After Hurricane Katrina, my community of family and friends was flung from San Francisco to Austin, Atlanta and everywhere in-between: Memphis, Indianapolis, DC, Houston, rural Louisiana, etc.  But the place I felt most at home, in spite of the fact that none of my family or closest friends were here, was NYC.  Simply because here, I can more easily experience the best aspects of New Orleans culture – food, music, art, architecture, drinking – than in any other city in the world.  New Orleans and New York have a special affinity for one another, and there is virtually no New Orleans specialty that New York cannot provide.  (I’ll argue the opposite as well in another piece.)

So for me, New York is like a giant playground of my favorite NOLA things – fried oysters, jazz, street ignorance, festivals, strong cocktails – interspersed with pockets of genuine NOLA lovers, folks who really do “know what it means” to miss New Orleans and are committed to keeping the love of the place alive in their hearts.  What’s even better is that there is a strong community of folks that works to ensure that NOLA music and culture is consistently brought to New York and exposed to new audiences: the NOLAFunk guys, as well as the venues Sullivan Hall, Highline Ballroom, Terminal 5, a bunch of places in Williamsburg, and more I’m sure that I’m overlooking.  I mean, Trombone Shorty headlined the Red Hot + New Orleans at BAM and it was outstanding.

More fun on a daily basis, however, is rooting out restaurants that dabble in NOLA cuisine.  NOLA’s culinary charms have drawn many an aspiring chef to its bosom, and many of those chefs eventually land in New York.  I stumbled onto this affinity purely coincidentally.  Fried oysters happen to be my favorite seafood dish – I used to eat a 12″ fried oyster po-boy about twice a week in NOLA – and it was in the course of hunting them down in New York that I realized that every place that ended up having a delicious fried oyster had a chef that either was from New Orleans or trained in New Orleans, or spent time living there.  Here’s a roundup of my favorite NOLA/NOLA-influenced (note I said *my* favorite; I’ve never been to Mara’s Homemade or Bourbon Street mostly b/c I think they’re tacky – hello purple, green, and gold exterior – AND I’ve heard mixed reviews from folks whose tastebuds I trust. So they’re not included):

Blue Ribbon

Eric and Bruce Bromberg are music aficionados who are no stranger to NOLA’s charms.  Eric Bromberg attended Tulane while pursuing a music career in NOLA, which is all the validation I need that he *knows* NOLA food.  Then they both went to Cordon Bleu.  I love every recipe they’ve ever touched.

The fable of their humble beginnings goes that they wanted to make a restaurant where they as food- and music- industry folk getting off work late could get great food – not pizza/hamburgers, etc – so their restaurant was one of the first with a kitchen staying open until 4:00 AM.  Ten restaurants later, we know it worked.  I’ve only eaten at four out of the 10, but I’ve never ever been disappointed.

Needless to say, It was like music to my ears when Blue Ribbon Sushi opened a location behind the Time Warner Center.  I no longer had to trek downtown or to Brooklyn for my fried oysters!  I could get them on the way home from work.  Also, their more casual fare at Brooklyn Bowl is delightful. (Hello, Oyster Egg Shooters!)  It also doesn’t hurt that Questlove and/or Q-tip spins there on a monthly basis, and there’s a constant roster of great music, much of it the stuff that can be found on the NOLA music circuit.  My last show there was Robert Randolph, the slide guitar king.

ACME

There’s an ACME on Decatur Street in New Orleans.  This one is as close of an approximation as you can get in NYC.  There’s also a cute little live music venue in the basement, featuring assorted indie acts.  I usually come here when I know I want assorted seafood but I’m not quite sure what to get.  You know the drill.  There were rumors of Acme’s closing earlier this year after a “can’t-refuse” offer was made to the owner, but I believe they’re back in business.

The Green Table

I love everything about this place.  The fact that the menu is largely seasonal items plucked fresh from the farmer’s market that day, the fact that they expanded from 6 tables to 12 and finally have a bar.  That they are dedicated to sustainability and social responsibility.  But most importantly, I love the fact that Brett Sims is a ragin’ cajun who has managed to bring a fried oyster po-boy to within walking distance of my office.

The Redhead

Duck gumbo, anyone?  Although I usually go for their outstanding southern fried chicken.  Meg Grace’s pastries also never disappoint; I’ve definitely purse-nabbed some of the cookie treats they sometimes give with the bill.  Her bacon peanut brittle is also quite notable, and there’s an annual Crawfish boil that’s done just right.

Fort Defiance

St. John Frizell – also a Tulane alum – studied the Central Grocery muffuletta and has created quite the tasty approximation.  The red beans and rice and hurricanes are also nothing to scoff at.  I was there the day the Saints won the NFC Championship in 2009.  We all cried and hugged, and ate King Cake from Randazzo’s.

Two Boots Pizza

The Two Boots = NOLA + Italy.  It’s my favorite NYC slice, hands down (Sorry, traditionalists. Crawfish pie!!!)  I usually get the Cleopatra Jones, but all of it, even the veggie pies, are outstanding.

Great Jones Cafe

Great Jones is probably the only place in New York where I’ll eat the two sacred staples of NOLA cooking: red beans and gumbo (only when I don’t feel like making it myself).  I also appreciated their fried oysters and andouille sausage.  It’s also one of the most non-assuming places in the city.  No flash and panache here, just good food and nice people.  You really do feel as though you’ve been transported to a little bayou town when you step inside.

NOLA PLACES I HAVEN’T BEEN, BUT INTEND TO (Shout out to Garden & Gun for a few reminders):

Imperial Woodpecker Snowballs – Yes, Real Snowballs in NYC. ‘Nuff said.
Ninth Ward
Cheeky Sandwiches – they’re only open 8am-6pm (time for a work field trip!)
Tchoup Shop at d.b.a. – I generally avoid DBA in NYC for a number of reasons, but if they reopen this summer I’m doing it.
Creole – I believe I got into an argument with the chef here at the Black Culinarian Alliance dinner at Tavern on the Green three years ago.  We were arguing about the texture of one of his dishes, which was completely wrong in my opinion.  I don’t remember which one, but suffice it to say that I’ve never eaten there either, but I’m still curious.

Saturday I had the pleasure of entertaining a dear friend who’d never visited New Orleans before.  Doing double duty, I offered to let her tag along as I visited my old homes and haunts that I’d avoided for so many years after the storm.  There was also a restaurant that I wanted to visit that is way out past the burbs, that has a peculiar local appeal.

I grew up in the Ninth Ward of New Orleans, an area that stretched from Fauburg Marigny all the way past the Industrial Canal (near the first levee breach) and beyond toward Chalmette (commonly referred to as the “asscrack” of the city due to the proliferation of gun-toting KKK recruits and white welfare queens in that area…  I digress).  My grandparents lived on the corner Louisa Street and Derbigny Avenue, square in the middle of the 9th Ward, off of Franklin Avenue and in what was once a middle class enclave for up-and-coming black professionals in the mid-20th century.  They were proud homeowners who had a constant stream of extended family and neighbors coming in and out of the kitchen.  During the 80s (*Disclaimer: when I was born) when things got “really bad” due to crack and subsequent crime hitting the streets of New Orleans, they remained in spite of most younger families moving to a more modern suburb, New Orleans East, also known (and disputed) as the “Upper 9th Ward” as it was northeast of my grandparents’ neighborhood and Chalmette.

My mother continued in the family tradition, building her own home from the ground up as well, albeit in New Orleans East: near Eastover, the ill-fated Jazzland theme park, and other normal suburban families and attractions.  Plenty of strip malls, bowling alleys, chain restaurants, etc.  While I was happy to grow up in a charming home, I was always terribly bored by the monotony, and as soon as I was able to began hanging out “downtown”, a place that my grandmother avoided purposefully and my mother visited only at my urging.  “That’s for *those* people” they’d say, meaning white people and tourists.  But I could think of no better thing than to explore the city as a tourist in my hometown!

As soon as I could, I moved onto Tulane‘s charming campus dormitories, and shortly thereafter to a drafty old home on Carrollton Avenue, where the streetcar still runs.  Later, after a short stint in Los Angeles, I moved further down Carrollton Avenue to Palmyra Street in Mid-City, near Canal Street and nearby a lost culinary legend of greasy goodness…  Manuel’s Hot Tamales.  But more on that later.  I said all of this to say that I wanted to go to two places during my driving tour: New Orleans East and Mid-City.

The first thing that people ask me when I tell them I’m from NOLA these days is, “How is it?”  And no one is ever quite prepared for my response, which is always the same:  “The touristy areas, they’re fine, back to normal…  But the more residential areas, not so much.”  Yes, five and a half years later, there are still some blocks you can drive down that have no residents returned, spray paint still on the doors marking where emergency rescuers found residents in need of help, or help that came too late.  There has been very little concerted effort to reorganize the city, or rather, too many conflicting stakeholders wrangling for the city’s future bureaucratically, while exhausted residents burn through their hard earned savings.  So I wanted to see who, of my neighbors, had returned and if my old favorite spots were still there.  We’d sold my family home (after 6 feet of water flooded it) to a developer who’d renovated it quite nicely, so although I missed my home, that wasn’t the main attraction.

It was We Never Close.

On a desolate strip of Chef Menteur Highway aka Highway 90… past truck stops and strip clubs and hooker, I mean hourly motels… past malls of auto parts and dollar trinkets and churches and skating rinks, was a joyous place in a former McDonald’s (didn’t really bother to change much except the sign) called We Never Close.  That is the open and shut to it.  They serve pretty much anything you can think of deep fried and slathered on a french bread loaf w/mayo.  We opted for a soft shell crab po-boy and a hot sausage po-boy.

On the way back, we tried to take the Lakeshore Drive back to mid-city which is a delightful drive, but unfortunately the Lakefront was still closed to the public.  Yes, five years later.

The other important stop in Mid-City, after seeing the locked gate to my old apartment, was Pandora’s for snowballs.  Not snow-cones, people.  One of those might crack your tooth.  A snowball is a syrupy concoction made of the most finely shaven ice you’ve ever had – think a Colorado powdery ski slope after a nice blizzard – topped in things like blood orange or wild blueberry flavored syrup, with condensed milk, whipped cream, cherries, gummy bears, pretty much anything you can think of.  The perfect remedy for a ridiculously hot and humid day as it was that day.

I slurped away and quietly questioned my decision to leave such a comforting place.

Later that night, I’d wanted to check out another old haunt, Port of Call, a legendary burger and pizza shack that was the demise of my short-lived vegetarianism.  But a local buddy of mine insisted that I try a new place called Yo-Mama’s.  Impressive, but they didn’t have the amazing loaded baked potatoes or Huma Humas that are Port of Call’s staple.  Yes, it’s much cleaner and probably more likely to pass an inspection than Port of Call, but if you’re worried about cleanliness…  I just don’t know what to tell you.  I will say that I barely finished this burger and was almost satisfied.  Can’t find the pic, but…  my pics aren’t that great anyway! So, imagine…  The Yelp photo is pretty impressive.

 

Catching up?  Here are the first installments for you…  Reunion – Day 1 / Reunion – Day 2 / Reunion – Day 3

Having lived in New Orleans all my life, it was shameful that 2010 marked the first Essence Music Festival that I’d ever attended.  To add insult to injury, I know many people who work for or at the Festival, some for many years, but had always taken the typical stance of a local to any sort of convention that originated from outside New Orleans, which was apathy.  (My family even avoided Carnival in many ways, but that is another post for another time…)

So Friday was all about recuperating from my hangover enough to party at EMF that night for the first time, as I had 10th row seats to see my longtime childhood idol, Janet Jackson.  I had one extra ticket, and decided it would be fun if I brought my little cousin, Desmond (15) who had never been to a concert before in his young life!  But first, I had to refuel and make some rounds…  So off to Zara’s Grocery I went for an oyster po-boy!

Zara’s Little Giant Supermarket has been on Prytania St. for at least 30 years, if not longer…  It’s a neighborhood, family-owned deli and grocery that I can’t remember ever actually buying groceries at, but who needs to cook when the deli counter there serves up the most delicious sandwiches you’ve ever had?!  This bread, this flaky, crusty, slightly chewy yet always soft bread that will turn rock hard when stale (yet perfect for breadcrumbs and bread pudding)…  this is what French bread is.  Throw on some perfectly bite sized oysters fried to golden perfection, lettuce, tomato, mayo, and hot sauce…  and this is what a true New Orleans po-boy is.  Nothing more, nothing less.  I enjoy “bourgoisie” versions of the po-boy both here and in NYC often, but there’s nothing like the real thing…

Oyster Po-Boy from Zara's Little Giant Supermarket, New Orleans, LA

Oyster Po-Boy from Zara's Little Giant Supermarket

Later, I snacked at the festival.  Don’t eat at the Superdome!  Stick to things that come in bottles, and save your appetite for grub elsewhere.  But here are some great shots of Janet for your viewing enjoyment!  I choked and tried to cover my little cousin’s eyes during the “Discipline” segment.

You’ll also be glad to know that I’ve gotten a much better cameraphone since then!

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