Sometimes it’s worthwhile to make a trip to the wrong side of the tracks.
The streetcar tracks, that is. Most of the dining action Uptown is between the River and St Charles Avenue, centering around Magazine Street. But if you turn the other way off the Avenue down Soniat toward Claiborne you can find your way to Gautreau’s, one of the best restaurants in this or any other NOLA neighborhood. Continue reading
Don’t trifle with my drug of choice. Ever.
Coffee is and always has been a significant part of my life. I grew up with a little coffee in my milk, which I think it made me feel like I was connecting with my mom. She literally required a minimum of 2 cups prior to her feet touching the floor each morning. I bet my husband would argue that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree because as I have scribed in the past, I need vast amounts of morning joe myself. Our beginning-the-day ritual involves me showering and then promptly joining my puppy on the couch with my first cup. Continue reading
I was over the Atlantic, halfway between Spain and America, the first time I heard Amy Winehouse. It was March 2007 during a ten-hour flight on rock hard Iberia Airlines seats, and I was bored enough to check the in-flight music.
Meet you downstairs in the bar and hurt,
Your rolled up sleeves in your skull t-shirt,
You say “what did you do with him today?”
And sniff me out like I was Tanqueray
Amy Winehouse was nothing to me. I didn’t know what she looked like, where she was from, or what her story was. I’d never heard of her before, so the song came to me oddly free of any media wrapping paper. And it stopped me cold. Continue reading
Lionel Ferbos is the oldest performing musician on earth.
That’s my claim, not his, and I’m not entirely sure it’s accurate, but Ferbos turned 100 Saturday, so there can’t be many rivals for the title.
My youngest daughter and I were lucky recipients of an invite from a friend to see the trumpet player perform at Palm Court this past Friday night on the eve of his centennial. I’d seen him before at Preservation Hall and the Blue Nile, but for some reason never at his home base on lower Decatur. I’m glad we made it. Continue reading
If he’s not careful, Donald Link might just get famous.
Yeah, I know: too late. The beans, fresh and perfectly prepared no doubt, have long been spilled on the award-winning Link, and with good reason.
When friends visit from elsewhere, his well-known Cochon is at the top of my list of suggestions for the simple reason that it is far and away the best representation of South Louisiana indigenous cuisine available in New Orleans. (There is another reason I provide this guidance. Everyone with a bit of sense knows there are some very sketchy neighborhoods in NOLA. If a friend or relative made a wrong turn and wandered in Mulate’s or Michaul’s I’d never forgive myself.)
But enough about that. Donald Link’s doing more than ham hocks and moonshine, and he’s doing it at Herbsaint, his lively and decidedly less rustic bistro on Saint Charles Avenue.
Kicking back at the Grand Canyon Lodge, North Rim
This is likely going to piss some people off, but why should my husband have the monopoly on that? I just don’t love Las Vegas. He Said and I had each been before, but never together, so I was hoping for an unforgettable experience on our recent visit. What I got was unforgettably lack-luster. Each year I attend a particular conference that bounces from city to city and the husband and I try to book a little getaway around the work stuff since my flight is already paid for. We call this a subsidized vacation, and I am always in favor of some assistance in that department.
Last year the conference was in Baltimore, so we spent some wonderful days in D.C. with friends afterward. Friends with a spare house on Capitol Hill are a very good thing (thanks, J&J!) The year before, we parlayed San Francisco into a trip to Napa guided by some California friends who arranged a limo pickup for a day of tasting that turned into a near-death experience complete with wholly inappropriate hot tub shenanigans and late-night In and Out Burger (for those of us still functional) So, many thanks to J&T for that one. Continue reading
We’re now more than halfway through, and 2011′s got a lot of work to do if it wants to ascend to the status of even a mediocre year.
Maybe I’m biased, perception skewed by a chef’s table bacchanal at Commander’s in March that set an impossibly high standard. On the other hand, shouldn’t you be able to get an amazing meal somewhere south of $500? Is that too much to ask?
What does it say about us when the most noteworthy openings this year are for places that specialize in children’s birthday food? Burgers, hot dogs, donuts. Is there a gourmet fish-stick destination in the planning stages yet? Have you had the high-end PB&J? Seven-grain bread milled by hand using traditional Anasazi methods topped by Ecuadorian fair-trade peanut butter and organic Polyface farms blackberry jelly. I’m sure it’s on a menu somewhere around town. Do I get a sticker and a juice box with that? Continue reading