Momentum, Part II.

I love my job. I learn and grow with every project I do, with every interaction I have. It has allowed me to have some amazing experiences that I may not have had without it. When I leave my company this September, I will have traveled around the world, spoken one-on-one with world leaders, played with schoolchildren in Cape Town, toured a chocolate factory in Vancouver, danced at a gala in Prague, and biked through Montmartre just hours the after the Dallas Mavericks won the 2011 NBA Championship. I even met my soon-to-be husband through my company, 3 years ago this month. I have the pleasure to work for over a hundred top executives around the world, the smartest and most successful in their industry. My job requires me to function well in high-stress situations, to be diplomatic, organized and self-motivated, and to work collaboratively with a wide variety of people from many different cultures and backgrounds. 

Whenever I end up explaining exactly what it is that I do, which is quite often, the next question I am almost always asked is "what kind of background do you have to get a job like that"?"

I always smile and simply tell them that I worked in hospitality.

Of course sweating over a fryer in the hot kitchen of the seaside pizzeria that I worked in when I was fourteen, I never would have imagined that restaurant work could lead me here. But it did, and this wasn't even my goal. At the time I just needed a job and working where the hot lifeguards of Fenwick Island hung out didn't seem like a bad option. It was hard manual work, it was really hot, and we would have all rather been on the beach. But without realizing it we were learning skills that would carry over into all areas of our lives. With lines of impatient sandy tourists out the door all needing special attention, a rowdy group of teenagers who hailed from four plus states came together and got it done. Sometimes singing and dancing while we worked, teasing each other in a language only we spoke, we worked our stations and sometimes the ones next to us if needed, and every customer left fed and, if we had any control over it, happy. It gave us a paycheck and a sense of purpose, and it was a lot of fun.

And this is why I went on to work in many other restaurants in the next few years, through college and beyond, in both little towns and major cities, with various cuisines, clientele, and ownership, and in various positions. And at each one I learned more. Between the customers, the kitchen staff, the bar staff, the floor staff, the managers, the owners, and the venders, you need to be able to communicate with people from every stage on the socio-economic spread, from celebrities to illegal immigrants. I worked with people speaking at least ten different language, none of which I speak fluently. But you learn how to communicate regardless. You learn how to negotiate and you learn how to problem solve and you learn how to do it quickly. Blaming an error on someone else isn't going to cut it; if the person next to you doesn't pull their weight then you pull theirs along with your own to get through the service. There are no excuses. And sometimes the customer is wrong but you figure out a way to make everyone happy while maintaining your dignity (a very useful skill I've found). Sometimes the dishwasher has to seat a guest and sometimes the manager has to wash dishes. Sometimes you are working an 18-hour day because you are needed, and you don't take sick days. In the kitchens especially are some of the hardest working people I know. 

Eric Ripert, Executive Chef of what is known to be one of the best restaurants in the world, Le Bernardin in New York City, recently posted on his Facebook page: "In my 1st year cooking, my arms had burns & scars; my hands had many cuts but year later I would achieve the same tasks in the kitchen without a scratch. My lesson? Master the craft; be organized & proactive. Stop finding excuses and reasons."

I really loved that world, long before I realized it could turn into a career for me. I was in my teens and 20's, moving around like a gypsy with a bounty on my head, having a great time just trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. But as I grew over the years I was given more responsibility in the restaurants, and towards the end of my time in the industry I was marketing and selling the spaces for events that I would then coordinate and manage. And I still spent a lot of time on the floor and had come to know my midtown Manhattan clientele as well as my staff, making important connections that I still maintain today. One of these clients ended up offering me the job that I have now, a job I didn't realize I wanted or could do. But it turns out that I did and I could, and I am so fortunate to have had the opportunities to get here.

Mine is not a rare story. People that I worked with in the restaurants, some of which had started out with no ambition whatsoever, have gone on to work in healthcare, foreign affairs, education, entertainment, journalism, and sciences, and I am certain that they are the hardest working people in their offices. Other friends have stayed in hospitality and have gone on to work directly for Laurent Tourondel, Jean-George Vongerichten, Mario Batali, Vikram Chatwal, Andre Balazs, and Jose Andres, and some have started their own successful restaurants and catering companies, in New York and across the country.

The point is, training in the restaurant world is hardly a dead-end. 

At a dinner last month, Chad Houser, Executive Chef at Parigi and co-founder of a non-profit social enterprise in Dallas called Café Momentum, asked the fifty or so distinguished-looking attendees to raise their hands if they had ever worked in a restaurant. Roughly 90% indicated that they had. When asked who still worked in the industry, I saw about four. Which of course goes to show that although there are amazing jobs to be had in restaurants, the skills can be carried far beyond.  

Café Momentum takes disadvantaged youth ages 14-17 in Dallas, teaches them culinary and service skills, gives them the opportunity to work alongside the best local chefs and restaurant professionals, and eventually leads to paid positions within the industry. These kids, deemed "throwaways" by our courts after entering the juvenile justice system for committing non-violent crimes, are welcomed into an environment where they learn respect and discipline while finding a sense of purpose. They have first completed a culinary training program at their juvenile justice facility, and then these young men enter the internship-style program and are nurtured and inspired and given opportunities they may not otherwise have had. Graduates leave the program with a list of professionals that they can go to for references or employment.

But training for work in hospitality is not just about working in a restaurant. Danny Meyer, the revered New York restauranteur responsible for Union Square Cafe, Gramercy Tavern, The Modern, and Shake Shack, among others,  wrote his book "Setting the Table" about using the power of hospitality in any business you are in. I have quoted from it often; "Within moments of being born, most babies find themselves receiving the first four gifts of life: eye contact, a smile, a hug, and some food. We receive many other gifts in a lifetime, but few can ever surpass those first four." Knowing how to make someone feel welcome in your space, whether it be your home, your business, your cubicle, your park bench... it is invaluable. It makes you a better person. Give someone a seat, some food, a smile, and you can change their life, even if only for that hour. When you learn that, it opens a world of possibilities. 

"To succeed in the hospitality business you must succeed in making other people feel good," said Ben Pollinger, Executive Chef of Manhattan's Oceana, a restaurant I used to frequent and do business with before moving to Dallas. I recently asked him his thoughts on the Café Momentum program. "You must minimize your self-importance and must make others the center of your attention. That’s a pretty radical concept for some people, especially if you’ve come up in a challenged or disadvantaged upbringing where you’ve needed to focus on yourself to survive.

"Long term success in the hospitality business is realized over the years, but the short term results are immediate and can reinforce and support a young person’s efforts. You can know that someone enjoyed your food, you can see it when you take care of a table. You begin to feel appreciated and good about yourself for what you do," Pollinger continued. 

However, as many of my Chef friends were quick to point out and Chef Pollinger specifically remarked "This is all dependent upon positive and strong leadership. All the things that can help a young person, or any person, become a better individual can also drive someone into some dark places without proper guidance and leadership. You need to learn that it’s OK to make honest mistakes and to learn from them. You need to be steered from many of the distractions in this business." 

Café Momentum, an organization founded only last year, puts disadvantaged youth in a positive atmosphere with that strong leadership that is so essential. These young men are given role models who are not only gifted and respected professionals in their industries, but who have become celebrities in today's foodie-obsessed pop culture. This provides inspiration for people who may have otherwise given up on life, or who have had too many people give up on them.

If my Yankee liberal rant about the good you they are doing for these young men doesn't tug at your heartstrings, then maybe this will: The disadvantaged Texan youth in these facilities have a recidivism rate of 50%. Because of a lack of support, positive role models, education or skills, half of these young men will end up re-incarcerated. Each of which costs taxpayers $100-$300 per day. For every one youth who successfully completes the Cafe Momentum program and goes one to be a law-abiding self-sufficient individual, $1.7 million to $2.3 million in lifetime costs to taxpayers and victims is avoided.

Believers and supporters are coming fast. Their next pop-up dinner, being held tonight at Tiffany Derry's Private Social, sold out in three hours. Even I, who waited eagerly for the opportunity to attend another dinner, missed the window to purchase tickets this time but I couldn't be happier for them. But there is so much more to do. Cafe Momentum will become a full service restaurant, with the staff being rotating graduates of the program. 165 young men have already graduated from the program, and 116 have received their ServSafe Food Handler's license and identification, making them more eligible for employment than most. It is a fantastic and impressive start.

The Cafe Momentum concept is sustainable and replicable. More and more "disadvantaged youth" could get their chance through this program. As Chef Pollinger concluded, "In the right venue, a job in the hospitality business can be a powerful force in positive change for a person’s life." 

And who knows where it could lead? 



Related:
Momentum. (Part 1) 
Dee Lincoln's Bubble Bar Celebrates Cafe Momentum

In a NY Minute: A Traveler's Guide to Germany and Poland

I am full-on in the weeds in my professional life these days and have no idea what time zone I am in right now. But I didn't want to wait too much longer to write about some of our experiences in Germany and Poland last week as jet lag has a wretched effect on memory. So to get this done I will revert back to my New York disposition and give it to you quick, to the point, and without all of the niceties that get in the way of efficiency. That is, after all, also the German way.

Should you ever need to fly through Frankfurt, stop there instead and rent a car for the weekend. Drive the hour and a half to the quaint little town of Bacharach on the Rhine River and stay in a charming hotel built onto a Medieval wall where your window view includes a castle and the remains of a cathedral. Walk through on the cobblestone streets and hike up into the vineyards and have a cup of coffee in that castle and enjoy the view of the river valley early in the morning. Should you take a boat up the Rhine to see the Rheinsfels Castle in St. Goar, be sure to confirm the return times. If you don't and the boat doesn't arrive, take the train and don't worry if the ticket machine doesn't work- the conductor is cool.

Ignore all of the restaurant suggestions online and in the guide books and instead go to Münze restaurant. Make friends with Lutz the owner (because of course that's his name) and let him choose everything that you are going to eat and pair everything with local wine. Hear about his years living and cooking in Ibiza and his business interests in Morocco. Make friends with Otto the chef, and if you're lucky maybe he'll take off his hat for you. I won't ruin the surprise. When an American soldier from Illinois wanders in with his backback looking for an ATM, invite him to your table and buy him a beer. Eat more of Lutz's food and drink more of the local wine with Lutz and Otto and buy the soldier some more beer and meet a grumpy man named Dimitri from Moscow whose role is fittingly mysterious. Play with a dog named Snob, smoke cigarettes and talk food and wine and international politics long after all of the other customers leave. Celebrate Lutz's lady's birthday and then stumble out all together well after midnight with a couple of bottles of wine, selected and packed up by Lutz, to take home for your next dinner party (you may start lobbying for invites now).

Cure your hangover the next morning by hiking through the woods in the freezing cold up to Burg Eltz in the Mosel Valley and feel like fairytale characters when the castle suddenly appears on the horizon. Defrost with a a hot bowl of potato soup at the bottom of the hill after you've hiked back down. Drive cross-country to Berlin. 

In East Berlin eat at Cafe Einstein. In West Berlin eat at Gendarmerie surrounded by art, or Felix in the Hotel Adlon next to the Brandenburg Gate. If an Austrian suggests that you and your friends go to a "really posh bar" at midnight, don't listen to him. But if he asks you to drink beer with him, don't hesitate for a minute. But brush up on your drinking games skills before you do. And be advised that the German phrases that you learned in junior high school may have rather crude alternative meanings while at a table of Dutch, German, and Austrian men. Follow dinner by going with a group of friends to Hotel du Rome and charge your drinks to your friend's room at his insistence. Cure that hangover with Chinese food prepared at a counter on the gourmet floor at the top of KaDeWe. 

FlyNiki to Krakow and laugh through a crash course in Polish phrases. Butcher said phrases once on the ground but make friends with the locals each time you try. Wander around Old Town Krakow and be overjoyed with the knowledge that you're in on the secret- it is one of the coolest and most beautiful cities in Europe. Eat too much, drink too much, and walk everywhere. Try everything. Go into St. Mary's Basilica and let yourself gasp when you look up. Eat at a milk bar. Eat in an outside cafe. Climb up ancient staircases and take photos; climb down ancient stone staircases and listen to the live music in an underground jazz club. But do not order the Hungarian wine. Smoke more cigarettes in Rynek Główny, the Main Market Square, as you listen to street musicians and the hourly bugle song from the top of the tower. Run through the rain in the Jewish Quarter Kazimierz and watch a pre-taped hockey finals game at a Soviet-themed bar called Propaganda. Do shots of flavored Polish vodka with the locals but then slink out after reading on your phone that the favored team will soon lose.

Take a day trip to Auschwitz even if you're not sure you want to. Cry and be angry, but don't forget what you see. Come back to Krakow and warm up with hot borscht and pierogi. But save room for one of the best meals of your life in a contemporary restaurant called Ancora, complete with a cucumber sorbet and bison grass vodka intermezzo that you won't forget about for weeks. 

Try to get home without 4 layovers. Fly business class when possible. Be in love. Vow to return to Poland. 

"Oddity has always amused me and encouraged reflection. There is so much of it around that you only need to keep your eyes peeled. And if there is nothing in sight, you need to look further afield, beyond the horizon, in another country, another city, among other people."   

~ Polish travel writer Olgierd Budrewicz

Home.

I have spent my day running around like a madwoman in preparations for the next two weeks of constant travel. This is nothing new. I am very fortunate to have a job that requires me to go to some really great places and I do get a thrill from running through airports and getting those stamps in my passport. But a strange and foreign feeling came over me today: I don't want to leave.

It has nothing to do with where I'm going or why. While true that much of it will be spent working, that doesn't bother me. In fact I like that quite a bit because it gives me a sense of purpose and allows me to experience cultures in ways different from the tourists. I am traveling most of the time with the love of my life and am absolutely thrilled to get some time with him away from other stresses in our lives. I will be going places I've never been before, which is always a plus; for even if the travels are bad, I still get to cross a few more cities and countries off of my lists and there will always be stories to tell.

The sinking feeling came because I'm finally feeling like my new home is actually home. Every day somebody asks me how I'm liking Dallas and a smile always comes instantly and I can honestly say that I love it. I have family here, and a support system that I've never had before in my life. I am meeting some really amazing people, making real friends, and having a great time in the process. I am trying new things and discovering new things about myself every day. There is a sense of community here that, although at times off-putting because of the lack of anonymity, is actually really nice. Who knew this cold-hearted New Yorker could like this?

So although I look at my schedule for the next three months and the gypsy spirit part of me is thrilled to be hopping around the world again, there is part of me that wants to throw a 3-year old tantrum, stomp my feet and cry out "but I just got here"! I know I will regret saying this in a few months if I end up finding a job that doesn't have me traveling at all and I am begging for a reason to go somewhere, but right now an extra few weeks in my own bed would be so welcome. 

I suppose I will take it as a blessing that I am sad to leave my new home. Because that means that it is in fact my home. And I know that at the end of my next set of adventures, instead of being sad that they're over I will be happy about what I'm returning to. And that is another brand new experience for me.

I am so grateful. 

NOLA.

It was a thrown-together weekend as a result of a speaking engagement for my Texan. Upon hearing that complimentary Jackson Square apartment accommodations were offered as an incentive, two Southwest tickets were promptly purchased. Boarding dead-last onto the flight I ended up sitting snug between two male strangers who spent most of the flight trying to convince me to go into pharmaceutical sales, making it painfully obvious that my New York edge must have softened considerably since my move to Dallas. A glass of wine made this realization slightly more tolerable but I was grateful when the discussion turned to the much more pleasant topic of the cannibal nature of the alligators in the swamps we were soaring over upon arrival in New Orleans.

This was my second visit to the city and my first visit post-Katrina. Although we would be attending a conference, we also had three dinner reservations; at a classic New Orleans institution, a brand new seafood restaurant from one of New Orleans's most beloved local chefs, and a contemporary Cajun spot with an award-winning chef. My Texan, a graduate of Tulane University, also had a few casual sentimental favorites in mind for other meals, so we knew we were prepared to eat well. We were still not prepared for what ensued in the Crescent City this past weekend.

We were staying in one of the Lower Pontalba Apartments. Built in the 1840's, they are the oldest apartments in the country. Through a heavy door on Rue St. Ann we walked down a cool hallway and up two long flights of curving wooden stairs. Through another door on the top floor we entered our beautiful temporary home. I walked through the front rooms to the heavy drapes, pulled them and aside, opened the windows, and walked out onto the balcony overlooking Jackson Square. To my left was Cafe du Monde; to my right was St. Louis Cathedral. It was a gorgeous evening and music drifted up from the square below. It could not have been more perfect.

After making the obligatory appearance at the welcome reception of our conference, we joined friends for the first of our NOLA dinners, at the "Grand Dame of New Orleans old line restaurants," Galatoire's. Apparently not much has changed here since its founding in 1905 and that was fine with me. At a big table in the elegant second floor dining room of this Bourbon Street institution, I dined on Oysters Rockefeller, Pompano Crabmeat Yvonne, and bread pudding. I ate as much as I could but had to throw in the proverbial towel after only a few bites of the dessert. I was discretely informed that this would not be the best bread pudding that I would have over the weekend but I couldn't imagine this was true.

After dinner we joined the festivities on Bourbon Street, with a front row seat at the Piano Bar at Pat O'Brien's (they played a lot of Southern fight songs that I did not recognize) and sang karaoke at The Cat's Meow (too many songs that I did recognize) late into the evening. On our way home we came across a Lucky Dog hot dog stand, another New Orleans institution and, as I was told, a must-try at 2am. Not one to shy away from something new, I agreed to a chili dog with mustard. My Texan took one bite and I finished the rest, which he was not happy about. But I agree that at 2 a.m. after an evening on Bourbon Street a Lucky Dog chili dog is the best food on the planet.

Amazingly I felt great the next morning (thanks due, I believe, to the chili dog) but a late hangover breakfast was in order. This had already been planned and I was led to Mother's on Poydras Street, home of the "World's Best Baked Ham." We waited in a long line, were pushed aside and yelled at, waited even longer for our food, and it was completely worth it. We split a Ralph, which is a Ferdi with cheese. A Ferdi is a po' boy with the aforementioned ham, roast beef, "debris", gravy, shredded cabbage, sliced pickle, creole & yellow mustard and mayo, served on soft New Orleans French bread. Also on our table: grits with debris and gravy, biscuits, gumbo, coffee , a spicy Bloody Mary, and indeed the best bread pudding in New Orleans. Debris, I learned, is "the roast beef that falls into the gravy while baking in the oven." And I ate it, all of it. At the conference luncheon shortly thereafter (I happily pushed aside the hotel catering salad) our table companions found my 2am snack story highly amusing. But whether foie gras at La Tour D'Argent or a chili dog on Bourbon Street, "good food" is food that you enjoy and I stand by it! After presentations and meetings we strolled along the Mississippi, dodging the ESPN crews setting up for Final Four events and marveling at the gorgeous weather we were blessed with. We perked up with the requisite coffee and sinfully good beignets at the adorable Cafe du Monde and managed to avoid most of the flying powdered sugar (word to the wise- do not wear black here). Climbing up the steps we ran into Dickie V and took a few tourist pictures in front of the Cathedral before walking to LaFitte's Blacksmith Shop, a bar on Bourbon Street in a structure built in the 1720's and used as a smuggling base, for pints of Abita before dinner.

Borgne is the newest restaurant by New Orleans golden boy John Besh. I had met him in New York a few months ago and have cooked a few of his recipes, and was looking forward to finally eating his food. The hosts were sweet, the bartender Kyle was thoroughly knowledgeable and passionate about the restaurant, and the food was good. Located in the Hyatt Regency Hotel in the Central Business District, it at least lacked the Bourbon Street tourist crowd. The other guests at the bar were locals, which was refreshing, but at 7:30 on a Friday night the dining room was only half full. And they could have fit twice as many tables in there. I am so sorry to say that the ambiance was disappointing. It felt like a cafeteria, or part of the hotel that serves the breakfast buffet to families with screaming kids. After our experience at the bar, where Kyle helped me settle on the classic New Orleans cocktail Sazerac (cognac, whiskey, Herbsaint, and bitters, considered the oldest American cocktail) and chatted with us about his favorite menu items, we expected better service at the table than what we got. The theme, casual coastal Louisiana cuisine, had so much potential and although it did come through in the menu and a few design elements, like the cage column of oyster shells and the chalkboards, it was otherwise absent. I kept feeling like I was missing something even though I kept actively searching. The table and chair choices were uninspiring, and with the doors to the kitchen and bathrooms and the server station all exposed to the majority of the room, there really were no good tables. I was frustrated and I can not recommend it if you care about ambiance. But the Louisiana oysters on the half shell (a thicker, creamier version of the bivalve molluscs than I am used to) were presented beautifully and the black drum with  brown butter, pecans, and jumbo lump crab (also recommended by Kyle) was absolutely exquisite. I hope to try one of his more traditional restaurants the next time I am in town to see if I fare better.

A cab ride later and we were "on the hippy side of town," Faubourg Mariginy, to watch the legendary Ellis Marsalis play at the Snug Harbor jazz club. This was more like it. Dark and crowded and filled to the brim, this place was everything I had hoped it would be. After the show we took a pedicab through the drizzle to meet up with some friends back on Bourbon Street, which had become even more blue and red, before heading home. On the way we stopped for another chili dog. I am not ashamed.

Saturday morning's breakfast was at the new location of Camillia Grill on the corner of Chartres and Toulouse. It looks like an old 50's diner and the line is out the door, but once again this is totally worth it. Our waiter, Penut (used to be Peanut, he says, but now that he's got money he upgraded to "Pe-Noo"), worked at the original location for 30 years and is now part owner of the slightly larger French Quarter version. He also, we learned, went to the same New Orleans high school as my Texan's father. We had coffee and split orders of grits and a chili cheese omelet with fries. This was the unhealthiest I have ever eaten in my life but it was euphoric. I also had a Bloody Mary that may have been nothing more than ice, vodka, and a lot of Tobasco sauce. What the service lacked in precision it made up for in personality; this place was a blast and it was fun being surrounded by the unofficial (and maybe some official) cheering squads of the four teams playing that night.

We caught the don't-say-trolley-it's-a-street-car up St. Charles, the old oaks and pecan trees along the way still dripping with beads of all colors, leftover from the recent Mardi Gras festivities. My Texan pointed out his old apartment and fraternity house and a few key landmarks along the way to stop #43 in the Riverbend section of Uptown, home of Cooter Brown's Tavern and Oyster Bar. This was dark, dingy, and sticky, with pool tables and over 400 brands of domestic and imported beers, 40 of them on tap. The oysters and po' boys looked amazing but I was still hurting from that chili cheese omelet (did I really eat that?) so I tried an Abita Purple Haze instead and we sat outside at a picnic table with more basketball fans in town for the games. The street car ride back to the French Quarter was amusing; the car filled up quickly with basketball fans who may still have been drunk from the night before, everyone was decked out in the most outrageous combinations of their teams' colors, and nobody was shy about where they were visiting from. But at every stop that we passed, there were larger crowds more disappointed than the last that they wouldn't be able to board. We tried to tell them through the windows that they best start walking; the cars behind us weren't likely to have any room either. The two of us sat comfortably in our seat, thankful that neither had packed any blue or red for the weekend.

We had a mission when we arrived back from our jaunt uptown: my very first crawfish experience. (I am new to the South!) Where better to try these little mud bugs than in New Orleans? Having had allergic reactions to some shellfish in the past I was nervous but still willing. Unfortunately we were back in the tourist areas and it was explained to us that the majority of the crowd that day- from Kansas, Kentucky, and Ohio- were not spicy food fans, so this wasn't to be as authentic as we'd hoped. But we strolled around until we found J's Seafood Dock in the French Market, with their bin of oysters on ice and a big pot of steamed crawfish just pulled out of their hot watery grave. This would do. We grabbed some beers, plopped ourselves down on the stools, pulled a few paper towels off the roll, and ordered up some crawfish and oysters. After a quick tutorial and a couple of bites, I didn't care if I was allergic. Thankfully my skin stayed welt-free and I could eat my share before rolling away for some more French Market shopping. Another successful new experience was under my belt and I was giddy. We stopped at Tropical Isle for one hand grenade to split (because have you ever had one of these? Good lord.) before heading back to the apartment to pack.

Our last reservation was at Cochon, a Cajun restaurant in the cool warehouse district that makes frequent appearances on top 10 lists for New Orleans and held the number twenty spot on The Daily Meal's 101 Best Restaurants in America for 2012. Executive Chef (and CEO) Donald Link was also recently chosen as a finalist in the James Beard Foundation Awards Outstanding Chef U.S. category. I had high hopes and wasn't disappointed. The decor was a beautiful combination of provincial and modern, with an exposed kitchen and bare wood furnishings. It reminded me Wyle Dufresne's WD-50 in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, but with much more room and light (of course). The food was nothing like it though, and rightfully so. This was, as NYT's Sam Sifton said it best, "big flavors that lie at the intersection of urban New Orleans and rustic Cajun country." Our delightful server explained the difference between Creole and Cajun cuisines and had a special ginger beer cocktail made for me.We dined on wood-fired oysters, fried boudin with pickled peppers, soft-shell crab, and finished with a chocolate pecan tart with salted caramel before heading to the airport for our flight home.

Cochon, it should be noted, means pig. How wonderfully appropriate for the last meal in our impromptu food tour of NOLA. Supposedly an unidentified French Quarter policeman ate 32 Lucky Dogs in one night in 1998 but I'm still impressed that I had two over the course of 48 hours. Suffice it to say you will be able to find me on the Katy Trail over the next three months trying to burn off the calories that I consumed on this trip. It will take at least that long, but it was worth it.