I’m not going to go into a lot of detail about the show. It’s been picked up, turned over, looked at; put down, picked up again; dissected and examined even further by a squadron of NOLA bloggers at Back of Town. The creator/executive producer David Simon made an introductory statement for the locals’ behalf in the paper and gave a detailed post-mortem on the show after the last episode aired. The Gambit ran a pretty thorough article profiling the real New Orleanians on whom some of the characters were loosely based. The paper’s (and Nola.com’s) TV writer Dave Walker did a great job throughout the show’s run with explanatory posts and articles on the production’s  workings behind-the-scenes. His latest article examines the bloggers keeping track of the show, Back of Town in particular. (Aptly described therein by co-founder Maitri as “part local insider celebration and critique of the show, and part support group.”) 

My take on it was mixed. Over all, I liked the show, its phenomenal music and think it is a great vehicle to showcase New Orleans music and musicians to non-locals (and, for much of the music and musicians, a lot of locals, including myself). The writing was great, there was much attention to detail and a great effort to get the city’s cultural details correct (for a change–portrayals of New Orleans in the cinema and on TV have historically been atrocious). The acting, for the most part, was first-rate, the exceptions being performances by non-actors or first-time actors. But the plot(s)–many layers for many characters–though well-thought and fleshed out, are set against a backdrop in time I’d rather not have to examine again. And a lot of it seems forced, as if they wanted to cram as much NOLA culture into one season as they could, not knowing until much of the production had wrapped up that there would be a second season (which will begin production in September of 2010). As much as I enjoyed Treme and was rooting for it to surpass it, my pick for most creative, well-written and well-produced show I’ve watched remains HBO’s Deadwood.

I came to accept Treme as David Simon’s work of art. Each episode a painting; New Orleans the canvas and its residents and culture his art supplies. From what I’ve read in blog comments and on Twitter, not everyone necessarily appreciates being used like that, and that’s o.k., too. I can understand that.

Part 2 is going to be a post about the back of town culture that for many was a hidden aspect of the city that was brought to light in Treme, and the story of its one of its finest preservationist, Mr. Ronald Lewis, and his museum, The House of Dance and Feathers.

It was a subdued opening with a small but engaged crowd wandering about. A gallery along one side of SoFAB has been dedicated to movie posters, production stills and other documents chronicling Louisiana’s continued role in the motion picture industry since 1908 and the film Faust (not sure what the Louisiana connection is) and the 1912 silent feature A Bucktown Romance.

Speaking of Bucktown romances, I was always enamored of Bruning’s whole broiled flounder (and my fave bread pudding); the restaurant’s original Bucktown building was damaged by Hurricane Georges in 1998 and the restaurant moved to a modern building across the canal on West End. It was the third oldest restaurant in the city and its renowned  bar, built in the late 1800s, survived Georges but was swept into Lake Pontchartrain along with Bruning’s original building (still waiting repair from Georges) and the rest of Bucktown and West End by Hurricane Katrina. Bruning’s bar was rescued from the bottom of the lake, restored and now is a centerpiece of SoFAB.

The film museum is a nice little addition. Its web site, LouisianaFilm.org is a great resource with a comprehensive Louisiana filmography. At the opening, and in a total moment of NOLA randomness, Mardi Gras Indians showed up. Although I’ve gotten over any romance I may have had with the post-K resurgence of the fleur de lis, I was briefly smitten by this young lady’s shoulder-blade tattoo  playing peek-a-boo with her ponytail while she was talking to one of the Indians.

I love taking pictures at sunset, and I love being near the river.  A very pleasant evening at the Riverwalk, including a passing parade of ships. A parade, floating, but no floats and no beads.

Stacey was there, selling merchandise for a band called the Tin Men. Not being as plugged into the local music scene as she, I asked, “So what kind of music do they play? Funk?” “Well,” she says, “It’s a guitar, a washboard and a Sousaphone player, um…” She turned to a friend and asked him how he would describe their music. “Tin Men are the world’s foremost guitar, washboard and Sousaphone trio in the world.” Which, of course, didn’t answer the question but made me curious enough to check them out.

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They were absolutely correct.

My favorite FFQ food through the years has been Tujaque’s brisket. It’s boiled tender and served with a horseradish-based Creole sauce.

I had started with some Pork Cheek Confit served with dirty rice from Emeril’s Delmonico, who shared a booth with Emeril’s NOLA. NOLA served ribs with slaw; I think it was both their first year participating in the festival.

To run down what followed: a Mrs. Wheat’s meat pie, Antoine’s shrimp regue (cross between a ravigote and a remoulade, they said; it was fantastic) and some ribs from Bywater BBQ.

The rain held off for the day, I hope it will for the next two days, too. I ran into J. Brown with the New Orleans Art Association; the weather had her kind of nervous about hanging art in Pirate’s Alley for their show this weekend.

On the way back to the car I ran into an impromptu block party at Antoine’s. That merits a separate post.

So here’s “da bunnies.”

It ends up that it’s not part of Prospect.1, but part of a project by the Arts Council of New Orleans called “Art in Public Places.” A grant from the Joan Mitchell Foundation is financing the project, 19 other installations can be found around town. Here’s T-P art critic Doug McCash’s run-down of the project.

The bunnies are by artist Alex Podesta. They’re actually self-portrait mannequins. McCash called “them Bugs Bunny meets the Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” Podesta has featured the bunnymen (is one named Echo?) in an exhibit at the CAC earlier this year and explains the meaning behind the madness here, and there’s a harrowing tale of bunnies on fire here.

The installation on top of the Falstaff Brewery building are not the first sculpture to adorn the top of that industrial complex turned condos. King Gambrinus has ruled over the area for ages. The Podesta clone/bunnies lording over the back of the brewery are called City Watch, which leads to the title of the post. It reminded me of the soon-to-be-released superhero-type Watchmen movie, and the phrase behind that title, “who’s watching the watchmen?” After all, I look forward to the day when a bunch of cloned guys in bunny suits are all the superheroes New Orleans will need.

These steps out at NOMA are part of Art in Public Places, too. (The trailer is part of Prospect.1, Paul Villinski’s Emergency Response Studio). Titled STePs HoME, artist Dawn DeDeaux has placed the lighted steps at NOMA and Loyola University, other venues are coming, and eventually they’ll all be gathered together as one large installation.

Here’s another Art in Public Places installation. Like the bunnies and the steps we didn’t know what this was when inadvertantly stumbling on it while photographing streetcars. It’s Scrap House by artist Sally Heller.

So as one public art project leaves town, there’s more coming to see. And you can always chase down streetcars.

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

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

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

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

Quote of the day:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Official Sazerac Cocktail

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tales of the Cocktail runs through July 12, 2009.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pirates gathered and ready for blood.

The battle was hard fought.

The carnage, horrendous.

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

Pirates celebrate their victory. Arrrrrgh, matey.

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.

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.

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.

Baby Sun was also along and she seemed to be utterly fascinated by the traffic passing by our sidewalk table. Conversation was light; there was some talk about etiquette on twitter and a re-cap of a twit fight that occurred earlier in the day.

The highlight of the day was a young tattooed blond-headed girl who decided to panhandle our table. She said they gave her coffee, but she really needed some money for food.

It ends up Ryan had brought along some of the shrimp remoulade he wrote about for everyone to taste. Rather than give her money, he gave her the last of the shrimp, which by the way, were mighty tasty. The girl may have been disappointed that she didn’t snag any cash, but she did eat the shrimp right away and pronounced them “really good.”

Is there a lesson in this for us all?

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.

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!

So, after a trip to Lombard Street (see picture of famous crooked street), we took the cable car all the way to back to Market Street, and caught a bus in the general direction of where the restaurant appeared to be located.

We were kind of lost, but I having just looked at the guidebook I knew Yank Sing had a Stevenson Street address but could not find it on the map. When we got off the bus at the end of the line, I looked up and there was Stevenson. A one-half block stroll down got us to our destination.

We walked in, got a table and the first cart by was this Peking Duck.

Dim sum is served here by waitresses rolling carts of food, usually contained in steaming bamboo containers, around the restaurant and explaining to the guests what the delights contained therein. Several carts came by with a variety of items–spicy chicken chunks swimming in a sea of dried chiles. Chicken in foil, which the waitress explained was like barbecued chicken. Crab claws, and shrimp with stir-fried walnuts.

The house soup dumplings were the first offering, the technique for eating them was demonstrated by the waitress. First she put a small dish of a red, I believe, plum-based sauce with slivers of ginger on the table, and filled up a Chinese soup spoon from the dish. The soup dumpling went into this soup spoon pool and then into waiting hungry mouth.

The chicken in foil was messy, yet tasty. I put a few drops of chile oil on everything except the spicy chicken, which just seemed like overkill.

A great meal overall, and the kind of experience I was hoping to find in San Francisco. Thanks, Nola!

No, not that one.

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

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

Also in an abbreviated version for sidebar insertion:

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

You won’t notice it while driving down Tulane, nor can you see it from the interstate. I thought the statue was of Falstaff, the Shakespeare character the beer brand was named for. Nola found it was something else and sent me a link to a 2005 Gambit post.

The large gentleman hoisting a stein is King Gambrinus, a 12th century Flemish nobleman who, according to legend, brewed the world’s first barrel of beer. In reality, some form of beer is known to have existed thousand of years earlier. Nevertheless, King Gambrinus — invariably portrayed with foaming goblet held high in mid- toast — has long been established as a symbol of the universal and eternal regard for beer.

King Gambrinus is known as “the patron saint of beer” and for years has been used as the universal symbol of beer and brewing. Many brewers in the late 19th century used his image to promote their products, and life-size statues of the king adorned breweries everywhere.

The tower on top of the building is an interesting item. Lighted letters spell out Falstaff along the shaft; at top is a large lighted ball.

When I was in grammar school, we lived across the river in Algiers. My grandmother lived in Mid City, near the Fairgrounds. We would pass the brewery on the interstate when we went to visit, and I remember the activity of the lights on the tower. Sometimes the top ball would be different colors. The letters themselves would light up from the top to the bottom or bottom to top.

I never knew what it meant, but I remember an advertisement at my grandmothers’s house–on a book of matches or a calendar or flyer–at my grandparents that explained the lights indicated the weather. After that, my brother and I would try to figure out what the lights were trying to say every time we saw them after that. As the Gambit piece explains:

When the light was green, we could expect fair weather, but a red light meant cloudy skies. A flashing red light told of us rain coming. The Falstaff letters lit from the bottom up to signify rising temperatures and lit from top to bottom to indicate dropping temperatures.

I told her my take on it: It happens all the time, too often for it to really mean anything. At least twice a week someone says something on TV and then I’ll surf to another (I’m an awful channel surfer. Any lull in the action or the hint of commercial break, I’m moving on) and low and behold, the same topic on a completely unrelated show on an unrelated channel.

“Plate o’ shrimp.” I said.
“What?”
“Have you seen Repo Man?”
“No.”
“Forget it.”

I was thinking about a scene from one of my favorite ’80s movies, which I thought pretty well summed-up the “coincidence mystery” in life.

We moved on, talking about the milkshake scene in There Will Be Blood and I told her about the YouTube video mash-up of the “I drink your milkshake” scene and the stupid Kellis pop-tune Milkshake. Nola’s never heard of Milkshake (or Repo Man either–coincidence? Hmmmm.)

Ten minutes after this conversation I get home, turn on the TV, it’s Family Guy, and Peter Griffin is doing—what?—the Milkshake song. I fire off an email to Nola, letting her know this, and reiterate as follows: Coincidences happen too often to have any meaning.

Unless they have meaning. To you.

(Which brings up a freaky coincidental movie reference to Katie’s favorite movie, No Country for Old Men, where sociopath-killer guy tells mild-mannered everyman, “Don’t put it in your pocket. It’s your lucky quarter. … it’ll get mixed in with the others and become just a coin. Which it is.”)

Otherwise, it’s just “plate o’ shrimp” from Repo Man:

A lot o’ people don’t realize what’s really going on. They view life as a bunch o’ unconnected incidents ‘n things. They don’t realize that there’s this, like, lattice o’ coincidence that lays on top o’ everything. Give you an example; show you what I mean: suppose you’re thinkin’ about a plate o’ shrimp. Suddenly someone’ll say, like, plate, or shrimp, or plate o’ shrimp out of the blue, no explanation. No point in lookin’ for one, either. It’s all part of a cosmic unconsciousness.

“Dude, you shouldn’t have given it to me, it’s the Holy Grail.”
“It’s been sitting right there. What do you mean?”
“I looked on eBay for one. There was one from 2007, I e-mailed the guy to see if he had a 2006. He didn’t and didn’t know where to get one.”
“eBay? Jesus, give it back.”
“No.”

I could not find my copy, nor Nola hers, when we were posting about the parades this year. So in coming days as I warm up the scanner we’ll have visions of floats depicting D’Olympic events like “Refrigerator Hurling,” “Looter Shooting,” “Insurance Adjuster Wrestling” and “Breach Volleyball.”

It was turned out to be a great bloggers night out. Nola, her husband CS, Leigh of Liprap’s Lament and her husband Dan, as well as the original Bonerama freak herself, Stacey, were in attendance. According to Stacey, we just missed another blogger, Lisa.

I know I’m going to lose some points off of my card-carrying New Orleanian card—I’ve never before seen the band nor been to the Rock ‘n Bowl. They rocked the hometown crowd, fresh off a recent appearance on Letterman and some other dates around the country.

The Times-Picayune wants to know whose love reigns supreme?

That Valentine’s E-Card in your mailbox may be a virus.

No Valentines for you! At least not in Kuwait. Or Saudi Arabia, nor roses or anything else red in Saudi Arabia, either.

It’s even Valentine’s Day in Botswana.

For the cynics out there, a short and bloody history of Valentine’s Day.

And finally, in a fit of timely journalism on a slow news day, Time Magazine reports on a romantic breakthrough taking place among our primate brethern (get ready to go, “Ewwww”).