Every time I go to Galatoire’s, I find it hard to resist their Turtle Soup. My last bowl of it got me thinking about making it at home. So after talking it over with Pontchartain Pete, we decided to take it on.

Historically, turtle soup gained popularity with the European explorations of the West Indies, where turtles became an important food resource for sailors and pirates and a luxury item on English tables.

~ New Orleans Cuisine: Fourteen Signature Dishes and Their Histories, Edited by Susan Tucker.

Turtle soup has been a New Orleans dish since, well, forever. New Orleans’ turtle soup is different from other regions’ soups by the inclusion of another Louisiana food staple: tomatoes. Where elsewhere turtle soup is a thin brothy soup, in New Orleans, it’s a thick, rich stew-like soup.

Pete learned that although there are as many recipes for Creole Turtle Soup as their are Creole kitchens, all of the recipes had these things in common: turtle meat,veal or beef stock, onions, celery, tomatoes, parsley, thyme, chopped hard boiled eggs, lemon and sherry.

Pete:

For the soup, I looked at several of the recipes available online. On his website Gumbo Pages, Chuck Taggert had two recipes, from Commander’s Palace and Arnaud’s. I also looked at Galatoire’s cookbook recipe and decided that I liked elements of all three.

I also wanted to make a lot of it to freeze for later and kept that in mind. Most recipes call for one and half to two pounds of turtle meat, which, I learned, is carried in two-pound packages, frozen, at a few local seafood markets and groceries. It ain’t cheap; the two-pound pack I got in Covington at Pat’s Seafood ran about $30. I’ve heard a lot of people say that most restaurant turtle soup is not made with turtle meat but with veal and after spending that much on meat that isn’t filet mignon I can see why.

Arnaud’s recipe called for both turtle and veal, and since I wanted to make a lot of soup, I also bought two packages of ground veal, which, at $6.00 a pound, seemed quite reasonable.

As far as seasonings go, the recipes were basically the same, although in addition to the onions, celery and garlic Arnaud’s and Commander’s called for, Galatoire’s also called for a lot of bell pepper and paprika–3 peppers and a quarter cup of paprika.

Commanders calls for beef stock, Arnaud’s and Galatoire’s, veal stock. I took the expensive route. Rather than buy a couple quarts of Swanson’s beef broth, we went with frozen veal demi glace from Langenstein’s, at $14.99 per 2-cup package. I figured 4 cups demi cut with 12 cups water would make for a gallon or so of veal stock. I cooked that down a bit for about 30 minutes with bay leaves, thyme, garlic and two tablespoons–not a quarter cup–of paprika, before adding everything else and it worked out perfectly.

The “everything else” consisted of the turtle meat, veal, vegetables, tomato puree, salt, pepper, hot sauce, lemons and sherry.

I’ve never dealt with turtle before and if any of this required cleaning a dead one, we wouldn’t be here today. Not that getting what was labeled “boneless turtle meat” was a piece of cake. Boneless though it was, there was an awful lot of silverskin and connective tissue that needed trimming, which, with my unskilled knife work, cost about about a half-pound of lost meat.

Here’s the method.

1) Have someone else (Nolanotes) prep all the veggies for you. It ended up being a lot more than needed, but I was thinking big when telling her what quantities to buy and chop.

2) Brown the turtle meat. A little salt and pepper on the meat, a little vegetable oil in a hot pot, and brown the turtle meat on each side, just like if you were making grillades or whatever. After cooling a bit, I chopped the meat up in about 1/4-inch pieces.

3) Brown the veal. Same thing, it was ground already and I just browned it and put it in the bowl with the turtle until the stock and veggies were ready. I taste-tested some of  the browned turtle, which tasted more like beef than anything else. Alligator I find to taste like dry chicken with a fishy aftertaste and don’t care for it too much. Turtle tasted much better.

4) Make the stock. Next time I’ll probably start with some boxed stock. This time, though, it was $30 worth of frozen demi glace which I melted down and cut with water, added some bay leaves, dried thyme and oregano, salt and pepper, garlic, one lemon cut into quarters and the paprika and simmered all that while I…

5) Made the roux. All the recipes called for making a separate butter roux to add later on to thicken the soup. Two sticks butter, one cup flour, cook until light brown and set aside.

6) Sweat the veggies. I ended up measuring out two cups each of chopped onion, celery, bell pepper and one cup green onion. Sweated with a little butter until clear, then I added 3 cups of canned tomato puree to the veggies and let that simmer for ten minutes.

7) This is some really involved stuff. I’m taking a break now.

And….back.

8 ) Add the tomato and veggie mixture to the stock and 1/2 cup of sherry. Get it back to a boil and simmer 10 minutes.

9) Add the browned turtle and veal meat and all the juices that were in the bottom of the bowl. Bring it back to a boil, let simmer 20 minutes.

10) Chop up the boiled eggs and add the roux. WHAT BOILED EGGS??? Alright, that was another step that Nolanotes had taken care of before I started. Chop up three boiled eggs, add to the pot. The roux was sitting in the pot and the excess butter floated to the top. I just poured it off and put the browned flour paste into the pot. It thickened fairly well, I probably could have used another 1/2 cup. Bring to boil and simmer 10 minutes more.

11) Taste and adjust for salt, pepper and heat. I added a few shakes of Crystal. I would have added Tabasco instead but couldn’t find it.

That’s it. Pour in bowl, splash on some more sherry and some more chopped eggs if you like.

”

Bowl of Pontchartrain Pete's Creole Turtle Soup.

A note on the sherry: I used Hartley and Gibson’s Amontillado from Martin Wine Cellar. I had chosen a Manzanilla but consulted with Steve Perret, who suggested a nuttier, more full-bodied, Amontillado for use with turtle soup. That’s why it pays to shop where people know their stuff. It was inexpensive, too–only about $12 for the bottle.

Hartley & Gibson Amontillado Sherry.

Koerner has been around over 100 years, with the third and fourth generations of the Koerner family now operating the business that was started in 1906. Ann said she first worked with the Koerner company when it was basically a bakery supply firm. After Katrina, the company regrouped and expanded its offerings to include the cutting-edge equipment and ingredients used in creating the types of dishes and drinks one thinks of when you hear the term “molecular gastronomy.”

Tim Koerner explained that the techniques perfected by chefs like Ferran Adrià at Spain’s El Bulli restaurant (which is closing, I’m seeing on internets) presented flavors of classic ingredients and dishes in new formats. Ingredients—pine nuts, asparagus, fruits or beans, for example—could be transformed into foams, gels, spherical “caviar” or instantly frozen into ices that retain the ingredient’s original flavor. Koerner sells all of the obscure equipment and food chemicals any would-be Ferran Addrià could ever want.

The supplies and ingredients to make “caviar,” Tim said, agar-agar and calcium chloride, are known as spherification agents. Mixing a flavored liquid with agar and then dropping the mixture in the calcium chloride bath instantly creates a gel skin on the droplet which burst when put in the mouth, like fish eggs, thus it’s called “caviar.” Here’s a NYT story on Cointreau’s attempts to get bartenders to spherify their orange liqueur and include the resultant eggs into fancy cocktails.

One other way to molecular bliss is through making foams and ices out of concentrated flavors. Koerner sells all the equipment; the insulated bowls and buckets and so forth, needed to handle it. Tim noted that working with liquid nitrogen is preferred to dry ice as it freezes whatever foodstuffs you’re working with much faster, preventing cell walls from bursting and causing freezer burns dry ice can cause.

Purity Vodka held a brunch at the Bombay Club on Friday where they presented their own spin on molecular mixology. It was a great brunch, by the way, and a typically great Tales event, where free booze and food combine with great networking opportunities. I met up with some old friends and made some new ones as well, Jonas from San Francisco and DrinkofTheWeek.com and Emily from NYC and MouthOfTheBorder.com. The Bombay Club put on a great spread with chicken and waffles, eggs Benedict, gumbo, shrimp creole, creme brulee and more.  But I digress from the molecular thingy.

Making Bloody Marys the molecular way with Purity Vodka.

Rather than mix up a batch of Bloody Marys using tomato juice and other ingredients, participants were invited to place ingredients (cubed tomatoes rather than juice, pickled vegetables, other traditional garnishes and even sausage and shrimp) into a whipped cream vessel that was then charged by a canister of nitrous oxide gas. Under pressure, the alcohol and gas would extract all of the ingredients’ flavors into the vodka and after a 30-second shake, the gas is released, the cap unscrewed, and the mixture strained into a waiting glass chilled with a perfectly clear ball of ice.

That seems to be a lot of trouble to go through, but it really worked. A lot of what was presented at Tales of the Cocktail this year were ideas and products (like bitters) that would serve to give an edge to one product or bartender’s offerings over another. Purity Vodka was a good example, going all out with its promotion and showing consumers how to do something different with their product, which, by the way, is a damn fine vodka that I enjoyed cut with just a little water in the vermouth-less martini they also served. And that’s not just the brunch talking. Really good stuff.

This is where Koerner comes back in. Manufacturer iSi (pronounced “ee-see,” I learned, not “eye-ess-eye”) makes the cream-whippers, soda siphons and gas chargers (N2O and CO2) needed to make the Purity-style Bloody Marys and the Ferran Addrià foams and gels. Koerner, of course, sells iSi products. For you cutting edge chefs out there, you Blackened-Out and Appetites wish-they-could-eat-at-El Bulli-and-never-will-because-now-it’s-closed-forever-types, Koerner also carries the equipment needed to sous-vide, smoke-inject and foam your little hearts out.

You can order for delivery from their very extensive website, or if you’re in town, call to order and pick up items at their headquarters, 4820 Jefferson Hwy. Keep in mind they’re geared to commercial supply and while they do sell to the general public, it’s not a retail store and they’re only open Mon-Fri until 4pm, and closed noon-1pm for lunch.

The Bitter Truth's Creole Bitters.

The German guys behind Bitter Truth, Alex and Stephan, were out at Sunday’s Cocktail Bazaar. Alex said they were just a couple of bartenders in Bavaria when they started making their own bitters, and their business has just taken off from there (their Celery Bitters won a Tales of the Cocktail Spirited Award for best new product in 2010).

Alex gave me a taste of the Creole Bitters. Bright red in color, like Peychaud’s, floral scent like Peychaud’s, but definitely brighter and less sweet and, well, more bitter than Peychaud’s. I exclaimed they would probably indeed make a fine Sazerac cocktail, but Alex quickly noted, “We are not allowed to say the “S-word.” Or the “P-word,” due to the Sazerac Co.’s trademarks. That’s fine, but the guys know what’s what in cocktail history and have a recipe on their website for an “Improved Brandy Cocktail” that is closer to Amedee Peychaud’s original concoction than the official Sazerac recipe is today. Another shopper at the Bazaar said Bitter Truth’s products were available at Martin Wine Cellar. I’ll have to check that out.

Improved Brandy Cocktail

50 ml (1 1/2  oz) Cognac*
2 dashes The Bitter Truth – Creole Bitters
2 dashes Absinthe
10 ml (2 tsp) Sugar Syrup*

Stir in mixing glass with ice and strain into a chilled tumbler or cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon twist.
*Metric conversions are mine,  not the Bitter Truth’s.

Ballast and Keel Bittering House's offerings.

The table next door to Alex and Stephan was occupied by another bitters producer, Ballast & Keel Bittering House. The bitters they are creating are more concentrated flavoring combinations than classic “bitters”—Strawberry & Indian Fennel, Saigon Cinnamon & Walnut, Wild Cherry & Tahitian Vanilla, Cocoa Nib & Chili Arbol are just a few of the combinations. I didn’t detect even a hint of gentian or overt bitterness in anything I sampled. That’s not a bad thing at all, as someone looking to concoct a drink with that “I don’t know what that taste is but I like it” element would be well-served to give Ballast & Keel’s bitters a try.

Throwing out the “P-word,” I told them I’m a big fan of putting a dash of Peychaud’s on top of my absinthe frappes and asked which would go well with absinthe. Without hesitation, I was told the Strawberry and Indian Fennel. Duh. Fennel seed, of course is one of the holy trinity ingredients in that make up all absinthes. He handed me small sample bottle, the taste was aromatic and floral, like Peychaud’s and the Creole bitters, but lacking the gentian bite common to both of those bitters. Again, that’s not a bad thing. They’d probably go good with Ramos Gin Fizz, too.

Let the experimentation begin!

Bitters were back this year, although they probably never went away. “The Emperor’s New Bitters” was the Thursday afternoon seminar I attended that was conducted by Jacob Briars, Sebastian Reaborn and Francesco Lafranconi. Since I did a poor job of keeping track of who said what during the seminar, I’m just going to attribute everything to “the presenter(s).” It was a sellout crowd; over 200 people came to hear the presenters describe the history behind the various bitters available today. Added bonus: was the presenters’ views on which liquors mix well with each bitter, which ones they don’t go with and surprise uses for each.

Samples lined up for "The Emporer's New Bitters" seminar at Tales of the Cocktail 2011.

Cocktail bitters are highly concentrated extracts made from botanical flavoring agents–herbs, spices, flowers and/or fruits. Gentian is a common ingredient as, the presenters noted, it has one of the highest bittering concentrations. Bitters not only add their own flavor profile to a drink, they enhance and carry the drink’s other flavors, said the presenters. Bitters stimulate the salivary glands, which in turn stimulate the digestive system. In Italy, beverages containing bitter compounds are traditionally taken 20 min. to one-half hour of a meal. These apéritifs and digesifs include Campari and Fernet (different brands available) and vermouths like Punt e Mes and can be ingredients in many other classic mixed drinks.

[The] cock-tail, then, is a stimulating liquor composed of sugar, water, spirits and bitters—it is vulgarly called a ‘bittered sling.’

This quote from an 1806 New York state newspaper is the first written definition of “cocktail” and illustrates a couple of points. The first steals the jelly right out of NOLA’s doughnut  by negating the legend of Amedee Peychaud’s invention of the cocktail. The lore is that, in the 1830s, Peychaud served bitters and brandy and sugar in little cups called coquetiers, and the Americans bastardized that word to “cocktail,” ergo, the cocktail was invented by Amedee Peychaud in New Orleans. Now, Peychaud’s bitters (a family recipe brought to New Orleans by his father, a San Domingan refugee, in 1795 are still around) and his concoction, with in the 1870s, rye whiskey substituted for brandy and absinthe added, are enjoyed as the Sazerac cocktail. That Peychaud’s bitters and cocktail idea are still around is a marvel of history and NOLA culture, but, alas, it’s not as romantic as being able to say the cocktail was purely a New Orleans invention.

Sidenote: It seemed like a dig to me, and I could be wrong, but one of the presenters showed a photo of himself in front of Cohen & Sons (see previous post) saying something to the effect of, “Only in New Orleans would one of the greatest bars in history  be turned into an antique gun store!” That’s not an exact quote, but it still seemed like a dig and shows a lack of research. Cohen’s ancestors started the business at 437 Royal St. in 1898, so it’s been an “antique gun store” and New Orleans landmark for a lot longer than it was ever Peychaud’s apothecary shop, and it’s been a worthy successor to Peychaud for that long-standing retail location.

The second, and more pertinent point about the quote from the seminar’s perspective, is that the cocktail and the ingredient “bitters” are intertwined, i.e., it is the addition of bitters to a mixture containing spirits makes that mixture a cocktail. The moderator pointed out an important fact; back then, bitters were medicines and it was the addition of spirits to bitters that made the bitters palatable. A spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down, so to speak.

The Bitter and the…Bitterer

The grandaddy of cocktail bitters is the Angostura brand of aromatic bitters, which was formulated in the 1820s, although throughout the 1800s in American bars, one was more likely to find Bokers or Stoughton, but both brands extinct. Regarding Angostura, ”There is not a bar in the world that doesn’t have a bottle and if it doesn’t have a bottle, it’s not a bar,” said the presenter, commenting on the ubiquity of the brand. The presenter said they go well with whiskies, rum and lime but not cognac, and to give it a try in coffee and Coca-Cola.

Surprisingly good was one of the cocktails we sampled, the Angostura Sour, a concoction made by the fine folks at Cure in New Orleans. Rather than the bitters being added a few drops at a time to spirits as a flavoring agent, the bitters are the base of the drink, 1 1/2 ounces of Angostura bitters, to be precise. It turns out the bitters are 90 proof. Lime juice, sugar syrup and an egg white rounded out the drink.

The once-extinct Boker’s bitters have been reversed-engineered and resurrected, thanks to a Scottish bar man, “Dr.” Adam Elmegirab. My notes indicate presenter’s comments of  “insanely bitter on first taste. Aroma, Christmas pudding, orange, cinnamon, cardoman.”

They were ga-ga over Bob’s Bitters recreation of another extinct brand from the late 1800s, Abbotts. Described as “completely gorgeous” but hard to find in the U.S. due to an ingredient, the Tonka Bean. The bitters are available on the internet but expensive, about $40 for 100 ml. Great for Manhattans, bad with tequila, surprisingly good by itself on ice with a little sugar.

I have to say that one of the bitters we sampled I found to be just too much on its own. Bittermens (no apostrophe, dammit! says the moderator) is a company that is set on creating new cocktail bitter varieties, rather than recreate or reverse engineer old ones. On first taste, their Hopped Grapefruit Bitterstasted bright and strong, grapefruity as advertised, but quickly the taste turned bitter to the point of reminding me only of regurgitated bile. That’s nasty, I know. I wouldn’t rule them out for an addition to a drink, but wouldn’t recommend trying them straight. My presenter’s notes say, “Great with Tequila or Mescal, bad with dark spirits, surprisingly good with beer or ginger beer.”

The Biter Truth bitter makers mentioned in the last post are making a version of Jerry Thomas’ bitter recipe contained in his 1862 Bar-Tender’s Guide. One ingredient left out of that recipe, we learned, was the snake root. Some fuddy-duddy bureaucrat somewhere along the line discovered snake root can cause liver failure, as if anyone who drinks enough to make their own bitters from an 1862 recipe would really care. We were not given, unfortunately, a sample of The Bitter Truth’s Creole bitters so I can’t say whether they’d be a great alternative to Peychaud’s or not.

We did spend a little time on Peychaud bitters and were treated to a sample of a Peychaud Swizzle, a drink with an ounce of Peychaud bitters as it base (with Cognac, pineapple puree and juice along with some of those Jerry Thomas bitters. As a bitters-based cocktail, I didn’t like it as much as the Angostura Sour. I think it was the pineapple more than anything, though, so could be a fave with some tweaking with the fruit element.

We also covered Fee Brother’s Whiskey Barrel Aromatic Bitters. Very powerful, noted the moderator, and aged in Woodford Reserve Bourbon barrels. Goes well with Bourbon, of course and dark rum and are surpriseing good with chocolate and lemon.

Overall this was a great seminar. Like most of Tales of the Cocktail, it was geared toward bar industry professionals but had a lot of great info for enthusiasts. As the presenters pointed out, while bartenders can’t, as a practical matter, make their own Tequilas, gins and whiskeys, they can make their own bitters to add a personal touch to their repertoire.

For a time, there was the Maison d’Absinthe and the Absinthe Museum of America which opened on Royal Street in 2008. I heard rumors last fall that it was closing (sad) and then, not too long afterward, that Ray and B.J. Bordelon’s collection of vintage absinthe ware, bottles and ephemera would find a new home at the Southern Food and Beverage Museum at the Riverwalk (yeah!). Both rumors proved true; business turmoil on part of one of the owners resulted in losing the Royal Street lease, and Liz Williams, SoFAB’s director, offered the collectors space in the Riverwalk museum. It’s a perfect fit, as SoFAB is also home to the Museum of the American Cocktail; La Galerie d’Absinthe is a perfect complement, with an expanded focus on absinthe’s role in the culture of both Paris and New Orleans.

Saturday March 26 was the grand opening. B.J., Ray and T.A. Breaux were there and slinging Lucid samples to visitors, many of whom had seemed to just have wandered into the Food and Beverage Museum without a clue that the Green Fairy was about, until they saw the girl dressed as a green fairy who was serving pastries.

Ray has done some tireless research and uncovered some of the earliest documented mentions of absinthe in New Orleans. He has reproduced a newspaper ad from the New Orleans Bee in 1835. It was common for suppliers to take out ads listing the goods they’d just received from the latest ships arriving at the port, and the ad touts the arrival of cases of absinthe from France. Other ads on display include some from the 1870s taken out by Cayetano Ferrer, owner of the shop that became first the “Absinthe Room” and then re-named the Old Absinthe House.

The exhibit goes on to display vintage absinthe bottles from France, as well as a display of antique absinthe ware.

A most pleasant display is the re-creation of a Parisian sidewalk cafe setting.

There’s more at the Gallerie d’Absinthe, displays of ornate absinthe spoons, and a sampling of contemporary absinthe bottles and packages.

One thing I’ve learned, and anyone interested in absinthe needs to learn, too, is that there are no set standards for what can and cannot be put into a bottle and labeled absinthe. For example, for a product to be called Bourbon, it must, by law, be made of 51% corn and aged in new oak barrels for at least two years. There are more regulations, but those two help set a baseline for what someone can expect if they buy a bottle labeled “Bourbon.”

Unfortunately, anyone can add wormwood oil and food coloring to grain alcohol and label it absinthe. Traditional methods involve the maceration of whole herbs (anise, fennel and grand wormwood at a minimum) in alcohol (traditionally grape alcohol) which is then distilled; essential plant oils in the distillate flavor the product and create the “louche,” or cloudiness, when water is added. The product is then naturally colored green by chlorophyll extracted from an additional soaking of fresh herbs. Adding wormwood oil to alcohol and calling it “absinthe” is no different, Breaux explains, than adding vodka to Welch’s grape juice and calling it “wine.”

There’s a video display at the museum of Breaux’s segment on the History Channel’s Modern Marvels which follows Breaux as he makes a batch of his super-premium absinthe Jade Nouvelle-Orléans. I highly recommend watching it for an appreciation of how the hand-crafted product is made. The layers of aroma and complexity of flavor in traditionally made absinthe brands make them well worth the price.

The Krewe of Hermes floats are designed in the classic style by Henri Schindler.

On Friday, as always, Hermes and Le Krewe D’etat rolled Uptown. The weather was sketchy but the showers held off most of the evening. We caught the parades at Magazine and Napoleon, where Mardi Gras guru Arthur Hardy was there, doing parade spots with reporter Siemny Chhuon, who was enjoying her first Mardi Gras.

Arthur Hardy and Siemny Chhuon get ready to report on Friday's parades for WDSU.

Krewe D’Etat didn’t disappoint, the satirical theme this year was “D’Etat’s Wild World of Sports.” The Krewe’s “Dancin’ Darlin’s” performed as the LSU Turf Munchers, skewering LSU coach Les Miles in advance of a float doing the same that was entitled “Two-Minute Thrills.” An unlikely cast of characters caught the sports-themed roasting at the Dictator’s hands; Bobby Jindal (“Featherweight”), Brett Favre (“Pocket Pool”), Lil’ Wayne and Edwin Edwards. (No float pics this year, I only had the cell phone camera. Maybe NOLAnotes has some to share? But I see Uptown Messenger has some, as does Liprap’s Flickr, along with Muses and Hermes parade pics). New Krewe D’etat throws included krewe logo blinking rings and bracelets.

Le Krewe D'etat's new blinky skull ring.

Marching on…

Saturday all hell broke loose weather-wise. Endymion had been canceled and re-scheduled for Sunday night, to parade Uptown after Bacchus. The weather was great Sunday, and after a long odyssey (is that redundant?) trying many different routes to get to Point B on the other side of Napoleon and Magazine, I parked and walked the mile or so Laurel St. near Tipitina’s. Armed with the big gun camera, I continued my yearly quest to capture some of the motion and action of the Mardi Gras night parade. I think I did o.k. See for yourself.

[Show as slideshow]

The New Orleans Carnival is descended from ancient religious rites of the Greek and Latin World. Ovid described the Greek shepherds of Arcadia who, five thousand years ago, celebrated a spring festival in hopes of better pastures and the remission of sins.
–Henri Schindler, Mardi Gras in New Orleans, 1997.

I was reading the Times Picayune recap of the annual Caliphs of Cairo bal masque (Caliphs does not parade). I had assumed this was an affair having nothing to do with the paranoia of Glenn Beck over Egypt’s revolution being the first step in establishing a Muslim/Communist one-world government, what he called a “Caliphate.” But after I read this description of Caliphs, I’m thinking I could be wrong. I doubt that Beck is a student of Carnival customs, but if he was serious about rooting out Caliphate cells within U.S. borders, he might want to start in New Orleans, where there is a Caliphate whose members only meet hidden behind masks and the identity of its leaders kept completely secret:

Caliphs of Cairo

The title assumed by former sultans proclaimed investiture with absolute authority in all matters of state. The Caliphs governed in the capital of Egypt for centuries and their descendants in the valley of the Nile ceremoniously observe the traditions of ancient Cairo.

The Caliphs of Cairo, successor of Mohammed, made their appearance in the Carnival world in 1937, where they have introduced a series of realistic spectacles and scenic triumphs, with glamorous courts of beauteous maidens.
–Arthur Burton La Cour, New Orleans Masquerade. La Cour’s 1952 book is the definitive guide to the early history of our carnival krewes.

Beck paranoia aside—I think he’d get thrown off track by the “realistic spectacles and scenic triumphs” not to mention “courts of beauteous maidens”—Caliphs is a serious organization that has been around for almost 75 years now. (For more on Caliph’s, see Ryan’s posts here and here.) Although the krewe chooses a king and queen, maids, princesses and pages, as do parading krewes, Caliph’s entire carnival activity is limited to a ball. As with many of the old-line krewes, all the members mask, the king’s identity is kept secret and the ball is a specialized production known as a bal masque; a masquerade where the participants ceremoniously enact scenes based on a particular tableau, or theme.

Caliphs’ first tableau back in 1937 was “Joloco, the Rainbow God” (you can try to Google it, but I can’t find anything on Joloco). The Times Picayune described this year’s theme:

The Caliphs of Cairo staged the organization’s annual bal masque Saturday in the Royal Tent at the New Orleans Country Club, presenting a tableau depicting the Battle of Vienna in 1683, when King Jan III Sobieski, king of Poland-Lithuania, rescued Vienna from the invading Ottoman Turks. The sultan’s grand Vizier, Merzifonlu Kara Mustafa Pasha, had marched 150,000 Janissaries into Austria. The sultan had threatened death to Holy Roman Emperor Leopold, who fled to Passan with his court. Fortuitously for Leopold and the Viennese, several months earlier, King Jan had signed the Treaty of Warsaw, agreeing that he would come to Leopold’s aid if he were attacked by the Turks. Beseeched by Pope Innocent XI, King Jan Marched on Vienna with 80,000 men, Hearing the thundering charge of his winged husaria down the mountainside, the Turks retreated in panic and were defeated.
–Times-Picayune, February 6, 2011.

It goes on to explain some notable pastries were created to commemorate this battle: the croissant (symbolizing the defeated Turks’ crescent moon flag) and bagel (representing a stirrup, the symbol of King Jan’s cavalry).

Seeing this reminded me, to paraphrase Dorothy, that, on so many different levels, we’re not in Kansas. We never were in Kansas, or any where near Kansas.

In which diverse local habits, some of ancient origins, are enumerated, leading to the suggestion that everything in New Orleans may not be changing after all.
– S. Frederick Starr, introduction to Chapter 3: Habits. New Orleans Unmasqued. 1985.

So I say New Orleans’ Mardi Gras is the last bastion of civilization. Where else would groups of everyday people (alright, some may well be filthy rich. But I know several members of krewes like Caliphs who, although college graduates, some with professional degrees, are basically working stiffs at this point in their careers) put aside time and money to plan a good old-fashioned bal masque?

Imagine the committee meeting.  “Let’s see. We’ve done Joloco. We’ve done Cindarella, the marriage feast of Alexander the Great, the reception of the Marquis de Vaudreil at New Orleans, the Three Muskateers, the return of Marco Polo to Venice, the Bard of Avon and even Fiesta, South of the Border [all actual tableau from Caliph's early years]. What to do, what to do? Wait—y’all remember the Battle Vienna in 1683, you know, with the Vizier and the Polish winged cavalry that ensured the place of Christianity in the western world and gave us pastries? Let’s re-enact that next year!”

Starr’s quote really puts my whole thesis in a nutshell. We take the time and make the effort to maintain our local habits, that are ancient in origin, to make sure New Orleans’ core really won’t change, despite all the forces at work on its exterior—Katrina destruction/reconstruction, the new hospital’s re-working of Mid City and even recent observations regarding the creeping influx of European-inspired (but thoroughly mid-American in origin) “nouvelle” cuisine on the city’s restaurant scene.

Starr goes further and explores the role of allegory in Carnival, noting even suburban krewes might have such distinguished themes as “Tales of Gilgamesh,” “The World’s Worships” or “Tales of Josephus.” He notes that one year, Comus (when it still paraded) had a theme of “Ophidian Lore.”

To save a trip to the Encyclopedia Britannica [note lack of Google in 1985], this refers to the suborder ophidia, which comprises all snakes. Hence, Comus produced floats on “Eden,” “Aesculapius,” “Dumbala,” “Abraxas” and “Python”…

Now imagine hundreds of potbellied rednecks from Mississippi, North Florida or Manhattan lining up to watch some New Orleans businessmen represent this all allegorically. Picture businessmen anywhere dressing in outlandish costumes in order to present samples of Ophidian Lore to the masses, and paying every penny of the costs to do so. It staggers the imagination.

Which is precisely what Mardi Gras is all about. Beneath the superficial vulgarity, it is a poetic festival steeped in the exquisite high art of allegory.

Now, Starr is spot-on in his observations, and the thought of rednecks from Manhattan seems novel. But sometimes, the outsider over-thinks things. I prefer Bunny Matthews‘ take on allegory and Carnival themes, as channeled through Nat’ly Broussard, who in one devastating cartoon skewers all sides. Nat’ly, who you have to imagine, is simply talking on the phone:

Vic? Nuh uh. He’s at a Krewe meetin’…yeah…nuh uh…dey decidin’ on da theme fo’ da truckfloat—eithuh “Greek Gods” or “Salute to Soaps”—so I guess I’m gonna be Aphrodite or Susan Lucci—one of dem! Rite—talk to ya later…

How do you plan on celebrating our little spring festival? I’m taking inspiration from Henri Schindler’s ancient Greeks and continue my quest for greener pastures and the remission of sins.

Addendum—Looka’ dis-Bunny Matthews takes you on a guided tour of A Carnival Ball In Municipal Auditorium.

The result is a comprehensive guide to early Louisiana furniture with over 550 pages and 1000 images. I’m not a furniture collector or scholar, but love the book for its comprehensive coverage of our history and culture as reflected in our natively-crafted decorative arts. Chapters on early cabinet makers, woods and hardware not only talk about the “nuts and bolts” of furniture making, but tell the stories of early Louisianians as their country changed from colonial French to Spanish, then to American control, influence and, finally, statehood. And it’s all beautifully illustrated with period maps and images in addition to the photographs of furniture.

The colonial times are interesting, as we forget that Louisiana once encompassed the entirety what is now the United States west of the Appalachians.

"La Louisiane et Pays Voisins" by Jacques Nicolas Bellin, 1763; The Historic New Orleans Collection, 1975.35.

Items of early Louisiana furniture are rare finds. Fire destroyed many a plantation home along the river over the years and most of the city of New Orleans—twice—in 1788 and 1794. Another hazard, flooding, is illustrated by this engraving of a levee breach near Bonnet Carré from 1871.

"The Landing Near Bonnet Carré" by Alfred Rudolph Waud, 1871; The Historic New Orleans Collection, gift of Harold Schilke and Boyd Cruise, 1953.100ii. Note the armoires and tables being rescued on the right.

Some of the stories are tales of intense research and detective work. City directories of the late 18th and early 19th centuries list many names that have the occupation of menuisier or ébéniste; cabinet and furniture makers and inlay specialists; however,  correlating a piece of furniture to a particular maker is often difficult as pieces were rarely signed. Vermin, mold and all the other hazards of a hot and humid climate destroyed paper labels.

To a certain extent, the story of a craftsman dubbed “The Butterfly Man” (for a signature device he used to join side panels) and the extant furniture attributed to him, make his armoire the star of the book.

Creole-style inlaid armoire, attributed to the “Butterfly Man,” 1810–1830, from the collection of Mr. and Mrs. Robert J. Patrick, New Orleans; photo by Jim Zietz.

Coming out of the collection from the Houmas House plantation in 2003, this armoire set a record for Louisiana furniture when it sold for $140,000. The detailed account of the experts who examined the armoire’s construction and style of its inlaid decorations in an attempt to identify its maker is one of the book’s engrossing mystery stories (in a geeky, research-y kind of way; not necessarily one for Scooby and the gang).

History buffs will also be interested in the account of Creole and Creole-style furniture found in the Mississippi Upper Valley—in Missouri, Indiana and Illinois, for example—and the appendix listing furniture makers found in early city directories and newspaper advertisements.

Furniture buffs can spend countless hours perusing the catalog that makes up the bulk of the book. Photos and descriptions of every piece of furniture the authors could get their hands on are displayed in sections divided by armoires, chairs, bedsteads, buffets, tables, utilitarian pieces and the furniture of the Upper Valley.

The book is available for pre-ordering online through the Historic New Orleans Collection’s website, and I assume at the Collection’s gift shop at 533 Royal St. when it arrives (which, they say, should be sometime next week (of Dec. 13). Check the website for updated information or call the shop at 598-7147.

The Collection’s Royal St. gallery now has an exhibit of Mignon Faget’s work throughout the years. The research center at 410 Chartres St. features an exhibit of early Louisiana furniture from the Magnolia Mound plantation in Baton Rouge and an exhibit of photographs documenting life in New Orleans’ 7th Ward.

Update: I mentioned artist Rolland Golden’s work in a previous post. Fourteen of the 32 or so works he painted in the wake of Hurricane Katrina and exhibited at NOMA were acquired by the Historic New Orleans Collection and New Orleans Museum of Art.

This isn’t new news, but I thought anyone who’s interested should know they are on display at the Collection’s Williams Research Center. It’s free and open to the public, so if you’re wandering around the quarter think about popping in. There’s the furniture, the paintings and the photography to peruse. While you’re there you can take a peek into the reading room upstairs. It’s an impressive space, the former courtroom of the building’s original incarnation as a police precinct and municipal courthouse. The Williams Research Center is open Tue-Sat and the gallery and gift shop on at 533 Royal from Tue-Sun. Both are free.

New Orleans Musical Legends Park is a little nook of sorts at 311 Bourbon, across from the Royal Sonesta hotel. The foundation that runs it has installed life-size bronze statues of NOLA entertainers Al Hirt, Pete Fountain, Fats Domino, Ronnie Kole and Chris Owens.

After years of lobbying and fundraising, the Prima family finally saw their patriarch get his due, his own statue in the park. The unveiling ceremony was a star-studded event, with Chris Owens, Ronnie Kole and Louis’ family present. Some of Louis’ pals from the old days were there. I met his son, Louis Jr. (who performed with the NOCCA Jazz Band) and one of his daughters, Joyce Prima. I also met Paul Ferrara, who was drummer for Louis’ band The Witnesses (and of course, Sam Butera) for a time, and Joe Segreto, who was Louis’ agent. Segreto now owns Eleven 79, a classic Italian restaurant at that address on Annunciation Street. Segreto gave a good talk, giving a nod to Eddie Sapir, who he said was instrumental in founding the park.

At the height of his Las Vegas career in the 1950s, Louis performed with his wife, Keely Smith, who many people still associate with him. Segreto gave a shout-out, however, to Gia Maione Prima, Louis’ wife and performing partner from 1963 until his death in 1978. In the 1950s, Louis had purchased some land in Covington where he built a home (and restaurant and golf course) named “Pretty Acres.” He and Gia raised their two children, Louis, Jr. and Lena, for most of their childhoods at Pretty Acres. Louis, Jr. and Lena live in Las Vegas now and both have successful music careers of their own, keeping their dad’s legacy alive. There’s a detailed story about Louis and Gia and Pretty Acres here, with lots of photos from the family’s days in Covington.

Louis would have turned 100 on Dec. 7 this year. Segreto paid tribute to Louis Prima’s importance to the city, saying, “He never failed to mention New Orleans no matter where he was. He is us. He is our fun. God bless you Chief, we love you.”

Louis Jr, Joyce Prima, Chris Owens and Councilwoman Jackie Clarkson.

Louis Prima, Jr. performs his dad’s classic Jump, Jive and Wail with the NOCCA Jazz Band.

Now, if I’d known
They’d line up just to see him
I’d trade in all my money
And bought me a museum
From Steve Martin’s blockbuster hit of the 70′s, King Tut, inspired by the exhibition touring America

I remember it being towards the end of King Tut’s NOLA reign, it was either in the fall or winter; I remember it being cold. Maybe that’s why I also remember not having to wait too terribly long in line to get in—or maybe my dad had bought a museum membership that year because members were admitted immediately—unlike many who had waited 8 or more hours for admission at some points during the exhibition.

The museum had been transformed into a tomb-like interior, they had constructed plywood paths taking you from from priceless artifact to priceless artifact, ultimately leading to the pharaoh’s solid-gold death mask. The sight of that mask up on a pedestal in its glass display case still comes to my mind when I hear the word “priceless,”  no matter in what context the word has been uttered.

Now, when I die
Now don’t think I’m a nut
Don’t want no fancy funeral
Just one like ole King Tut
(Steve Martin)

I’m telling you all this not just because of the impact it made on me (I rattle on like Grandpa Simpson every time I’m in front of NOMA—”King Tut came here and they painted this whole drive blue. Blue, I tells ya!!!”—to anyone within earshot) but because it marked the first big blockbuster exhibition brought to NOMA after John Bullard became director in 1973. He’s now Director Emeritus, having passed on the reigns to Director Susan Taylor, a passionate art lover and veteran museum administrator.

I had a chance to talk to Mr. Bullard as NOMA was gearing up for its latest exhibition, Great Collectors/Great Donors (links to Doug McCash’s nola.com article for more details), the first of many to celebrate the museum’s centennial in 2011. He told me the story behind King Tut’s arrival in New Orleans in 1977.

Egyptian president Anwar Sadat was looking for some extra PR for his country during the time of the Camp David peace negotiations between Egypt and Israel. The exhibit was presented as a gift to the American people in honor of the U.S. Bicentennial. A New Orleans businessman had heard about Egypt’s plans, and the lobbying for New Orleans began.

Mr. Bullard recalled, “Verna Landrieu was head of the local bicentennial commission, so she got Moon [Mayor Moon Landrieu] to go to Washington, D.C. to see the Egyptian ambassador and we had our congressional delegation going to see him as well. They did want a specific geographic distribution—Washington, New York, Chicago, Seattle, Los Angeles—and then they wanted somewhere in the south. I was somewhat skeptical this would happen; surely it would go to Houston or Dallas or Atlanta, where they had a bigger resident population.

“We made a good case, we talked about the two great delta cities in the world, and the Mississippi and the Nile, and they selected us. That was before we expanded in 1990 so the museum was not quite half the size it is now. We didn’t sell tickets in advance, so we had bleachers for people to wait in, and sometimes it was an 8-hour wait.”

The exhibit’s impact was enormous, and had far-reaching economic consequences for the city. “In a normal year before Tut, we would have had maybe a 100,000 visitors,” said Mr. Bullard. “In the four months of Tut we had 900,000 visitors—it was a transforming experience for the museum. It made the politicians and businessmen realize that a big exhibition could generate as much money as a Super Bowl, over a longer period of time, and with upscale visitors.”

Many big exhibits were to come. During his tenure, NOMA’s permanent collection expanded from just under 5,000 items to over 35,000 today. The latest exhibit, and the first to celebrate the museum’s 100th year, is called Great Collectors/Great Donors.  It is a history of the museum as seen through the works of art donated by patrons since NOMA opened as the Isaac Delgado Museum of Art. The name change to New Orleans Museum of Art came in 1971.

Mr. Bullard gives a thorough run-through of those great donors in the museum’s publication Arts Quarterly. (Click to download a pdf). It’s a fascinating tale that reaffirms our city’s interest and support for the arts.

John Bullard talks about the upcoming NOMA centennial and the Great Collectors/Great Donors exhibit. In the background, New Orleans Mayor Mitch Landrieu is either contemplating the occasion or planning on whose ass to kick next at City Hall.

Mr. Bullard walks us through Great Collectors/Great Donors. Looking on are two delightful ladies, Margarita Bergen (left) and Wendy Rodrigue. Margarita writes for NewOrleans.com and is in attendance at every event I have ever covered. Wendy is a NOMA board member and is married to George Rodrigue, whose work warranted its own mega-exhibition at NOMA back in 2008 (here is a post on the Blue Dog exhibit, and a little story about an encounter I had with Mr. Bullard then). She writes the blog Musings of an Artist's Wife, a must-read for any Blue Dog fan and a great place to see George's art, with the added bonuses of George's reminiscences about and Wendy's insight into the images he's produced over his career.

Mr. Bullard with what he said may be the rarest item in the museum, a Hawaiian god collected during Capt. Cook's ill-fated third visit to the islands.

The exhibit runs until January 23 and is a great chance to see all the best works that are in NOMA’s permanent collection. It’s a visual telling of how NOMA grew by donation to donation over the last 100 years. Many of the items are often on loan to other museums, so go while you have the chance! Check NOMA100.com and  NOMA.org for events, times and admissions policies. It’s free from noon to 8pm on Wednesdays and always free for members, so that’s a great reason to join. Centennial exhibits and activities continue through 2011.

About five other people stopped in their tracks coming out of the store, whipping out their phones to document the brief-lived wonder.

Later, I noticed a lot of Twitter activity and decided to round up all the photos I could find. The pics link back to their original posts. Thanks everyone!

I wish I had taken this one, the winner if this were actually a contest, from @mattjparks, Rainbow Over Dome (my title):

Here’s the French Quarter view, from @LunaNola, @CallMeAlva and @winshuttle:

And downtown from @BrittanyHornets:

Over the river from the Algiers ferry from @SHarney:

And more, from @necs, @NCantarano, @BigadShaban and @marcadelman:

1. Old New Orleans by Stanley Clisby Arthur. A walking tour of the French Quarter written by the man who also wrote Famous New Orleans Drinks & How to Make ‘Em. Old New Orleans is full of interesting historical tidbits; for example, the building that houses The Coffee Pot restaurant on St. Peter was the first home of Antoine’s Restaurant and the buildings known as the “Spanish Stables” on Gov. Nicholls are neither Spanish nor stables (alright, they were stables originally). They were built by a French Creole, Gallien Preval. An exile from the colony of San Dominque, he was an attorney, justice of the peace and judge who was fined for holding a ball on the premises without a permit. A ribald ditty about the dance was a popular tune in the African-American community. Preval also happened to be my great-great-great-great grandfather.
2. The Pirates Laffite: The Treacherous World of the Corsairs of the Gulf by William C. Davis. This is an interesting book I highly recommend to everyone interested in local history. Do you remember the movie Goodfellas? Where DeNiro and his gang would hijack trucks and steal their cargo, often with the cooperation of the drivers? Jean and Pierre Laffite built an empire doing the same with Spanish ships, whose captains tended to turn over control of their ships rather than risk injury and ill-treatment at the hands of the pirates. The Laffites then sold goods on Grand Terre island or shipped them to city via Bayou Barataria to New Orleans merchants, who avoided paying import duties. The brothers also sold hijacked slaves, a very lucrative business at a time when it was illegal to import slaves into United States territory.The Laffites’ story as told in the book is unseemly, however, at times, humorous and often complicated.  Beyond that, the book’s interest lies in Davis’ weaving in little known details of daily life in an era of change for Louisiana, as it transitioned from Spanish colony, to French colony and to American territory and statehood in 1812 and beyond.
3. New Orleans as It Was: Episodes of Louisiana Life by Henry C. Castellanos.This history of New Orleans was originally published in 1895. It’s a series of vignettes about life in the city, mostly from the early 1800′s to the 1860′s.
4. The World That Made New Orleans: From Spanish Silver to Congo Square by Ned Sublette. Sublette’s book is a thorough examination of the “gumbo” of French, Spanish, African and Haitian cultures that came together in the city’s first 100 years. He makes a strong and fascinating case that New Orleans culture would be far different— Mardi Gras Indians, the Second Line and jazz music may never have existed—had just a few things gone differently in the early days of the French colony.
5. Bienville’s Dilemma: A Historical Geography of New Orleans by Richard Campanella. An essential guide to understanding how the geography of New Orleans shaped its history from Native American times to post-Katrina. Campanella includes excerpts from the journals of the earliest Europeans to explore and settle the area. One memorable source is a young girl shipped off to New Orleans from France in care of the Ursulines nuns. Her letters back home to her father in the 1730′s give a portrait of the city not unlike what we know today…she says that the men of city are idle and lack industry; interested only in hunting and fishing. Add LSU football and we can see how things never changed around here.

It’s always been a great place to take pictures, and yesterday was no exception. No doom-and-gloom moody cemetery shots this year; it was a bright, clear day, the sun strong so that the marble structures seem to glow. I was struck more by the shapes and color rather than individual details and that’s what most of the photos below depict. The light was so bright coming off the marble the camera has to “squint,” the sky is underexposed and dark so that the marble isn’t completely washed out.

While the big Voodoo fest (not so much the Afro-Caribbean religion, but music) was going on in City Park, someone started a staged a voodoo ceremony at Marie Laveau’s alleged tomb as I was getting ready to leave. It’s the last picture in the set. I was told it was being filmed as a promo for groups offering destination weddings for goth types: “Vampire Weddings” and “Voodoo Weddings.” I thought the Haunted History tours were enough of all that. Oy. Isn’t New Orleans interesting enough without having to make stuff up? But, as the Yat Pundit said, “I‘m always amazed at the things that make a buck in this town.” So it’s a good thing, right?

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.

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?

Mr. Francis has dedicated himself to preserving two big traditions from African-American New Orleans: the Mardi Gras Indians and the Second Line. I talked to him a little while when I dropped in last week. We were talking about how the Mardi Gras Indian tradition got started. He said the traditional explanation was that a Buffalo Bill Wild West show came to New Orleans, a spectacular featuring hundreds of cowboys and Indians, and the African Americans were inspired to mask as Indians. Not so. “It comes from the black man wanting to do his own thing, something on Carnival other than pulling floats and carrying lights.”

He let me take some photos inside, above is a sample. Most of those costumes were given to the museum by Big Chief Victor Harris of the Mandigo Warriors and Spirit of Fi-Yi-Yi and Fi-Yi-Yi.

I told him I’d never seen an Indian on Mardi Gras day. He told me to come back on Carnival. The Indians all stop by around 12:30.

So, for the first time in a long while, I went downtown for Carnival. Nolanotes joined me, she wrote a post about the whole thing today that’s more than I could have come up with. Here are some more pictures from today: Indians, costumed passers-by and a walking club called the Northside Skull Gang. Pretty scary get-ups, but as Nola notes, everyone was super friendly.

The Skulls were leading a gospel tribute to Antoinette K-Doe, who died Mardi Gras day.

All in all, it was a great Carnival season, thanks to Nola and family’s hospitality and the company of some bloggers–Daisy Duke, in from Chicago, Stacey, Lisa (from Pennsylvania), Katie and Loulou, who came all the way from France to enjoy Mardi Gras.

It is unique among all Mardi Gras parades in the city because it alone carries on the old traditions of Carnival celebrations, by using decorated mule-drawn floats with satirical themes, accompanied by costumed revelers dancing in the streets to the sounds of jazzy street musicians.

Unlike last year, where temperatures were in low 30′s, the weather was rather pleasant this year. I went wandering around before the parade kicked off. Down to the newly-renovated French Market. Unfortunately, it’s not so much a farmer’s produce market, it looks more, like Master Shake once said, “like a flea market threw up in here.” Because it is a flea market now. With stuff like this:

Because we know nothing says “New Orleans” like
gator heads, beads and Bourbon Street signs.

Moving on: Back at Royal and Gov. Nichols for the parade, I was well-armed. Camera. Absinthe. Rye. Peychaud’s. Everything needed for a batch of Sazeracs. We were invited to watch the parade from my sister’s landlord’s balcony, and didn’t hesitate to accept the hospitable perch. Nola noted we might not get some of the goodies that are handed out by marchers, and we would miss out on some of the up-close raunchiness. But the photo ops were great, and many beads were nonetheless scored.

This year’s theme was “Krewe du Vieux’s Stimulus Package.”

The guy in the back”s costume says, “I got your stimulus
package right here,” with an arrow pointing to his crotch.

The parade ended and the crowd moved down Royal.

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.”

I guess I hadn’t paid much attention to it after I had copied it. Reading it now, it strikes me that they sure knew how to write an obit back then. I knew very little about him, as I had concentrated my research only on my direct line of ancestors on my father’s side.  But I learned a few things, and hope someone writes as well about me when the time comes.

The deceased at the time of his death was 65 years and 8 months old, and had been a resident of the city of New Orleans for over half a century. Born in the city of Paris, France, the deceased came to the Crescent City when quite a youth and soon entered the cotton business.
…

In all his business associations, the deceased was proven to be a man of the strictest commercial integrity, and as his experiences were grounded on close personal relations at home and abroad, it is not surprising that his work was always marked by gratifying  conclusions.

He was living at 1726 Carondolet at the time. Looking at the Google street view, that address is now a parking lot at the downtown riverside corner of Polymnia, surrounded by empty lots and abandoned buildings, your basic Central City shithole of an area.

That’s too bad; for he must have had a fine home. The obit notes:

The deceased’s home existence was particularly delightful. Himself a man of high artistic tastes, the deceased surrounded himself with all those elements that render domestic living additionally charming. Mr. _____ came from a distinguished ancestry, one of his uncles being a gallant soldier, a colonel in the French army, who died on the field of battle, and another an artist of note, whose works have frequently adorned the walls of the Louvre.

Some of the above information is incorrect. His father (my great-great-great grandfather), not his uncle—although there may have been an uncle in the military as well, there were many siblings—was a colonel in the French Army. He died not on the field of battle, but in Piraeus, Greece, of typhus en route to the Crimea in 1855.  There was an uncle, Amedee _____ who was an artist. Whether his work hung in the Louvre or not I don’t know, it’s quite possible. We do know some of his work is in the collection at Versailles, though, and we own a portrait he painted of who we believe to be either my great-great or great-great-great grandfather, in complete military regalia.

Which brings us to the title of today’s post. As if all of this very complimentery prose was not enough, the obituary writer added:

The deceased was personally a gentleman of the most charming character. He had all of the savoir faire of the old school about him, and was highly thought of socially.

Which leads me to a difficult conclusion. I’m going to have to write my own obituary, and adopt a lot of my great-great grand uncle Paul’s. Either that, or write something along the lines of Royal Tenenbaum’s fictional eptitaph:

Died Tragically Rescuing His Family From The Remains Of A Destroyed Sinking Battleship.

Any suggestions?