Welcome to all the visitors from New Farm. I promise this is a blog about farms, but I had to write about New Orleans, as it is dear to my heart. Pictured at left, an above-ground cemetery in New Orleans. Because of the water table, all cemeteries are like these, with ornate tombs. It seemed appropriate to use this picture here.
"Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans"
Louis Armstrong
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
And miss it each night and day
I know I'm not wrong... this feeling's gettin' stronger
The longer, I stay away
Miss them moss-covered vines...the tall sugar pines
Where mockin'birds used to sing
And I'd like to see that lazy Mississippi...hurryin' into spring
The moonlight on the bayou.......a Creole tune.... that fills the air
I dream...about magnolias in bloom......and I'm wishin' I was there
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
When that's where you left your heart
And there's one thing more...I miss the one I care for
More than I miss New Orleans
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(All photographs of New Orleans were taken by me in 1982.)
I spent ten days in New Orleans for my twenty-third birthday, which always coincides with the Jazz and Heritage Festival. I stayed with my dance partner from college, Gregg, in a hundred-year old house off St. Charles--a house that will almost certainly not survive the flooding from Hurricane Katrina.
Gregg grew up in Metairie, and he was working at Commander's Palace while putting himself through law school. His mother and I ate dinner there (for free), and the chef pulled out all the stops for us. There was crawfish bisque, and oysters, and crab, and crawfish étoufée. There was Bananas Foster, and I was over the moon.
I
also had crawfish étoufée at K-Paul's Kitchen, where I lunched alone at
a communal table with three friendly strangers. I had Louisiana
strawberries, small and sweeter than any strawberry I've ever had in my
life. They remain the standard by which every strawberry I eat is
measured, and no one has ever matched them.
Gregg and I took the St. Charles street car out to a little shack on the edge of town and ate oyster po' boys and muffalettas washed down with ice cold beer. We had beignets dusted with confectioner's sugar and chicory coffee at Cafe du Monde. We went bar-hopping and danced until three in the morning at Tipitina's, and I had to change my shirt because I was drenched in perspiration.
One night, we spread newspaper on
his kitchen table, and made a mess of crawfish, which I happily sucked
faces off until they were gone. They even made beer taste good.
We strolled the French Quarter and had cocktails in a dark and smoky bar late in the afternoon. I went by myself to the Jazz and Heritage Festival out at the fairgrounds, and I had platefuls of amazing food there, including my first encounter with alligator. Tasty! I got swept away in the gospel tent, which had one black choir after another singing the best gospel I've ever heard. I got bored in the Dixieland tent, filled with white people clapping on the downbeat. I saw Little Ida and I saw Clifton Chenier and I heard Rockin' Sidney sing, "Don't Mess with My Toot Toot" for the first time (on the radio).
I saw some of the most beautiful people in the world there: I'd never seen mixed races in any great number, and was transfixed by a golden brown woman coming down the escalator in the airport. She remains in my memory as the single most beautiful female I've ever laid eyes on.
New
Orleans officially turned me into a foodie. I'd been a beanpole since I
was little, and I gained weight for the first time ever. EVER. I came
home ten pounds heavier: a pound a day. Of course it came right off
when I went back to work, because on a busy, long shift, I'd walk ten
miles working at the restaurant.
It was the best vacation of my life, as good as the two weeks I spent in Italy, because I was with Gregg, who was exceedingly well-connected in the community, and who I know now was a burgeoning foodie himself. His mother had me over to tea, and I experienced a proper Southern tea for the first time in my life. Little crustless sandwiches with cream cheese and cucumbers. I'd forgotten all about them until I opened this door in my memory.
I've
been telling Bob for years how much he would love it there, and we've
come close to planning a trip there several times but it just never
came together.
I interviewed Sonny Landreth once, who wrote "Congo Square" for the Neville Brothers...who are also from New Orleans, and whom I've seen live. The Subdudes lost all their equipment in the flood, and there is a fundraiser for them here soon.
And now I look at those suffering people and my heart just breaks. I can't imagine their hell.
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According to "America's Oldest Journal Covering the Newspaper Industry," the Editor & Publisher, this catastrophe might have been greatly lessened. The New Orleans
Times-Picayune repeatedly raised federal spending issues, citing the
deteriorated condition of the levees and their inability to withstand a
hurricane of any magnitude.
Read the fine print, folks. It's horrifying.
People without food and water for five days? Are you KIDDING ME? This is America! The sad truth is that, just as the famine in Africa is being ignored, because those are the poorest people in the world, the poorest people in the country are being ignored right now. Bob told me that in World War II, the government comandeered ocean liners to house people. They could do that right now, but they do not care.
Go to see what Michael Moore has to say. He's always grimly entertaining, and there are good resources linked on his site for ways to help. Send money, that's best.
This is worth reading: some stuff about the history of New Orleans that I never knew. Like this: "When the town's first census was taken, its population consisted of 470 individuals -- 277 whites, 172 black slaves, and 21 enslaved native people. Yet by 1810, freed blacks and refugees from the plantation economies of the Caribbean gave New Orleans the largest population of 'free people of colour' in the United States. Interracial liaisons were commonplace, and when the Civil War began fifty years later, hundreds of blacks volunteered to fight on the side of the Confederacy."
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WEEKEND CAT BLOGGING. We have three kitties, and this one is the best. Originally named "Furby" because of his tufted ears, he was renamed "Cricket" by Bob's younger daughter. His twin, Kitty Bitty (aka Kitty Bitchy), is a black-and-white puffpall who could pass for Pepy Le Pew's girlfriend. Their mother, Sweetie, is a tiny grey-and-white short hair, and she's a little skittish. They all pay the rent with gophers.
Cricket here is hanging out by Logan's toybox, probably wishing Logan were here. You can see Logie's Farmer McDonald tractor and the farm animals. That little tractor has probably traveled a half a mile, given that he's had it since Christmas and it goes ten feet every time you push the little orange horn on the front. I hadn't even thought about the farm connection when I got it for him, but it's his favorite toy.
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I visited the UCSC Farm and Garden farm stand this afternoon: first time! The produce was glorious: I bought two and a half pounds of shelling beans and some fingerling potatoes. I'll post some more pictures when I get a chance later, but that sunflower was one of a host of bouquets that remained by the time I got there. I'll go earlier next time! They offer two markets weekly, on Tuesdays and Fridays between noon and 6 p.m. A resourceful person could hit that market and then head down to the West Side market in front of Kelly's Bakery on Swift Street.
TRAVEL NOTES: we ate Wednesday at Boulette's Larder in San Francisco. It was super, and I can't wait to return. The photo at left is the sardines with white beans and yellow carrots. Dear God, this was so good, as was the marinated quail with farm vegetables. If Lori Regis tells you what to order, obey her.
I read something recently at DonRockwell.com, in a tribute to chef Susan McCreight Lindeborg. In the sixth post on the page, Terry Thiese (he is one of the world's most respected writers on wine), said of her particular cooking, "[M]y definition of 'girl-food' is it's not only food you love, it's food that loves you back. It doesn't seek to 'impress' though it often does. It wraps you in a nexus of appreciation for the honesty and beauty of ingredients. It's the difference between 'look at ME!!' and 'Look at THESE!' The first is I-thou, I-the-diner looks at you-the-chef (and is impressed); the second is companionable and collaborative - I-the-diner and she-the-chef look TOGETHER at the beauty she has found and seeks to share. It also lays more emphasis on deliciousness than on dazzling. It's got juicier soul." That's how this food was for me.
Also coming up: my Eat Local Challenge write-up. The overriding impression that remains from the Challenge is that produce is easily acquired, but the proteins are much more expensive.
I was relieved to go to Costco today and buy organic eggs: $2 for 18 eggs. I doubt they will be as good as those from TLC Ranch or Everett Farm, but for everyday use, they'll be fine. I hope. I'm still going to get a TLC chicken (maybe two) from Jim on Sunday, and I'm pretty excited about that.
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NEWS FLASH: this is easily the stupidest non-government thing I've heard all day. All week. All year. The website, eGullet (where I am a Legacy Participant, aka "proud gadfly pointing out their hypocrisy about supporting sustainable agriculture who was given the heave-ho, or 'banned' "), has deteriorated so badly and lost so much credibility in recent months, and this absolutely takes the cake. It's a classic stance that makes them look like completely uninformed and uncaring people. Yesterday, one of the minions for management instructed eG members that "discussing the mechanics of composting...is not a food- or cooking-related topic, and therefore it's not permitted." What the _______? Compost is only about food.
I'm sure that discussing whether food that is grown with Roundup and chemicals from the humanitarians at Monsanto that would kill farm workers if they were exposed is healthier for you than food that's grown responsibly and sustainably sure as hell is food-related. And though they claim not to allow any discussion of politics whatsoever, an earlier post from another minion using the phrase "tree hugging" is allowed to stand.
For the record, because they could not control the content of my blog, nor the direction that the thread I started about small farms was taking, they locked the thread and kicked me out. There are a few good members there, but eGullet's seen better days and those better days are a thing of the past.
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THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: You must give some time to your fellow men. Even if it's a little thing, do something for others - something for which you get no pay but the privilege of doing it. —Albert Schweitzer (1875 - 1965)
New Orleans, you're on my mind.
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