Mansinthe, o.k.); Pacifique (another domestically-produced winner) rounded out the first evening of absinthe, absinthe and more absinthe. Update: Pacifique is distributed by Tempus Fugit Spirits as well.

It wasn’t over. The next day, Breaux was serving up his verison of the absinthe frappe, made with Nouvelle-Orléans and a splash of ginger beer in one of the open tasting rooms. La Clandestine and Lucid (all three brands are distributed by Viridian Spirits, who hosted the event) also were sampled.

Finally, the Wormwood Society Grande Soiree d’Absinthe on Sunday, the last day of Tales. Many of the same players were present. It was upstairs at Muriel’s on Jackson Square. Again, several brands were tasted; some I had not seen before (notably St. George, which was getting a lot of buzz).

Absinthe lined up at the Wormwood Society Grande Soiree d’Absinthe.

Good food (boiled shrimp, raw oysters and creole jambalaya) and great company. It was great seeing veryone who helped with my research last year—Breaux, Stone, the gang from La Maison d’Absinthe: Cary Bonnecaze, store manager Amanda, Ray Bordelon and his brother B. J.; absinthe photographer Damian Hevia—as well as a bunch of people I had met on Twitter (@Fac104, @LunaNola and @laurabergerol) were all there.

Can’t wait until next year.

The thing is, last year (which, admittedly, was my first) at times, it felt crowded and congested and hectic, whereas this year things flowed much, much better. So here we also have to give some kudos to the Hotel Monteleone and its staff, who got all the right products and glassware and ice and water to the right rooms at the right times for the 40-some odd tastings that took place, and for all of the seminars held at the hotel. All this while handling every other detail it takes to run a luxury hotel that’s 100% occupied.

Of course, I’ve got to thank everyone, from the hundreds of sponsors, media, bartenders, apprentices and enthusiasts who came from all over the globe to Tales. I met quite a few of you (and a bunch of new locals who showed up for Tweetups and tasting rooms), and hope everyone had a good taste of New Orleans.

So a while back, while researching the Roosevelt Hotel’s opening, I couldn’t help noticing all the references to the Ramos Gin Fizz, along with the Sazerac (at the Sazerac Bar) it’s the hotel’s signature drink. The Ramos Gin Fizz was the favorite drink of Governor Huey Long, famous rogue politician who, they say, built Airline Highway so he would have a straight shot from the capital at Baton Rouge to the front door of the Roosevelt. Huey gained fame in the cocktail world by bringing the Roosevelt’s bartender with him when he visited New York City, to show those big city boys how to properly mix the drink.

If you’re not familiar with the Ramos Gin Fizz, it’s kind of an oddball cocktail for modern times, recipes call for the white of one egg. It’s other characteristic is a few drops of orange flower water, another obscure flavoring agent. Gin, of course, sugar or simple syrup and cream and/or milk round out the ingredients.  It’s shaken vigorously, some say for 10 minutes, to a frothy consistancy, most recipes call for a splash of soda water or seltzer. Some recipes call for vanilla, in fact, I read somewhere that it’s the vanilla (see update, below) that makes a Ramos Gin Fizz different from a plain-old gin fizz. Prior to Ramos, the egg white version of the gin fizz was known as a Silver Fizz; one with an egg yolk was called a Golden Fizz.

So what’s the mystery? The mystery is that I looked at the Wiki for the gin fizz, which, as the Wiki is wont to do, contains some shaky information. It said Henry Ramos invented the Ramos Gin Fizz in 1888. It also said the first written reference to the gin fizz was in the 1886 edition of Jerry Thomas’ bartender’s book and that, back in the day, “fizz” was spelled “fiz,” with one “z”.

Trying to track down another idea (I don’t remember what now) I came across Lafcadio Hearn’s La Cuisine Creole, one of the earliest cookbooks dedicated to New Orleans cookery. The 1901 second edition is online in Googlebooks, there are some drink recipes in the back. Sure enough, with one “z,” is a recipe for a Gin Fiz that’s quite similar to the modern gin fizz, Ramos or otherwise.

So, I knew from a prior exhibit that the Historic New Orleans Collection had a first edition, from 1885, of the Hearn book. If that recipe was in there, the Wiki was wrong and the first written documentation of the gin fizz was not in the Thomas book in 1886 but in Hearn’s 1885 book. I headed to the Collection to find out. They pulled the 1885 book, I flipped to the back, and there it was, a recipe for a Gin Fizz, yes, fizz with  TWO “Zs!”

My next quest was to track down earlier versions of the Thomas book. The Collection didn’t have any. Liz Williams, director of the Southern Food and Beverage Museum and the Museum of the American Cocktail, said they didn’t have any either, but was kind enough to give me the names of some experts (author/historian Ted Haigh and local bar chef/collector Chris McMillian) to contact.

How does Tales of the Cocktail fit in? I had put my research on hold, hoping to talk to some of the historians and authors coming to the event. At the book area in the lobby I picked up a copy of David Wondrich’s book Imbibe!, located gin fizz in the index, turned to the page, and was devastated. He says the Silver Fizz was discussed in the Chicago Tribune in 1883, blowing my Hearn-as-first-documenting-the-gin-fizz theory out of the water. But there’s still the question of the “z’s”–one or two and when did it change? Wondrich is wandering around Tales; I’ll accost him at the first opportunity and find out.

Meanwhile, here’s my recipe. I fooled around with one I found on the internet and added some non-traditional, but NOLA elements–absinthe and Peychaud’s bitters. It’s called “The Ender” after an artist that was helping with a new project.

Use a shot glass for a measure

½ shot glass lemon & lime juice mixture (about a ¼ of a lemon and 1/3 of a lime)

12 drops orange flower water*

4 or 5 shakes Regan’s Orange Bitters

2 shakes Peychaud (do NOT use more—better to skip than use more)

3 or 4 drops vanilla

1 teaspoon simple syrup (or use sugar)

1 shot egg white (I used pasteurized whites that come in a carton)

3 shots 2% milk

1 shot gin

½ shot absinthe

Put in shaker without ice. Shake for a minute or two to get things frothy. Add ice—I used 4 regular ice tray cubes, try 4 of what your freezer makes or a half or ¾ cup crushed ice. Shake for a few minutes more until the ice mostly melts and you can hear it getting frothier.

Strain and pour and be amazed. Should be cold enough you won’t need ice in glass.

* A lot more than most recipes call for. I think the absinthe offsets it.

Update: Now that things are returning to normal I’ve had some time to spend with Wondrich’s book, the full title of which is Imbibe!: From Absinthe Cocktail to Whiskey Smash, a Salute in Stories and Drinks to “Professor” Jerry Thomas, Pioneer of the American Bar.

Wondrich notes that Ramos’ innovation was his addition of cream to the basic Silver Fizz recipe and says that although either egg white or cream may be made frothy quite easily, mixing the two makes neither want to form a foam. Thus the urban-legend quality of reports that Ramos had his “shaker boys” shake the concoction for up to 15 minutes at a time. There’s also no vanilla in the recipe Ramos gave the local paper that Wondrich reproduced.

I’ve found, as someone somewhere else on the internets stated (I’d give credit if I could remember), that shaking for the amount of time it takes for the commercial break to be over on the TV should be sufficient.

Wondrich was signing books at Tales on Thursday, I had him sign mine and gave him a brief run down of my quest. I forgot to ask him what, exactly, is up with the “z”s. Updates as new info is gathered.

The bar’s grand opening was Friday, coinciding with the opening day of French Quarter Fest. I hadn’t heard anything about the bar, or the grand opening. What was great, and an “only in NOLA” moment, was that as I was leaving the festival and heading back to my car at Burgundy and Conti, I chose a fortuitous route up St. Louis St. There was a big crowd on the street in front of Antoine’s; everyone had champagne glasses and waiters were running around in the street with platters of soufflé potatoes and fried oysters and bottles of champagne.

After grabbing a potato from the platter pictured above (which had been piled high seconds before, it was like those films of piranhas stripping a capybara down to the bones in the Amazon), I asked the waiter what all the hubbub was. He explained it was the opening of the bar, Antoine’s is the oldest family restaurant, yada, yada, I stopped him, thanked him, told him I was a native and moved on inside.

There’s a fair selection of absinthe and a proper fountain, ready for dripping. I hope they don’t do the fire thing when they serve it. I would have ordered one, but, hey, the champagne was free.

It was just a super event to stumble upon and made the day absolutely perfect. The bar opens out onto the street and I hope they maintain an atmosphere like I found on Friday; a mix of elegantly dressed patrons happily mingling shoulder-to-shoulder with the casually dressed masses.

They’ll be serving a selection of appetizers and soups from the restaurant, including an Oysters Foch poboy. If you’re not familiar with Oysters Foch, it’s a dish normally consisting of a piece of toast, smeared with pâté de foie gras and topped with fried oysters and Colbert sauce. Reflecting the restaurant’s 150-plus year history, the dish is named in honor of France’s Field Marshal Foch; the pâté on the toast represents mud on his soldier’s shoes, the Colbert sauce their spilled blood. Dishes somehow just don’t seem to get that amount of inspiration anymore. The bar serves its version as a French bread po-boy, the only variation from the classic dish being it’s “dressed” with lettuce in addition to the pâté and sauce.

Ain’t New Orleans grand?

I’ll have more details for everyone later on, but right now you need to start making plans to attend, Wednesday-Sunday, July 8-12. While there are seminars geared more toward food and beverage industry pros, there are  plenty of events for the enthusiast to take part in. Some will be held at other venues all over the city, but most will be at the Monteleone Hotel on Royal, a.k.a. Tales Central.  Tickets are available for all of the lunches, dinners, drink contests and happy hours. Free tastings go on all day long.

Last year absinthe made the biggest splash. This year, I think the handcrafted (and legal) moonshines are running neck-and-neck with cachaça (Brazil’s national spirit, and main ingredient in its national drink, the caipirinha) as Tales 2009’s most buzz-worthy boozes. Only time (and your imbibition) will tell. What are your picks?

“On my honor I will do my best: To do my duty to God and my country…”
Oath, Boy Scouts of America.

“I vow to personally buy the first Sazerac for any visitor who asks ‘Hey, where do I get a Hurricane?’ and pledge to pull out the Herbsaint and Rye no matter the time of day when a guest indicates they’ve never sipped the historic drink of New Orleans…”
Oath, Sazerac Academy.

It just goes to show there are oaths and then there are oaths. The Boy Scout oath is a heavy-duty thing to put on a kid, but you know, kids grow up. They don’t always hang on to the ideals that were thrust upon them when young and naive. They pick up bad habits, like smoking and sex and driving too fast and drinking whiskey and cussing.

But bad habits are in the eye of the beholder. Take whiskey drinking. In the right environment (New Orleans), whiskey drinking can be downright educational, and, if you believe the wisdom of our Creole forefathers, medicinal.

Quote of the day:

There is no way to fit more molecules of alcohol into a cocktail than a Sazerac. -Eben Klemm.

Ann Tuennerman is the driving force behind the New Orleans Culinary & Cultural Preservation Society. Its mission: “to preserve the rich history of the restaurants and bars of New Orleans and the unique culture of dining and drinking famous to the city, while educating locals, visitors, and the hospitality industry about this culinary heritage.” It also produces Tales of the Cocktail, the annual culinary and cocktail festival held each summer here in New Orleans.  (Previous posts on Tales here, here, here and here).

The Society hosts other events during the year, notably today’s topic, the Sazerac Academy. Held periodically through the year, the Sazerac Academy is an educational tasting event, where one can learn all about the official cocktail of New Orleans, the Sazerac. Sparse ingredients—Peychaud’s Bitters, rye whiskey, Herbsaint (or absinthe, now it’s available, but officially, it’s Herbsaint) and sugar—are it.

I was lucky enough to be invited the last Sazerac Academy of the year, which was held at the historic Napoleon House. We learned why the Sazerac is sometimes called “history in a glass.” Indeed, there is a lot to the history of of the Sazerac that parallels the history of New Orleans itself. The drink is, after all, the official cocktail of New Orleans, an appellation gained through the efforts of Ann Tuennerman and a couple of New Orleans area legislators. Ann explained what should have been an easy process was delayed in the face of major opposition by, from what I surmise,  lawmakers from less enlightened parts of the state (i.e., most of the state lying north of I-10).

It started with Antoine Peychaud, a French colonial from St. Domingue (now Haiti) who arrived in New Orleans after the slave revolt and subsequent Creole diaspora in the early 1800′s. A planter and a pharmacist, Peychaud’s family concocted a recipe for bitters—various plant extracts infused in alcohol—there were lots of bitters going around back then, we learned. Peychaud set up shop on Royal Street in the building that is now James H. Cohen and Sons rare coin and collectible shop between Conti and St. Louis. That fact blew me away; I always thought Peychaud’s business was located on Chartres where the Pharmacy Museum is located today.

Peychaud dispensed his bitters as medicine, mixing them with Cognac in a little egg cup, or coquetier. The coquetier looks a little like a modern two-sided jigger and is said to be the source of the word cocktail. But, we learned, that may just be legend, as references to cocktails have been found in newspapers from before Peychaud began his establishment.

Sazerac-de-Forge et fils was the brand name of the Cognac Peychaud used to serve his bitters with. Eventually it became the name of the bitters/brandy concoction itself, which then was passed on as the name of subsequent coffee houses (saloons) where it was served, and then on to the most famous of all, the Sazerac Bar at the Roosevelt Hotel.

Changes in the Sazerac reflected changes in New Orleans. Its days as a predominately French city were coming to an end by the 1850′s as more and more Americans flocked to the city. It was then that a string of American businessmen began controlling the Sazerac, finally Americanizing the drink when, in 1872, Thomas Handy  substituted rye whiskey for Cognac as the drink’s base spirit. He also began adding small amount of absinthe to the drink’s recipe.

More history: absinthe was banned in 1912 and then all alcohol was banned in 1920. When prohibition was lifted, J.M. Legendre immediately began producing Legendre Absinthe in New Orleans. Two months later the Feds came in and put a stop to Legendre’s absinthe. Their complaint? First, it did not contain wormwood, so it wasn’t absinthe. Second, absinthe was illegal, so he couldn’t sell it as absinthe. Legendre re-labeled his spirit Legendre Herbsaint. Like absinthe, Herbsaint’s predominate flavor is anise; it became the accepted substitute for absinthe in making Sazeracs after prohibition. (Legendre promoted the hell out of Herbsaint, producing some classic advertisements. Collector Jay Hendrickson has many images online here.)

The Sazerac Company is a one-stop corporate source for everything you need to make the official cocktail of New Orleans. It now makes Peychaud’s Bitters using the same recipe as Antoine Peychaud; it produces Herbsaint and a great rye whiskey, too.

After all this history was presented by Ann and Michael (whose last name I didn’t catch, but he’s the head bartender at the Swizzle Stick Bar) [Glassberg-thanks, Mr. Cocktail], Michael proceeded to demonstrate the proper technique for making a Sazerac. We swore our oaths as newly-minted Sazeractivists, then got to making our own cocktails.

It was 11:00 a.m. I had to drive back to work. I could only take a few sips. I was sad.

Here’s the official recipe. As with many culinary masterpieces, the secret lies in the preparation as much as in the ingredients themselves, so pay heed to the instructions below.

The Official Sazerac Cocktail

1 cube sugar
1½ ounces (35ml) Sazerac 18 Year Old Rye Whiskey or Buffalo Trace Bourbon
¼ ounce Herbsaint
3 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters
Lemon peel

1. Pack an Old-Fashioned glass with ice
2. In a second Old-Fashioned glass place the sugar cube and add the Peychaud’s Bitters to it, then crush the sugar cube.
3. Add the Sazerac Rye Whiskey or Buffalo Trace Bourbon to the second glass containing the Peychaud’s Bitters and sugar.
4. Empty the ice from the first glass and coat the glass with the Herbsaint, then discard the remaining Herbsaint.
5. Empty the whiskey/bitters/sugar mixture from the second glass into the first glass and garnish with lemon peel.

A final quote, on the nature of the Sazerac and why it indeed is, and has always been, spiritually the official cocktail of New Orleans.

If any cocktail can conjure up the image of New Orleans, it is the Sazerac; made with whiskey for its strength, absinthe for its fanciful nature, bitters for its joie de vivre and sugar for its sweet hospitality. -Debra Argen

TALES OF THE COCKTAIL OPENING RECEPTION TO BE HELD AT THE NEWLY RESTORED ROOSEVELT HOTEL
TOAST OF THE EVENING TO OCCUR AT THE ORIGINAL SAZERAC BAR

NEW ORLEANS, LA—December 1, 2008 – Tales of the Cocktail, a cocktail and culinary festival celebrating the history and culture of dining and the cocktail in New Orleans, has chosen The Roosevelt New Orleans as the site of the July 8, 2009, opening-night reception for its seventh anniversary event.

Tales of the Cocktail runs through July 12, 2009.

The historic downtown New Orleans property, a Waldorf=Astoria Collection property shuttered since Hurricane Katrina in 2005, opened in 1893 as the Grunewald. In 1923, it was rebranded The Roosevelt in honor of President Theodore Roosevelt and retained its distinctive moniker until the hotel changed hands in 1965 and was renamed The Fairmont. The grand hotel will reopen in late spring 2009, reborn as a Waldorf=Astoria Collection® hotel.

The summer’s most spirited event, Tales of the Cocktail explores the history and contemporary life of the cocktail at various locations in the New Orleans French Quarter. The event welcomes celebrities, mixologists, chefs, authors and cocktail experts as presenters and special guests from around the globe for seminars, dinners and galas.  Top spirits names such as Dale DeGroff, Tony Abou-Ganim, Robert Hess and Kevin Brauch once again will take part in educating industry and consumers alike about the cocktail.

In more than a century of operation, The Roosevelt served as the backdrop for many historic events and often made history in its own right. Key among plans to restore the property to its previous grandeur and appeal will be the reopening of the hotel’s famed Blue Room and legendary Sazerac Bar. In the golden era of supper clubs from the 1930s to the 1960s, the Blue Room played host to some of the best-known names in entertainment and big bands – including Tony Bennett, Louis Armstrong and Sonny and Cher – as well as to elaborate floor shows. The Sazerac Bar, a Roosevelt landmark for decades, again will serve its signature Sazerac cocktail and Ramos Gin Fizz – both invented in New Orleans and made popular worldwide by The Roosevelt – among other delights.

“Hosting our opening night in conjunction with the newly restored Roosevelt is an honor,” said Tales of the Cocktail founder Ann Tuennerman. “Tales of the Cocktail celebrates the history of the cocktail, and what better way to introduce visitors to our city than with the city’s official cocktail, The Sazerac, at the original Sazerac Bar,”

The New Orleans Culinary and Cultural Preservation Society, a non-profit organization dedicated to raising funds to benefit hospitality industry members, produces Tales of the Cocktail annually. Its mission is to preserve the rich history of the restaurants and bars of New Orleans and the unique culture of dining and drinking famous to the city, while educating locals, visitors and the hospitality industry about this culinary heritage.

Tales of the Cocktail, a culinary and cocktail festival, allows the connoisseur or amateur to fully experience (taste, see and learn about) cocktail culture in New Orleans and around the world. The event’s annual components are Spirited Dinners, a Seminar Series, Cocktail Hour, Cocktail Luncheons, walking tours of the French Quarter, and classic and contemporary cocktail parties — all presented by the country’s hottest chefs, authors, bartenders and cocktail experts.

For more information on Tales of the Cocktail, visit the Web site at www.TalesoftheCocktail.com and register to receive email updates, or call 504-948-0511.

Now, I have no doubt that in the city’s nearly 300 year history, with the front of the cathedral being the center of the community all that time, that stranger things have taken place there. Nonetheless, here it is.

Pirates gathered and ready for blood.

The battle was hard fought.

The carnage, horrendous.

But the ninjas were outnumbered. The pirate king delivered the coup de grace.

Pirates celebrate their victory. Arrrrrgh, matey.

The folks from Don Julio were handing out samples and giving a slideshow/lecture about the blue agave tequila is made from and the jimadors, the men who harvest it. Jimadors use the flat, shovel-like implements to shave the leaves off of the agave plant, leaving a very large pineapple-like core that is finally cooked, crushed, fermented and distilled into tequila.

For some reason the guy giving the talk reminded me of Ari Gold on Entourage. He was much more jovial than Ari; as people filtered in during the middle of his talk he did not scold them, but scolded the pourers in the back, “Get these folks some tequila!” Mind you, this is at about 11:30 in the morning.

We stayed for a bit, scored some Don Julio glassware and glowed a bit from our a.m. tequila shots, and sauntered down the hall to “A Brief, Irreverent History of the Tavern.” Sponsored by Laird’s Applejack, it was given by veteran barman and historian Brian Rea. Drink of the hour: an applejack cocktail with lime and banana liqueur. Quote of the day: “The Romans had the original B&B’s–bar and brothel.”

Lunch. We headed out the Montleone. Line too long at ACME. We decided on the Bourbon House next door. Another one of Dickie Brennan’s joints, the Bourbon House has an impressive oyster bar and very nice dining room, with huge windows opening out on Bourbon Street. Awesome, hot and crispy French bread was promptly delivered. A good sign. Decided on crab claws as appetizer. Very nice. Here they are:

Unfortunately the entree, we both ordered the shrimp and grits, was not as nice. The grits were good, the shrimp were small and in a broth that, while flavorful, could have used a lot more reduction.

Off to work, more later.

Will Smith’s streetcar is located at the Prytania Theatre. It features Stella and Stanley from Streetcar Named Desire. He added sponsors John and Gayle Gish to it as well. Will was at Tales selling his Mardi Gras krewe giclees. He also had a new line of burlesque girl paintings on hand for sale.

Also posted at StreetcarArt.com.

I continued on my quest at Tales of the Cocktail to learn all there is to know about absinthe and New Orleans. Nola came to see what all the Tales fuss is about and get back some of her blogging mojo lost in the summer doldrums.

I learned a little bit more today about absinthe at the seminar entitled “Cocktails with a Kick: Absinthe Returns to America.” Basically, it’s still so new on the scene no one knows what to do with it other than mix it with sugar and water. Panelists Paul Clarke and Gwydion Stone went through a lot of information. Although it’s predominate flavor is licorice, absinthes are made with a variety of herbs that give a multi-layered flavor profile that mixes well with many different cocktails. One of which, of course, is the original Sazerac; bartenders making them had to switch to other aromatic spirits like Herbsaint in the wake of absinthe’s ban. Here’s the Carousel Bar’s Sazerac, perched next to an Old Fashioned.

When we got to the Carousel Bar Friday evening, we spotted Chef John Besh hanging out waiting to give a presentation. Walking past him through the crowd looking for a place to sit, Nola said, “I just brushed up against John Besh’s ass.” Thoroughly impressed with her brush with greatness’ ass, I asked her if she wanted a picture with him. My day job magazine had featured his house in Pearl River after the storm, so I had an opening to talk to him. I spoke with him briefly about it, he was very nice and gracious and said he’d be happy to have his picture taken.

Chef Besh was very pleased to learn Lüke was Nola’s favorite restaurant, saying “Keep going. Please! I’ve still got to pay for it!” This was after some Philistine women hogged his attention for a picture for about 5 minutes. Very awkward, saying things like, “You’re almost as cute as my son,” or something like that.

So, everyone who wants to know what Nola looks like, here she is, cute as a button and with a real big smile, and not necessarily touching John Besh’s ass.

While spinning around on the Carousel Bar drinking our NOLA themed libations, I also spotted Kevin Brauch hanging out, and felt compelled (by the day’s booze?) to tell him I borrowed his line, “Ladies and gentlemen, start your livers!” as the title of Wednesday’s post. He liked the idea, and said he was almost hesitant to say it, not sure whether it would be offensive. We assured him it was not, but in fact, it was a very NOLA-appropriate thing to say. He talked to us for a few minutes about Tales, where it’s been (calling last year “magical”) and where it might go given how much attendance (and attention) has grown.

So many celebrities, so little time.

But first things first. Today’s kick-off event was Toast to Tales of the Cocktail in the Riverview Room of the Hotel Montleone. NOLA blogger Loki of Humid City and the Krewe of Chartreuse offered up the first ceremonial toast of the day, which was dedicated to the Sazerac cocktail’s enshrinement as New Orleans’ official cocktail.

Ann Teunnerman, founder of the New Orleans culinary and cocktail event, spoke this afternoon and went over some of the highlights of the five-day celebration. When Ann announced Tale’s revival of the Green Hour and return of absinthe to America, the crowd went wild.

I have been assigned to write a story about absinthe and New Orleans, so my attendance at the various Tales of the Cocktail events will be centered around those featuring the spirit. There are many, many other events taking place: seminars, symposia, luncheons, dinners, tours and tastings. Here is the listing and ticket information.

Today’s event was tasting of absinthes offered by Lucid, Marteau and La Fee.

That’s the money shot of the day: absinthe being prepared the old-fashioned way with an ice water drip from a fountain.

The Absinthe Museum of America, opening this Saturday, is located at 823 Royal Street and hosted today’s event. Many absinthe artifacts—absinthia to the collector—will be on display, including this still, the fountain and glasses below, and many spoons, old bottles and artwork.

Ted Breaux, a New Orleans native and a driving force behind absinthe’s return to America was on hand. He is the also the creator of Lucid and several other varieties at Jade Liqueurs, overseeing its production at the Combier distillery in France’s Loire valley.

Marteau is made by Gwydion Stone, founder of the Wormwood Society, which is dedicated to bringing absinthe back to its rightful place in cocktail culture.

A number of bloggers/twitterers were there this afternoon. Loki, John Martin of Off-Focus, Leisa, Mr. Gunn and Robert Peyton of Appetites braved the afternoon heat to attend. Here’s a photo of John, Mr. Gunn and Loki, I’m sorry I had to leave for dinner with my folks and didn’t get more people in the picture.

More from Tales later this week. There is another absinthe event Friday at the Montleone’s Carousel Bar. I’ll attend that and make another report.

Held this morning in the Quarter, the New Orleans event pays tribute to the famous Running of the Bulls (the Encierro) during the Festival of San Fermin in Pamplona, Spain. Crowds of people there, dressed in white & wearing red sashes, dash through the town’s streets amongst fighting bulls who’ve been let loose from their corral. It’s a world-famous event, popularized through history and literature by the likes of Ernest Hemingway.

Of course, the New Orleans event is presented with a twist. There’s no bullfighting here (why?) and thus the city lacks a supply of fighting bulls. So to have fun and have an excuse for running through the French Quarter, the crowd opts to be chased by the participants of the city’s equivalent combat spectacle: Big Easy Rollergirls wielding plastic baseball bats.

It’s just the kind of event that’s perfect for the city, presenting another excuse to be drunk in public, a chance to lampoon a historically significant event while wearing a costume, and to have the luxury of being chased by fast women bearing weapons, laughing all the time. Holding it in the middle of summer, when all sane folk become completely inactive, is a stroke of marketing genius to inject some life and cash into the Quarter during the doldrums.

I think it’s a winner, and predict participation will grow exponentially next year and be expanded into an affair spread over several days; if not next year, in years soon to come.

But without the participation of real bovines, PETA will, alas, be uninvolved, sparing(?) the city of its Pamplona protest event, the Running of the Nudes. But knowing New Orleans, that’s by all means possible; I see Nude Running of the Bulls as a future night-time adjunct event, maybe.

Update: Check out Loki’s eyewitness account and many great pictures at Humid City.

Anyway, it was kind of a Tweet-up event. Bonerama Freak Stacey and her friend Sophia from Iowa were going to meet up with me; after some coordinating phone calls they arrived, but not before I had some preparatory shots of ouzo. I also arrived early enough to stake out a prime spot on the little levee on Bayou St. John that was above the rain-saturated field between the food booths and the stage.

Got baklava? If not, then head on out to the Greek Fest New Orleans and do what the sign says:

Lots of pastries are available, along with the usual suspects: gyros, lamb, souvlaki, calamari, coffee, and this creation:

Yes, baklava sundaes. They were next door to the “Nectar of the Gods” booth, which sold, among other things, ouzo daiquiris.

We watched the Hellenic Dancers perform. Lots of Opas!

The top of the levee was perfect for catching the breeze off the storm clouds, which stayed away completely once the gates were opened.

The band was getting bored with no one dancing, thus the Hendrix impression on the bouzouki.

That’s Stacey about to enjoy a gyro.

Loukoumades. Think puffier, crispier beignets sprinkled with cinnamon and warm honey poured over them.

After dark, the termites started swarming. Pretty creepy, and then they were gone. Those white streaks are the termites flying. Not too easy to photograph but I gave it a shot.

The crowd really picked up after dark. The dance floor set out in the grass in front of the band was packed with families joining hands and dancing in circles.

Saturday brings a work day for me. Stacey and Sophia are heading to the Bayou Boogaloo, another celebration and new tradition in the making on Bayou St. John. If you’re out and about today, I’d recommend the Boogaloo for the afternoon capped off by a night of Mediterranean music, dancing and booze at the Greek Fest.

It’s time once again for Greece on the Bayou as they’re calling it—or its official title, the Greek Festival New Orleans. Held on historic Bayou St. John near the lakefront at the Hellenic Cultural Center and Holy Trinity Cathedral (here are some nice photos of the Byzantine cathedral at NewOrleansChurches.com), it’s the festival’s 35th anniversary.

There are many cultural offerings on tap, but since this is the Greek Festival New Orleans, it’s really all about the food. Last year the whole gang, Nola and CS, SoMo, her husband and hellspawn lovely children and myself, all went on Friday evening. You can read all about last year from Nola here, and my post here.

This year Nola and CS will be out of town on a pilgrimage for something called “Frito Burgers” in Dallas. I hope to enjoy a repeat of last year’s delectable Mediterranean offerings. I wonder who’s going to have the better time? Here are some of the photos Nola snapped last year. As the Greeks say, kali orexi!

Roast lamb, calamari, gyros and pastries, oh my! Not shown—Greek coffee, honey yogurt, olives, Ouzo, wine… There’s a lot there, plus music and dancing all weekend. Go already!

The NOLA bloggers have been doing great work covering the 2008 Jazz & Heritage Festival. Chronicling the rising prices, the food, the rain, the influx of tourists Foreigners taking over and most of all the music, NOLA bloggers have written of their experiences for all to read. We therefore bestow the following Lucky Blog awards for excellence in all things Orleanian and Jazz-Festy, First Weekend of Jazz Fest Edition:

Best Overall: Wet Bank Guy at Toulouse Street’s Battling Fortuna at the Track, and his posts that follow.

Most Thorough Coverage: Minor Wisdom’s posts starting with Where I’ll be on Friday (maybe) and continuing for each day of the fest so far.

New Orleans Music’s Best Friend: Bonerama Freak Stacey’s Jazz Fest or Rain Fest?

Best Jazz Fest Newbie Post: Kiss My Gumbo’s My 1st Jazzfest.

Best Jazz Fest Post From Someone Who Didn’t Go; also, Best Atmospheric Post: Tim’s Nameless Blog’s The Sounds of New Orleans.

Best Rant on the Foreigners Taking Over: Mosquito Coast’s Jazz Fest Musings.

Good Solid Posts That Do Not Necessarily Fall Into Any Category: Prytania Water Line’s Jazzfest Story and Drive By Blogger’s advice to the Foreigners at New Orleans Jazz Festival 2008.

So here are your awards to claim, if you so choose.

Full size:

Or bling-sized:

Disclaimer: Read these other blogs at your own risk. We don’t vouch for other peoples’ content in posts and comments we didn’t read. Also, Pete and Nola bestow these awards in appreciation of everyone’s hard work, wit and humor. If we left anyone out, sorry, we tried to gather as many as we could. You’re welcome to point out posts we should have seen in the comments.

So the band’s trying to induce what their name suggests with the addition of some burlesque dancers?

After Bonerama, we met up with Yat Pundit at the, what else, beer dispensary. It was nice to meet Yat Pundit, and I’m sorry we didn’t run into Stacey and Lisa. A Mardi Gras Indian parade passed nearby.

That’s the Big Chief.

CS had scored some passes to the Miller VIP area. We headed there in search of shade and free beer. They had a nice setup, with small tents set up outside with couches and chairs. There was one with two people inside, I guess we figured it was OK to sit in there. It wasn’t. The lady started spouting off that they were waiting for someone, when they showed, could we leave? Yeah, sure. Then she started with it’s not really free to sit there, we have friends coming. So we left rather than be further harassed.

Inside were more tables and couches, and HDTVs playing a live feed of Porter-Batiste-Stoltz, and more beer, including an old favorite, Pilsner Urquell on tap.

They did have a trailer that had an observation deck on the roof. It was good for a cool breeze and nice vantage for photos.

Went to booths, saw some art, ate some Brocato’s lemon ice and caught some of Bettye LaVette’s act at the Blues Tent.

As I was leaving Marconi Meadows I decided to take a drive around City Park. Found my old fishin’ hole on Diagonal Drive.

Where I harassed this bird.

Look good enough to eat? I did.

Thousands of French came to New Orleans after the 1803 revolution in Haiti. Thousands more came in 1809, increasing the population of the city by almost one third in one year. My ancestor was a lawyer, and became a judge in the city. He speculated in real estate, overextending his credit after building some beautiful French Quarter buildings, which his creditors took over in the 1840s.

My sister has been living on Royal Street since Katrina tore up her condo building on the lake; the first of our family to call the Quarter home since the 1860s. She’s in a house built in 1832, across from the Lalaurie house Nick Cage now owns. My ancestor built a fine mansion 4 doors down Royal, and another large building on Governor Nicholls right off of Royal. The house my sister’s in would have been familiar to him, until he lost everything and moved to lesser quarters on Bayou Road.

Anyway, that’s some of the history that makes the Quarter special to me, and the FQF my favorite fest of all.

I started the day by meeting Nola and CS at the Napoleon House, where Nola could drink Pimm’s Cups all day long.

Under the watchful eye of the little dictator, I downed an 11:30 a.m. shot of Jameson in Ashley Morris’ honor; even though I never met the guy I’ve learned much about him in the past week. Sharing his fondness for the Saints and Jameson, I’m sure we would have gotten along quite well.

More of the Napoleon House, where the bartender could not sling the Pimm’s Cups fast enought. The place screams New Orleans atmosphere.

We went down the street towards Jackson Square, where we ran into a friend of CS and Nola who had just gotten the neatest tattoo.

This is a girl, not a New Orleans native, who stayed through Katrina and survived in the wild west days of the city during the flood and aftermath. I can’t wait to spend more time talking with her about her adventures.

And then the fest. I’ll spare you all the details of food and drink. All right, during the course of a long day, it was Tujaque’s brisket, a Mrs. Wheat’s meat pie, Antoine’s crawfish bisque, Bywater BBQ burger, and Tujaque’s brisket again (thanks to Nola, who was ready for thirds). And Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream. No food porn, too awkward to take good shots. Here are some random fest scenes.

Normally I get along with artsy types. The guy who had this on display at Jackson Square was kind of a douche. I’m taking the picture, he starts ranting about I should give him a donation for the nice picture. I tell him I’ll put him on the web and give a link to his site. When he says I should still pay him, I conclude he’s kind of a douche. Maybe he was having a bad day, I don’t know. But it got worse, fast. As he concluded his last try at extracting some cash from me, the wind kicked up, blowing all his stuff off the fence and causing him to scurry after it all. But because I keep my word, here’s the plug and link for Sam Infiniti Hurwitch, who can be seen at zemondo.com.

I also somehow managed to work Ignatius Reilly in right off the bat.

French Quarter Fest ’07

Hello everyone, Pontchartrain Pete here (just call me Pete, Pontchartain can be hard to spell and is too long to type). Today’s my first stint as guest blogger for Nola at nolanotes and for this and future posts I’ll keep with the “all things New Orleans” theme. Being single and male, your author will not, however, be discussing any issues relating to pregnancy, childbirth or spousal strife.

One continuing theme is going to be “the things that are ours.” Although not fully developed, the idea is that there are certain things that are unique New Orleans things, and it just happens that these things are also the things that draw “the others” to town.

I’ll try to more fully develop this topic in later posts, let’s go to a really big “thing that is ours,” this year’s French Quarter Festival.

Today’s entry is part one of a photo-filled review of my day’s adventures at the French Quarter Festival on Friday the 13th of May, 2007. My first foray to the French Quarter Fest (FQF) since moving to the Northshore in 2001 and it was long overdue.

For those of you unfamiliar with the FQF, it’s considered to be “one for the locals.” Three days of food, fun and music. It’s spread out from one end of the Quarter at the Old Mint on Esplanade to the Aquarium of the Americas at the foot of Canal. Food booths, featuring many of the city’s best restaurants, line the different venues; various stages scattered about feature local musicians, mostly of the rhythm and blues, soul and big-band variety.

I arrived around 12:30, met my sister who lives on Royal Street (a possible future entry) and borrowed the coveted French Quarter resident’s parking pass she has, a talisman against towing and tickets throughout most of the Quarter except on street cleaning days. I took a parking place next to the Lalaurie House at Royal and Governor Nichols streets (the subject of another future post).

It was an absolutely gorgeous day. They’re getting rare now. Even though spring has just arrived, in New Orleans that means it’s just as likely to be in the 80′s and muggy. Today it was in the 70′s, dry and with a stiff breeze blowing along the river. It’s always nice by the river; if there is the slightest chance of a breeze, that’s where you can find it.

Here’s a scene of the crowd in Jackson Square.

The plan was to eat. Having saved myself for this festival of food, I wanted to hit a couple of booths right away. The restaurants there each had a couple of items, supposedly appetizer-sized, and priced from 3-6 dollars.

I headed straight to an old stand-by, Mrs. Wheat’s Meat and Crawfish pies for a meat pie. Hot, spicy, meaty, everything I expected. Next was a walk around Jackson Square. Antoine’s and Tujague’s booths stood out, representing the old guard of New Orleans restaurants, the oldest and second oldest restaurants in town.

Never having eaten at either establishment (my family has had a long-running preference for Galatoire’s) I decided to check out Tujage’s boiled beef brisket with horseradish sauce. Fantastic. Tender and juicy, the plain beefiness of the boiled brisket was complemented perfectly by the creole horseradish sauce, tangy and pungent.

I headed across Decatur to the Washington Artillery monument, the spot with the “money shot” view of Jackson Square, took a couple of pictures and headed towards Woldenberg Park.

Although most of buggy drivers hanging out in front of Jackson Square were old-school (grizzled old men), I did spot the cutest driver ever.

Coming up in part two (and maybe part three): shrimp etouffee, UFO’s, F15′s, crawfish bisque, sharks, bubbles, angels, haunted houses, the Blessed Mother, courtyards and ice cream.

Part 2

Moving on…still Friday the 13th at the French Quarter Fest…

To Woldenberg Park, and another extended outlay of music stages and food booths. As I was looking around trying to plot a strategy, I heard a loud plane overhead, and looking above spotted an F15 flying fast and low over the riverfront. I picked up my camera and switched it on, hoping the plane would circle back around.

As I watched it disappear into the distance I heard another one from behind. It was actually two more planes, and one began turning barrel rolls as it passed over the crowd. Ready with camera this time, I snapped as it came out of a roll.

I don’t know what the occasion was, whether the fly-over was planned as part of the festival or something spontaneous by the pilots who were returning from training, but it was really cool. It also reminded me of another unique incident involving an aircraft.

Remember NOLA’s post on her gumbo-making afternoon? Along with other odd sightings she mentioned and posted pictures of, there was an earlier incident she failed to mention. We spotted a UFO, which she refused to believe existed, but nonetheless here is a picture of it I took as it rose above the electrical lines.

Or was NOLA right and it was just a blimp flying around town in the sleet?

Update: Now who’s crazy?

Back at the festival, I was beginning to feel a little thirsty when I spotted the Tropical Isle’s booth, featuring their famous funky drinks, the Hand Grenade, the Happy Gator, and the Tropical Itch. The first two were of a fluorescent greenish/yellow color, the last was red. A general rule of mine is RED DRINK GOOD. So the Tropical Itch was what I bought. It was kind of like a Pat O’s Hurricane, fruit punch with booze. Very refreshing.

My sister who lives and works in the Quarter called. She wanted to sample the Rib Room’s festival offering–shaved prime rib sandwiches. I just happened to be on the river walk near that booth, so I found a spot to sit next this rather severe-looking immigrant family.

A monument to the European immigrants who populated the city, this impressive sculpture is one of many along the walk between Jackson Square and the Aquarium.

Cell phones are great for festivals. It was not too long ago that elaborate plans had to be made if a group wanted to split up. Temporal and geographical coordinates had to be agreed on. Common landmarks were often picked that eventually became cultural icons. For Jazzfest it was always “meet me at the flagpole at ____o’clock.” Before the cellphone, there was always a big crowd under the flagpole; its usefulness declined as its popularity increased–you had a hard time spotting the people you were waiting for.

Speaking of cultural icons, remember Ignatius J. Riley’s rendevous point–the clock in front of D.H. Holmes?

Since my sister did not know where the immigant monument was, it took 4 cellphone calls asking “where are you?” to talk her in from Jackson Square. She finally made it and got her beefy sandwich delight.

I had to get a picture of this banner the Aquarium put up.

A reminder to us all: Live every week like it’s shark week.

Summing up Friday at the French Quarter Fest, sister and I walked back to Jackson Square where I resisted the temptation to get more Tujague’s brisket and instead tried the crawfish bisque from Antoine’s.

Then dessert, some Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, which I photographed and will spare you the melted pile of chocolaty goo.

I walked back to my sister’s; remember I had parked near her apartment? Very tired, starting to get sore, but the weather was still killer and the Quarter looked beautiful. At St. Philip and Royal someone had a bubble machine set up alongside the angel on their balcony.

New Orleans is a very Catholic town; public religious statuary abounds. The courtyard of my sister’s building has one of the most common ones you’ll see, a small statue of the Blessed Mother.

The topic of courtyards in the French Quarter (another one of “our things”) is one I’ll delve into deeply in a future post. Suffice it to say this is one of the few I get to enjoy on a regular basis.

Accross the street from my sister’s is one of the supposedly most haunted places in the world, the Lalaurie House. It’s a favorite stop on the “haunted history tours” that have become so popular in the city.

Along with Brad and Angelina’s place one block down and Frances Ford Coppola’s place one block up, the Lalaurie house is now also one of the area’s celebrity properties, having recently been purchased (according to reliable sources) by Nicholas Cage.

Part 3

In exile on the Northshore for 5 years now, I always enjoy having time to spend in the city. Having partners-in-crime always helps, and this past weekend it was none other than Nola, Captain Sarcastic and my sister, with guest appearances from Nola and CS’ menagerie, Lucy, Zella and Peanut.

Saturday started in a fine New Orleans tradition, a breakfast of beignets and cafe au lait at the Morning Call. Not as well known to the outside world as its French Quarter counterpart Cafe Du Monde, the Morning Call was originally located in the Quarter and in its day was probably the more well-known of the two.

Both are as old as the hills, Cafe Du Monde established in 1862; Morning Call in 1870. Morning Call moved to the Fat City section of Metairie near Lakeside Mall in 1974. I remember having my first beignet ever as a child at the French Quarter location shortly before the move to Metairie was announced. I thought at the time it was crazy, “Who would want to move to Metairie?”–like a fourth grader in Algiers is wise about these things.

Saturday’s offerings of strong coffee and hot crisp fried dough covered in powdered sugar ($1.50 for the coffee, $1.50 for the donuts, sweet!–really!) brought back memories. Most of the crowd seemed to be regulars who greeted each other in accents straight out da’ parish (St. Bernard Parish, that is). It made me wonder if I was indeed west of the 17th Street Canal.

A side trip to the knitting store will go uncommented upon; its only redeeming feature is that it was very close to my intended goal for the day: Nor-Joe’s Imports.

What can you say about Nor-Joe’s? This precious little grocery, tucked away off Metairie Road in Old Metairie, is a culinary and cultural gem. New Orleans, despite its French roots, is crawling with Italians and Scilians. Immigrants arrived by the boatload in New Orleans just as they did at Ellis Island in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Their culinary traditions are deeply rooted in the city and Italian cuisine is almost as revered as is Creole cuisine (in fact, there is a whole sub-genre of Creole-Italian cooking). Go to Cafe Giovanni, Andrea’s, Sal & Judy’s or Impastato’s to see for yourself.

You walk in and immediately what I call “that Nor-Joe’s smell” hits you. Meats, cheeses, salt cod and dried herbs hang from the beams. Along with stuffed olives, stuffed artichokes and cheeses marinating on display behind the small deli counter, it’s got to smell like Italy will smell if I ever get there.

NOLA was impressed. She said it reminded her of Central Grocery, one of the oldest Italian stores in the French Quarter (and inventor of the muffuletta sandwich). Nor-Joe’s has the reputation for making a darn good muffuletta, and every time I visit there the deli is filling orders for them non-stop.

During a lull in her muffuletta-making, I asked the nice lady behind the counter for a quarter pound of serrano ham. Normally I would get some Italian prosciutto, but I spotted the serrano in the case and decided to give it a try. From Spain and similar to prosciutto, it’s a dry-cured salty treat.

She asked me whether I wanted the “red” one. I assumed she was referring to the label, but she held up the ham and it was covered in a red liquid. It looked like it was soaked in Creole seasoning, and I said, “It looks spicey.” She read off the label and said it was paprika and olive oil and gave me a slice to taste. It was not peppered at all; I said, “That’s pretty good, I’ll take it.” NOLA took a taste and concurred.

I recommended the prepared pasta sauces they have in the freezer. As I showed NOLA where they were, she spotted the frozen ravioli and picked up a package; apparently CS is a fan. The guy behind the counter told NOLA the puttanesca sauce was his favorite, so she picked up a package. He asked her if she knew what “puttanesca” meant, she did not. He said it’s “Lady of the evening.” Wikipedia is not so delicate with the translation and story behind the sauce:

The name originated in Naples after the local prostitutes, Pasta alla Puttanesca meaning “Pasta in the way a whore would make it”. The reason why the dish gained such a name is debated. One possibility is that the name is a reference to the sauce’s hot, spicy flavour and smell. Another is that the dish was offered to prospective customers at a low price to entice them into a house of ill repute.

Whatever the story, I’m sure the sauce is going to be great. I usually buy the Milanese (meat) sauce and it’s always fantastic. I rounded out my purchases with some pre-packaged prosciutto ends (a bargain) and some sopressata, a spicy salami made with wine.

On Sunday, NOLA, CS and I headed for the Quarter and day 3 of the French Quarter Fest. It was significantly more crowded than on Friday. The French Quarter parking pass was at the ready; spots to park on the street were, however, not to be found. After giving it a good go, we gave up on street parking and NOLA headed towards the old D.H. Holmes garage. No “LOT FULL” signs were out, as I was afraid of, but there was a sign announcing the elevator was out of order. NOLA remarked that the garage’s stairwells were notorious for smelling like pee, and after finding a spot on the 3rd floor we discovered she was indeed correct.

No, not that one.

This one: Pete & Nola’s Lucky Blog Award, recipients to be determined by as yet undetermined criteria.

Now, I’m not big on blog bling at all. But I am one for a pun, and always up for a Photoshop challenge. So the concept of the Lucky Blog came up in recent discussions of the books Confederacy of Dunces and Managing Ignatius. Modified from the photo that was the subject of and featured in the recent post Hunting Ignatius.

Also in an abbreviated version for sidebar insertion:

Nola’s going to do a post soon with the first winners. Bet y’all can’t wait.

St. Joseph altar goodies, including prayer card and fava beans for good luck. It’s like the goodie bags Nola talks about, only it’s a goodie platter.

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.

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.

So here we are.

Now, people who live in Louisiana know that once spring and summer roll around the area is crawling with festivals celebrating even the most obscure aspects of local culture. Fall is usually when the various parish (counties to you “others”) fairs are held. This makes sense because most of the parish fairs also serve as local agricultural showcases; fall is harvest time, etc.

Festivals are usually seperate events from the parish fairs. Some festival topics are no-brainers for Louisiana. There’s got to be a Crawfish Festival, a Gumbo Festival and a Jambalaya Festival (there are more than one of each of these, actually, spread throughout the state). Then there’s the not-so obvious. What’s the Ray*La*Ne festival? (turns out it celebrates the kids).

Obvious regional economic influences make for strange combinations. The Shrimp and Petroleum Festival, down in Morgan City, for example. Umm Umm Good!–give me some extra diesel with my light-crude marinated shrimp kebab. There’s also the PETA-unfriendly-sounding Louisiana Fur and Wildlife Festival. Remember, all of these festivals are presided over by a young lady who has been crowned the “Shrimp and Petroleum Queen” or “Miss Louisiana Fur and Wildlife,” not to mention the “Bogalusa Paper Queen.”

There are the quaint festivals and their queens. Miss Church Point Buggy Festival; the St. Helena Parish Forest Festival lorded over by the Queen of the Pines. There’s Miss Festival of the Bonfires. (Wheel of Fortune before and after category entry: “Tom Wolfe’s Festival of the Bonfires of the Vanities”).

Would all these competing interests cause trouble if brought into the same room? Would the Black Bear Festival Queen intimidate Miss Bunny from the Iowa Rabbit Festival? Who’s higher on the pork totem—the Louisiana Swine Festival Queen, Miss Cochon de Lait Festival, the Porte Barre Lion’s Club Cracklin’ Festival Queen or Miss Andouille? Or do they all cower at the sight of Miss Boucherie Festival?

Whose cuisine reigns supreme? The Louisiana Gumbo Festival Queen’s or the Bridge City Gumbo Festival Creole Gumbo Queen’s? Can either be any good without a dash from the Cajun Hot Sauce Festival Queen?

What would happen if all of these queens were to meet and compete? Why, it’s called the LAFF Queen of Queens competition; won this year by The Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival Queen.

Saturday started in a fine New Orleans tradition, a breakfast of beignets and cafe au lait at the Morning Call. Not as well known to the outside world as its French Quarter counterpart Cafe Du Monde, the Morning Call was originally located in the Quarter and in its day was probably the more well-known of the two.

Both are as old as the hills, Cafe Du Monde established in 1862; Morning Call in 1870. Morning Call moved to the Fat City section of Metairie near Lakeside Mall in 1974. I remember having my first beignet ever as a child at the French Quarter location shortly before the move to Metairie was announced. I thought at the time it was crazy, “Who would want to move to Metairie?”–like a fourth grader in Algiers is wise about these things.

Saturday’s offerings of strong coffee and hot crisp fried dough covered in powdered sugar ($1.50 for the coffee, $1.50 for the donuts, sweet!–really!) brought back memories. Most of the crowd seemed to be regulars who greeted each other in accents straight out da’ parish (St. Bernard Parish, that is). It made me wonder if I was indeed west of the 17th Street Canal.

A side trip to the knitting store will go uncommented upon; its only redeeming feature is that it was very close to my intended goal for the day: Nor-Joe’s Imports.

What can you say about Nor-Joe’s? This precious little grocery, tucked away off Metairie Road in Old Metairie, is a culinary and cultural gem. New Orleans, despite its French roots, is crawling with Italians and Scilians. Immigrants arrived by the boatload in New Orleans just as they did at Ellis Island in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Their culinary traditions are deeply rooted in the city and Italian cuisine is almost as revered as is Creole cuisine (in fact, there is a whole sub-genre of Creole-Italian cooking). Go to Cafe Giovanni, Andrea’s, Sal & Judy’s or Impastato’s to see for yourself.

You walk in and immediately what I call “that Nor-Joe’s smell” hits you. Meats, cheeses, salt cod and dried herbs hang from the beams. Along with stuffed olives, stuffed artichokes and cheeses marinating on display behind the small deli counter, it’s got to smell like Italy will smell if I ever get there.

NOLA was impressed. She said it reminded her of Central Grocery, one of the oldest Italian stores in the French Quarter (and inventor of the muffuletta sandwich). Nor-Joe’s has the reputation for making a darn good muffuletta, and every time I visit there the deli is filling orders for them non-stop.

During a lull in her muffuletta-making, I asked the nice lady behind the counter for a quarter pound of serrano ham. Normally I would get some Italian prosciutto, but I spotted the serrano in the case and decided to give it a try. From Spain and similar to prosciutto, it’s a dry-cured salty treat.

She asked me whether I wanted the “red” one. I assumed she was referring to the label, but she held up the ham and it was covered in a red liquid. It looked like it was soaked in Creole seasoning, and I said, “It looks spicey.” She read off the label and said it was paprika and olive oil and gave me a slice to taste. It was not peppered at all; I said, “That’s pretty good, I’ll take it.” NOLA took a taste and concurred.

I recommended the prepared pasta sauces they have in the freezer. As I showed NOLA where they were, she spotted the frozen ravioli and picked up a package; apparently CS is a fan. The guy behind the counter told NOLA the puttanesca sauce was his favorite, so she picked up a package. He asked her if she knew what “puttanesca” meant, she did not. He said it’s “Lady of the evening.” Wikipedia is not so delicate with the translation and story behind the sauce:

The name originated in Naples after the local prostitutes, Pasta alla Puttanesca meaning “Pasta in the way a whore would make it”. The reason why the dish gained such a name is debated. One possibility is that the name is a reference to the sauce’s hot, spicy flavour and smell. Another is that the dish was offered to prospective customers at a low price to entice them into a house of ill repute.

Whatever the story, I’m sure the sauce is going to be great. I usually buy the Milanese (meat) sauce and it’s always fantastic. I rounded out my purchases with some pre-packaged prosciutto ends (a bargain) and some sopressata, a spicy salami made with wine.

On Sunday, NOLA, CS and I headed for the Quarter and day 3 of the French Quarter Fest. It was significantly more crowded than on Friday. The French Quarter parking pass was at the ready; spots to park on the street were, however, not to be found. After giving it a good go, we gave up on street parking and NOLA headed towards the old D.H. Holmes garage. No “LOT FULL” signs were out, as I was afraid of, but there was a sign announcing the elevator was out of order. NOLA remarked that the garage’s stairwells were notorious for smelling like pee, and after finding a spot on the 3rd floor we discovered she was indeed correct.