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.

Literary greats have haunted its halls for decades. Tennessee Williams was a frequent guest, Truman Capote often quipped that he was born in the Monteleone (his mother was living there at the time, the hotel staff got her to Touro Infirmary where he was actually born). Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, Eudora Welty, Winston Groom, Richard Ford and Rebecca Wells have all been guests as well. Hemingway, Williams and Capote were known to do their share of writing while sitting in the Carousel Bar.

An Old Fashioned going for a spin at the Carousel Bar.

There once was a cocktail called the Monteleone, its recipe lost in time. To celebrate the bar’s 60th anniversary, the hotel held a contest for folks to come up with a recipe for a new version. The winning contestant would receive a free 4-night stay for Tales of the Cocktail.

Final judging was held May 22. The top 5 cocktails were judged by four of the chefs from season five of the Bravo network’s  Top Chef reality TV show. Mr. and Mrs. Cocktail (Paul and Ann Tuennerman) MC’d as show winner Hosea Rosenberg and chefs Jamie Lauren, Leah Cohen and Jeff McInnis tasted the entries.

Mr. & Mrs. Cocktail with Top Chef winner Hosea.

Top Chefs Jamie, Leah, Hosea & Jeff give each other a toast as the judging begins.

It was a great time, with champagne served to all the visitors, who got to sample the entries as well. Nolanotes dropped by, as did Blackened Out, a NOLA foodie blogger who had submitted his own cocktail to the contest, which, alas, was not a finalist. After the judging, we retired to the Carousel Bar ourselves to do a little judging of our own of a couple of rounds of Ramos Gin Fizzes. Then to the Greek Fest later that evening, but that’s another post (from last year).

Brian Robinson of Arlington, Virgina’s concoction was the winner. Here is the winning recipe (courtesy the Hotel Monteleone):

Monteleone Cocktail

2 oz Rye Wiskey
1 ½ oz St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur
½ oz Domaine De Canton Ginger Liqueur
2 dashes Fee Brothers Orange Bitters
Splash Ginger Ale

Shake ingredients and strain into a julep cup or cocktail glass with crushed ice. Garnish with orange slice.

Tom would have say whether all of that still stands today, since although Antoine’s is going strong, Maylie’s has been closed for years now (the also-defunct Smith & Wollensky last occupied Maylie’s site) and the Bud’s Broiler on City Park Avenue has been closed since Katrina.

The original location of the Bud’s Broiler chain, the City Park restaurant first opened in 1952. I’m not a great repository for the rest of Bud’s history, but they do have a website, www.budsbroiler.com, that has the history and menu, etc.

It re-opened yesterday, April 20, to much fanfare and long lines. The new owners have been working hard on getting the location up and running for a few months now. All their work paid off, it’s clean, freshly painted and cranking out burgers cooked over real charcoal as fast as people can order them.

Well-wishers included the old-line New Orleans white-tablecloth restaurant Tujaque’s, who sent these flowers:

I got a No. 4 with some cheese fries. (Sorry, I always forget to take pictures until I’ve already started eating).

I’m guessing these were the original bathroom doors, they crack me up.

What’s your menu item number? Do you have any Bud’s trivia to add? Did you go opening day? What are your memories of Bud’s on City Park?

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?

That reminded me of a glaring omission in my life. I’ve yet to have a roast beef poboy (or any other) from Parkway Bakery & Tavern, a poboy institution that’s on everyone’s short list for best poboys in town. So, while out and about hunting streetcars with Nolanotes, CS and Sun last Sunday, we decided to go there for lunch.

It’s in the heart of Mid City at the corner of Hagan and Toulouse streets, on the Uptown river side of Bayou St. John a block or two from Orleans Avenue.

So here’s the sandwich. Let’s get it out of the way, because it’s not necessarily the only reason one would want to visit Parkway. Good, super-sloppy roast beef that’s edged its way into the top 5 pantheon of roast beef poboys.  Very similar to Parran’s, in case you’re wondering.

No, there are other reasons to visit Parkway. It’s got what appears to be a pretty decent bar area, and there’s lots of seating, covered and open, outside. But the main, must-see character of Parkway lies in the gobs of New Orleans memorabilia (NewOrleaniana, to coin a term?)

Here’s the order window. To the right (not in the picture) are a Pontchartrain Beach poster and copies of the New Orleans Item (a defunct daily newspaper), one announcing the start of World War II and another its end; WAR and PEACE proclaimed in 10-inch tall headlines side-by-side).

There’s a little touch of Elvis there at the window and there’s more Elvis to come. Although there’s nothing specifically connecting Elvis and New Orleans; when you think about it, NOLA is a most Elvis kind of town, though.

A close up by the window shows some cool NOLA stuff—signs from the original Zephyr roller coaster and a promotional placard for Morgus the Magnificent. An old K&B bag (that’s Katz and Besthoff, to you, buddy) and an old Schwegmann’s bag, the kind we used to cover our books with, flank the Woolworth’s Luncheonette sign, once a landmark of Canal Street, known to ‘da yats as “‘da Woolswoits.”

More Elvis, this TP front page announcing Dead Elvis (as opposed to Comeback Elvis).

This is kind of obscure, a campaign poster for Hale Boggs, the U.S. House of Representatives Majority Leader (and member of the Warren Commission) from New Orleans. Boggs was presumed dead when his plane went missing in Alaska in October of 1972. Although missing, he was not yet declared dead and was re-elected in November of 1972. I can’t tell if that was the election year this poster was created for, but that’s some interesting trivia. (More trivia—Alaska congressman Nick Begich was also on the plane with Boggs, his son, Mark, was just elected senator from Alaska, de-throning Mr. Intertubez felon Ted Stevens.)

There’s also a concert poster from the Rolling Stones May, 1981 appearance at the Louisiana Superdome. I was there, by the way; George Thorogood and the Destroyers opened up, if I remember correctly.

Here’s the best piece of NewOrleaniana in the whole joint—a genuine Aints bag from the dismal 1980 season, when the Saints were 1-15-0. It’s customized for wearing over one’s head, rather than risk being identified as a Saints fan at the Dome, in case you don’t remember those days.

Update: I stand fully corrected. As reader Brad points out: “Nothing connecting Elvis and New Orleans??? What about King Creole? My neighbor when I was a kid used to tell stories about how her mother worked on the production and got to have an audience with the King.”

Maybe the correct statement would have been “nothing my dumb, non-Elvis fan ass would know about.”

“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.

Started things off with a Sazerac and a little chicken and andouille gumbo:

Finished with the BBQ shrimp and grits. Pretty good, a nice touch is they peel the center part of the shrimp, leaving the heads and tails attached. Not nearly as messy as having to peel the whole thing.

I collided with one of those “only in New Orleans” moments: a bride, fresh from her vows at the Cathedral, ran into an Elvis impersonator at Cafe du Monde. In this case, that could have happened in Vegas, except I doubt that they have decent beignets in Vegas.

The wedding party was walking into CDM, they had a brass band and second lined it all the way to the cafe. They were making their way in when she turned around just as this random costumed group with the Elvis arrived. Let me tell you, she freaked. She squealed. She jumped up in the air, hugged him and screamed “the King!”

And look at the pile of beignets waiting for them. I haven’t figured out whether that was some sort of substitute or adjunct wedding cake, or whether it was just a big pile of donuts.

We had lots of wind, not so much rain. It gusted up to, I’d say, 50 mph, enough to start peeling the copper roof off of my cousin’s outdoor kitchen area. I did the manly thing, (I’m camped out with my Aunt, a cousin, and her 3 teacher friends) and got a ladder, hammer and nails and secured the roof before it tore off and went into a window.

Today, I drove around to check on our office and my home in Mandeville (both with no damage, but no power). Traffic on Hwy. 190, the main drag into Covington, was sparse. Most of the red lights were without power; some blinking yellow. Amazingly, the drivers that were out and about did an extremely civilized job of both driving under the speed limit and treating the intersections as four-way stops.

Getting back to the house (equipped with generator large enough to handle air conditioning, thank gawd) I was treated to more doom and gloom on TV. Lots thunderstorms were in the area with the dreaded suspicious “hook” echoes that mean there could be a tornado. The Bogue Falaya river behind the house was righteously rising up, swollen by the rain and blocked by a storm-surged lake at its mouth.

All this gave way to a great evening after the thunder cells of doom passed. As I mentioned in the last post, one of the great hurricane traditions is the feast-of-the-food-that-will-go-bad-unless-we-eat-it-now. The neighbors came over with food gathered up from fridges unprotected by generators. Baked salmon and tilapia, chicken alfredo, smoked salmon, various cheeses and veggies were on the menu. I met 10 new people, and made 10 new friends, because I managed not to talk politics or otherwise piss anyone off.

I feel a little guilty. Many people I keep up with on the internet, fellow NOLA bloggers, were forced to leave their homes. Not many had good experiences, between being caught in contra-flow gridlock or seeking safety in places that ultimately were not safe at all, everyone’s going to have some interesting posts in upcoming weeks.

So shout-outs go to NolaNotes, Stacey, Charlotte, HumidCity, Greta, WetBankGuy, LipRap, Wendy, Katie, RDPeyton and everyone else who had to flee; hope you will see home again in days, rather than weeks this time. And hats-off to YatPundit, Ryan, and GentillyGirl and others who intrepidly stayed behind to share on-the-scene updates.

It would be nice if power is restored tomorrow. I’ve had a surreal vacation, and deadlines that were breathing down my neck are extended, but not extinguished. A little normalcy would be nice here. At least we won’t have to spend 4 months getting used to the “new” normal that defined life after Katrina.

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.

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.

Galatoire’s is on Bourbon Street, near the corner at Iberville. Besides fantastic Creole cuisine, it’s famous for quite a few quirks, among them that they don’t take reservations for the first-floor dining room. This quirk complicates the fact that the first-floor dining room is the most popular place in the city for lunch on Fridays.

When the idea first started floating around for some of the NOLA bloggers to do lunch at Galatoire’s, it was generally agreed on that Friday was the only day of the week it could work. I was worried about that; legendary long lines are known to form to get a table there on Fridays. Here is a pre-K NPR story and audio of an interview on the topic of Fridays at Galatoire’s on the occasion of its 100th anniversary in 2005, also the year they won the James Beard award for the most outstanding restaurant in the country.

The Sazerac Cocktail

The restaurant has always had a special place in my family. My mom’s family is from Houma, La., and she had an aunt and uncle who lived in New Orleans. She and her brother and sister would spend summers in the city with them. My great aunt and uncle would dine at Galatoire’s every Sunday for decades, and when their nieces and nephews were in town they went along, too.

At the same time, my father (who would not meet my mother until years later at LSU) lived in mid-city off of Esplanade near the Fairgrounds, where his family rented a house owned by the Galatoire family; the Galatoire’s lived across the street. My father’s sister told me she remembers, as a little girl, Mr. Galatoire coming home on the bus with the restaurant’s receipts in a paper bag; he would hand out dimes to the kids in the neighborhood.

As we were growing up in New Orleans, my great aunt would take us to Galatoire’s for special occasions. When she died, at age 100, the entire family and many friends went to Galatoire’s after the funeral to celebrate her life. We occupied the first floor dining room for six hours. We still eat there about once a year, but never for the famous Friday lunch experience.

On this Friday, we got there fairly early, around 11:30. It was already almost too late, though. Most of the first floor had been seated already. A couple of tourists were outside when I got there and I overheard them complaining about not getting seated. “They don’t take reservations my ass,” said the guy. “You know every one in there has a reservation.” I didn’t say anything to burst his bubble because I turned around and saw Nola had arrived and we needed to pursue a table of our own.

The Grand Gouté: Shrimp Remoulade, Crabmeat Maison, Crawfish Maison and Oysters en Brochette (on separate plate)

They asked us how many, Nola said four, and they immediately said we’d have to wait for the next seating. We asked about upstairs, I wasn’t ready to hang out for an hour and a half watching people eat. They didn’t really answer one way or another. I went up there anyway to see if anyone else had arrived first. There was only one table occupied up there, no one I knew. I was trying to decide whether to call the hostess on the upstairs availability when they asked again, “How many?” This time I said five, remembering Ryan’s fiance was going to join us. Lucky thing she did, low and behold, there was a table for six open on the first floor which they gave us.

Soufflé Potatoes

Charlie, our waiter, took our drink order. Sazeracs straight up for Nola and myself. That’s another great thing about Galatoire’s–they will seat you even if the rest of your party has not yet arrived. Some people are critical of this policy. It’s not unknown for people to hire someone to stand in line and get a table for them, hold it until they arrive and then leave.

At Galatoire’s, once you have secured your table, there is no rush. It’s yours until you choose to leave. In fact, the first thing Charlie asked, after delivering our cocktails once everyone had arrived, was whether we wanted to sit a awhile, or order some appetizers? Being rather peckish, we went ahead and ordered the Grand Gouté and some Soufflé Potatoes.

Softshell Crab Meunière

We took our time passing around and eating the appetizers. Eventually we got around to ordering entrees. Softshell Crab Meunière for Nola and Yat Pundit, Trout Meunière Amandine for myself, Trout Meunière with crabmeat for Ryan, and his lady ordered what has to be the ultimate in soup and salad: the crabmeat stuffed avocado with a bowl of turtle soup.

Trout Meunière Amandine

One of the reasons this get-together happened was that Ryan said on the Twitter one day that he had a bad experience the first time he went to Galatoire’s, upstairs as part of a large graduation party. Nola told him no, you really need get the experience of downstairs at lunch. Well, Nola’s mission was a success. I believe Ryan’s opinion of Galatoire’s is now changed.

Brabant Potatoes

Stuffed Avocado with Crabmeat; Turtle Soup

There was a very nice crowd at the restaurant Friday. A lot of regulars were in, judging by the amount of people who the manager greeted by name at the door. One large table was occupied by about 12 people celebrating a birthday. There was more than one birthday because twice during the time we were there the waitstaff dinged on a glass and asked for everyone to sing happy birthday.

Friday hustle & bustle at Galatoire’s

Many in this crowd ended up, like we did, at the Old Absinthe House down the block on Bourbon Street. Nola has written about that adventure, and what it’s like now it’s actually possible to drink absinthe again at the Old Absinthe House.

It was raining pretty hard when I got off the Causeway. I thought that, over the sound of the rain and my windshield wipers, I could hear “Oh, the suckage!” being screamed from Nola’s way. But, surprise, the pop-up tent and covered porch were keeping everyone dry and happy, with not one lament from Nola’s mouth at all. Sun, who I had heard was sick, was being pushed happily by her daddy on her new swing, all the Nola/CS friend peeps digging away at mudbugs, beer, potatoes artichokes, etc.

I left to go hunt streetcars; post at StreetCarArt.com coming soon. Then off to NOMA for the Rodrigue exhibit. If you haven’t been to the New Orleans Museum of Art recently, you need to get down there. The Rodrique exhibit is over June 8, but there is still plenty to see. One thing is a newly-acquired collection of 30-some odd pieces, including a painting by Fairfield Porter, probably my favorite non-impressionist painter.

After looking at the Rodrigues (and there is more to him than just the Blue Dog, and, by the way, I was not a fan of the Blue Dog, but have a new understanding and respect for it now) I headed up to the 3rd floor. I’m glad I did. Besides myself and the security guard, the only other person up there was John Bullard, NOMA’s director. I’d met him before, during the Femme Femme Femme exhibition. He’s a very convivial guy, a necessary trait when most of your job consists of raising funds. I told him I thought it was a great idea to keep the museum open all night, he said it’s been something museums in Dallas and other cities had been experimenting with to some success. They’re talking about doing it once a month, maybe on the last Wednesday of the month, to stay open to midnight. It’s a good idea; hotel, restaurant and hospital workers who otherwise wouldn’t get to see it come in then. It was a busy day for NOMA, too. He said they already had 2000 visitors on Saturday, and expected more Sunday.

After congratulating John on the exhibit, I mosied on down to the 2nd floor (the 3rd, by the way, is home to a small but impressive collection of Asian, African, South American and Native American indigenous art) where I was met full on with a sight inspiring the title of this piece–an exhibit of art from the Historic New Orleans Collection and NOMA called New Orleans: A Sense of Place.

Paintings, books, pieces of decorative art, including silverware from New Orleans smiths, all unmistakably NOLA creations. There are paintings of buildings and the city from the 1800′s and contemporary views, like a stunning, huge, painting of the Quarter, the docks and the Marigny as viewed from the top of the Jax Brewery–unfortunately I didn’t have anything to write with or I’d be telling you who the artist was.

In the middle of the room is a collection of books, old New Orleans classics from the Collection. Books by Lyle Saxon, Grace King, Kate Chopin, Lafcadio Hearn and George Washington Cable are on display. But at the top of the display is Ignatius Reilly peering out from the first-edition cover over the room, scimitar raised high, hunting cap on head, cockatoo perched on shoulder. Wow.

I went back downstairs where the crowd was growing. George Rodrigue and his family were hanging out, and as I walked out the door I ran into the person who started my day, Adam Acquistapace, absinthe dealer. I need to go buy a bottle for myself soon.

But I said “quick and dirty” version, and here it is.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

1. Chop up all your stuff. Green onions, garlic and potatoes; the spuds in half-inch cubes. I throw in some ham or chunks of andouille or smoked sausage as well, so chop that up, too. How much? As much garlic and green onion as you like. I like a lot. And enough potatoes to cover the skillet in one layer.
2. Take a skillet, one that you can put in the oven that’s large enough to hold as much chicken as want to cook. I usually make this for two, and I usually use leg quarters, so I use a skillet big enough for two or three of them.
3. Melt some butter in the bottom of the skillet. Over low heat, put in the garlic and green onions. Let them cook a little, or don’t, it really doesn’t matter. Take it off the heat.
4. Put potato cubes and ham and/or sausage in with the butter/garlic/green onion mixture. Mix well, make sure potatoes are in a single layer on the bottom. You could add whatever herbs or Tobasco or hot sauce you want at this point, too.
5. Sprinkle chicken with Tony’s or whatever seasoning you like. Place the chicken in a single layer ON TOP of the potatoes. The point is that the potatoes are elevating the chicken above the bottom of the pan.
6. Stick in hot oven until done, baste if you feel like it during the cooking. After about 40 minutes check it. When done, the chicken is fully cooked, the potatoes are crispy crunchy on the bottom, and the pan should be full of garlicky buttery chickeny juices. Take everything out and deglaze with wine or chicken stock and make a sauce if you want, but that’s getting beyond the spirit of quick and dirty.

To sum up: Chop, melt, mix, place, cook. One pan. Not classic, but it’s all good.

Update: Yat Pundit has posted his recipe, complete with food porn, at YatCuisine.

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!

First thing was a little glitch on the way in: I thought I might end up being late because the drawbridge on the Causeway opened up just in time for me to be first in line when the barricade came down. A neat sailboat, whose mast was too tall to go under the bridge, was the reason for the delay. Camera ready and nothing better to do, I snapped this.

Parasol’s is an Uptown masterpiece of a dive in the heart of the Irish Channel at Constance and Third. It is home to the biggest block party in the city come March 17 each year. When it’s not St. Patrick’s day, the bar is just the kind of ginmill where you would expect to see alcoholics drinking shots at 10 o’clock in the morning, and if you go there then, you will.

In 1952, Marlon Brando was nominated for an Oscar for his role as Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire (he lost to Humphrey Bogart). The Korean War was raging; President Truman seized the country’s steel mills to block a strike by union workers, giving rise to a seminal constitutional case proscribing the limits of the inherent power of the executive branch that seems to have been lost in time today, the point being that Parasol’s also opened that year; it doesn’t seem to have changed much since then.

But tucked away up a couple of steps behind the bar is a marvel of a kitchen, serving some of the best poboys in town. And that’s saying a lot.

We ordered poboys and fries. Roast beef, erster and shwimps–I’m not trying to be Yat–that’s what they’re called on the menu.

Here’s the food.

That pile of stuff behind the sandwich is an obscenity of a creation known as “gravy fries.” Their immediate destruction was commenced forthwith. TF also ordered a slightly-less obscene creation, cheese fries. A completely filthy version needs to be on the menu–gravy cheese fries. Think about it.

It was agreed. Best roast beef poboys ever. Best erster poboy ever. Next stop, Hansen’s.

Hansen’s has a great story. They’ve been in the sno-ball business since 1934 and at the Tchoupitoulas Street location since 1944. What they serve is called a sno-bliz; it’s different from any other sno-ball around. The ice is much fluffier, due to the special machine Earnest Hansen invented and no one has ever duplicated.

Hansen’s is famous for its yellow line, indicating where customers need to line up inside the shop. It should extend out the shop and down the sidewalk, because that’s where the line usually ends up.

That’s Ashley Hansen behind the counter. She’s run the place pretty much singlehandedly since her grandparents passed away after Katrina. She’s got a great story, here’s a Gambit piece from 2006 that tells all about Ashley and the family business.

Nola and I waited about 20 minutes in line. Neither of us had experienced Hansen’s before. I decided to go the traditional route, nectar cream; Nola decided on the chocolate cream. That sounded good to me, too, so when I got up front, I asked if anyone ever did nectar and chocolate together. Ashely gave me a big grin and said, “Ooo, that’s good.” And it was.

Nola channeled Richard Collins and called hers “a platonic dish;” saying the fluffy ice melted effortlessy on the tongue.

A very good day. With its own commemorative cup!

That’s a glass of Abita Strawberry on the table.

The new visitor’s center is located adjacent to the brewery. Tours need only go out the back door to enter into the chamber of holies.

Each of these fermenting tanks holds 600 kegs of beer. Brewmaster Mark Wilson gave us the tour. It included a little introductory talk at the center’s 26-foot long polished mahogany bar.

He explains the differences in barleys and hops and yeasts that make for different styles of beer. Abita uses water from its own wells, untreated other than by sand filtration. It’s an ideal water for making lager-style beer like the Abita Amber. They use malted barley from the U.S. and U.K., hops from the U.S., U.K. and Germany.

Fifteen taps, fifteen brews.

Lots of Abita merchandise is on hand at the visitor’s center, which opens to the public this weekend.

There’s a cool mosaic at the entrance, and great artwork by Eddie Mormon (who Abita president David Blossman said is color blind).

Jockamo IPA bottle by Eddie Mormon.

Abita Amber by Eddie Mormon.

Hops and barley out on the bar. Blossman showed everyone how to tear open the hop pods and rub them on your hand to activate the aroma. My hands still smell like essence of beer.

It was a pretty good time. Northshore luminaries like Abita Springs Mayor Louis Fitzmorris, Abita alderman and owner of the best snow ball stand ever, Bot & Nola’s Sno Balls & Other Cool Stuff, Sheri Campbell (I also learned she is a Bonerama freak) and Mandeville pol and publisher Dennis Bechac were in attendance.

Beers tasted: Jockamo IPA strong and hoppy), Abita Strawberry (very crisp and clean, much better than what I expected) and Abita Amber.

So if you’re looking for a nice Sunday drive before gas prices hit $10, head on up to the Abita Brewery for some beer and a tour. The little town of Abita Springs is also home to the Abita Opry, a nice trailhead complex and visitor’s center on the Tammany Trace and the kitchiest roadside stop on the face of the earth, the UCM Museum, home to Darryl the Doggiegator and The House of Shards.

The Northshore doesn’t always suck.

This one sums it all up…10:20 a.m. bubbly.

The winery from the road:

Ready, set, taste!

There were these tiny women trying to climb on a chair on the highway across the entrance to Gloria Ferrer.

Then off to Sebastiani, or as one of our crew called it, the “Disney Land” of wineries. It was huge, very well kept, had an enormous gift shop/tasting room and was full of tourists. Good photo ops, thought. A private tasting room with stained glass, a 60,000 gallon wooden tank and some of the winery’s original pressing equipment.

The most educational tasting was had at Ravenswood just outside of the town of Sonoma. Ravenswood specializes in Zinfandel. Our host there was Peter, who took us into their barrel room for a tasting of some of their private reserve stock.

Then off to lunch in Sonoma, a quick stop at the Whole Foods store in town and first full-on exposure to California douchebagery in the form of a happy cashier, or HC, who had those big hoop earrings stretching out his lobes and a raggy beard.

There’s an older lady in from of me. HC says, “Wow, how’s your day so far? I’ve seen you here before.” Lady says, “I live around the corner I’m here all the time.” HC, ‘That’s great. I’ll be seeing you.” He turns to the kid bagging the lady’s groceries. “Thanks, Ryan, that was a great job.”

I know what’s coming next. He looks at me and says, “How is your day going so far?” I tell him it’s pretty good, just riding around enjoying the sights. “Wow, fantastic. Where are you from?” I tell him New Orleans. “Well, how are things going in New Orleeenzzz?” They’re great. We just had a couple of hundred thousand in town for a festival, and another half million or so for Jazz Fest next week. “Wow, amazing!”

I took my amazing lunch at a windy picnic table—something called the Petaluma Express was keeping wind speeds at a constant 40 mph. This was at a winery called Gundlach Bundshu.

This was a really beautiful place. I was done with tasting by then and interested only in getting some good shots while the gang drank. The late afternoon sun gave a real Van Gogh-in-Arles (with trolls) look to the landscape that was hell to capture. But I tried.

More scenes from Cline Cellars and Viansa winery, a Tuscan villa set in the hills above Sonoma.

Viansa…

Stunning views all the way around. My theory is that living in this area ruins a man, thus the number of douchebags wandering around with their heads up their asses. Alright, I’m jealous. It’s too gorgeous out there not to be.

Our last stop on the way back into San Francisco was the Marin Headlands. These bluffs overlook the Golden Gate and San Francisco Bay beyond. Very windy and a tough climb to get up, but dude, it was worth it.

I think that’s going to be it for San Francisco postings. I may have another one in me, but it may be a while coming.

All in all, it was a great trip. I’m very envious of San Francisco. I was of the opinion the New Orleans had more character in her little toe than most every other city in world contains in its entirety. San Francisco is, without a doubt, the exception. Miles and miles of neighborhoods that give the aura of the French Quarter and Canal Street all rolled into one. Thousands of tourists from all over the world roaming the streets there, not because a convention brought them, but because they want their families to experience it.

It’s not a perfect place. Perambulation is almost impossible, even the locals say they’ll walk three blocks out the way to avoid going up one block on a hill. It is very expensive, I’d say tack on 35% to everything you’d expect to spend. Panhandlers abound and they can be very aggressive.

I’d have to say though, that given a $200 million Powerball victory, after buying a few buildings in the Quarter, I’d make my next purchase in San Francisco.

Perambulating through San Francisco can be a bit of a challenge for swamp-dwelling yahoos such as myself. Chinatown wasn’t too bad, relatively flat and only a few blocks long and wide.

First sight was a Chinese bakery.

I’m glad I noticed this doorway. I remembered the Trask family’s servant, Lee, in Steinbeck’s East of Eden, who gave a little speech about the Lee family in San Francisco, and how it was a branch of the largest family in the world, how they banded together and took care of each other. The Wiki says it’s a name more common in the world than Smith. I’m sure Harry Lee’s family is part of it. They even have their own credit union.

I turned the corner. There was a truck unloading at a little grocery store, with these boxes of tofu on the sidewalk waiting to be brought in.

By far the most visually interesting sights in Chinatown are the herb shops full of traditional Chinese medicinal items. Bulk containers of ginseng root, jars of dried deer antlers and dried sea cucumbers line the walls along with super-high end food items like swallows nests for bird’s nest soup and dried shark’s fins for, you guessed it, shark’s fin soup. The bird’s nests were a bargain. They varied in price, I guess according to quality, from about $1200 to $3800 per pound. The smells in these places are really indescribable and fantastic, with the same effect on one’s memory of the place as the smell walking into Nor Joe’s.

But where are the pictures, you ask? It ends up the medicine stores are off-limits to photo-taking swamp-dwelling yahoos. Most of the stores had signs posted–”No Pictures or Video.” The ones that did not, I asked, and they said, “No photo, no photo!” They must be worried about animal rights activists or customs; some of the items looked like I would not want to guess what parts of what creatures they came from. I could have stolen some shots from outside a couple of doorways but I wasn’t ready for my own version of Big Trouble in Little China.

I had a tip about lunch at the Oriental Pearl. After I told my co-workers about lunch at Yank Sing in the financial district, how awesome it was and its $70 price tag, Jane says, “Oh. We had dim sum in Chinatown at this Oriental Pearl place for $8.00 for the both of us.”

Nonetheless, I was on a quest for the Black Oriental Pearl for Monday’s lunch. I did find it, but wasn’t quite ready yet. Also there was a poster in the window–Rachel Ray recommended the place, so I kept walking, it can’t need me that bad. A few blocks later I ran across the Golden Flower, a Vietnamese bowl noodle joint whose menu posted in the window looked like a winner, lots of Pho. I settled on a No. 40 with rice noodles and pork. A winner at $6.49, including the tea. Real fish sauce with chile and ginger spiced it up just nicely.

Around the corner from the Golden Flower was a sign for a restaurant that appeared to be for the Chinese equivalent of the New Orleans pork-palace, Cochon.

After lunch I headed down to the Embarcadero. The road that follows the bay shore is home to some great sights. The plaza in front of the Embarcadero Center. It’s where there are a lot of public sculptures like this big concrete fountain and these two heads titled “Yin and Yang.”

On to Fisherman’s Wharf, where things got really touristy real fast. But there were sea lions and this really cool crab made of flowers and steel.

This last one is a Alcatraz, “The Rock,” taken from the end of Pier 39. We did a full tour of it on Sunday which I’ll cover in a separate post.

My last stop before heading back up to the hotel to meet up with the group for dinner and then the ride to the airport to catch the 12:30 a.m. flight home was the cable car museum. It also houses the machinery that winds the cable and distributes it through the city.

Walking back to the car stop I saw a “For Rent” sign on one of the countless Victorian town homes that are in the North Beach area. Did I mention things are pricey in San Francisco?