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.

Gratitude.

When you follow your bliss... doors will open where you would not have thought there would be doors; and where there wouldn't be a door for anyone else.

 

~ Joseph Campbell 

 

Crave.

My write-up about last night's Cafe Momentum pop-up dinner at Dee Lincoln's Tasting Room and Bubble Bar can be found on CraveDFW at this link: 

http://cravedfw.com/2012/03/19/dee-lincolns-bubble-bar-celebrates-cafe-momentum

Balance.

I have gained ten pounds, give or take, since moving to Dallas in November. This has several causing factors, including a 20-fold increase (at least) of my annual consumption of Tex-Mex cuisine, a decrease in the necessity for running for a train in 3-inch heels several times a day, a Texas-sized refrigerator right upstairs form my work-at-home office, and an overall lessening of hourly stress (like trying to dodge tourists around Rockefeller Center). Thankfully, as my Texan so eloquently puts it, the weight "is in all the right places," supposedly. Still, when you're used to feeling lighter on your feet, the extra pounds can inspire you to make a few changes.

The last time I was in a gym was 2004. But in my ongoing quest to relax and get both my body and mind healthier now that I've left the big bad big apple, I decided to take a mere two block stroll from my new house and try yoga for the first time in my life. I always had real excuses not to try yoga before: no time, no money, the logistics of getting to a studio using public transportation, too much work to do, and a simple lack of necessity in my logical mind. But like everything else in relation to my move down here, the obstacles all moved aside in one cohesive sweep and a path was cleared for my next step in my journey of new Texan self-discovery.

It feels good. I stretch and challenge muscles I was never aware of before. It is a warm - literally- and welcome environment, as peaceful and full of positive energy as I've come to expect after years of pop culture exposure to the practice. The instructors at Gaia Flow Yoga are amazingly patient, making sure that even the most novice of their students (me) is learning and growing at their (my) level of ability. What I am learning goes so much further than the physical, however. I am learning to relax, I am learning to take time for myself, and I am learning to balance, in all areas of my life.

~

This past Friday was much like some of my favorite spring evenings in Manhattan. On Oak Lawn Avenue we enjoyed an early and light dinner at the utterly charming Parigi, a restaurant owned by one of my new favorite people in Dallas, Chef Chad Houser, and his lovely partner Janice Provost, who as luck would have it was behind the bar that night. As it was early, we only dined on a few chef-recommended appetizers, but they were all perfect. Janice helped us to pair wines with our meal and we thoroughly enjoyed the company of staff and fellow patrons immensely. Unfortunately we had to move on, but for good reason. We had, courtesy of a dear friend, tickets to the TITAS Command Performance La Fête du Ballet. Sitting in the orchestra of the beautiful Winspear Opera House later that evening, we sat in awe as some of the world's most celebrated and accomplished dancers performed. The classical pieces were gorgeous, but MOMIX's Millennium Skiva impressed even my Texan, and TUU featuring Steven Ezra Marshall and Rebecca Rasmussen moved me to tears. The entire evening was pure elegance. We gasped and applauded in distinguished appreciation and amazement.

On Saturday I drove (which, as an ex-New Yorker I am still learning how to do) north to Allen for another dinner and another show. And it could not have been more of a contrast. It was raining, so we parked and ducked into the first restaurant that would have us, the adorable Cotton Patch Cafe. My 3-year old daughter colored her place mat and drank her chocolate milk while I contemplated the amount of butter in the basket of bread placed on our table. It wasn't exactly a Manhattan crowd, to say the least, and it certainly wasn't a meal that will help me lose that extra Texas weight, but it was warm and it was cozy and the server was sweet. After dinner we crossed the street and spent the next two hours watching the Allen Americans hockey team defeat the Missouri Mavericks 4-3 at the Allen Event Center with family and old friends. Hockey players fought on the ice. Young local girls danced during halftime with the Ice Angels. The mascot Biscuit and Ronald McDonald posed for photos with little (and big) fans. We clapped, we cheered, we rang cowbells. It was fun.

It was the poignant juxtaposition of the two evenings that I found fascinating. Friday was black satin and a low chignon, champagne and single malt scotch. Saturday was cotton denim and a ponytail, popcorn and domestic beer out of a can.

Both evenings were wonderful. Both were needed. Both were Dallas.

~

It is less and less surprising to me how relaxed I find people here to be. Relaxed and healthy. And I realize that it is due to the balance that you (we) have here. We can get all of the extremes that we want but if we look for it, running down the center, through our core, is a beautiful balanced life of art and comfort, elegance and fun, culture and family, work and play.

Namaste.

Assimilation.

My post "Assimilation: A Dallas Pub Crawl Story" can be found at this link on CraveDFW

Acclimation.

My post Acclimation can be found at CraveDFW: 

http://cravedfw.com/2012/03/01/acclimation

Momentum.

Fifteen years ago I was studying theatre with the intention of becoming a professional performer. As so often happens, this led to a long and in my case quite successful career in hospitality.  A true gypsy, I waited tables in 7 states before I was 26 years old. And to be quite honest, I loved it. I loved the people at my tables and behind the bar, the people delivering the supplies and the people cleaning up after the doors were locked. And I always really loved the kitchen staff. 

My early years in restaurants were toned-down versions of Bourdain's stories in Kitchen Confidential. The back of the house guys (and occasional women) that I knew were pirates; the most interesting people you would meet with the craziest stories and backgrounds. Sometimes the stories were true and sometimes they weren't, but it didn't matter, because they held their own and did a damn good job. Some of my favorite restaurant memories are of delicately caring for some high brow celebrity in the dining room, and then walking through the kitchen doors to find fires, fights, blood, and general mayhem that the guests never knew about. It was all part of an average night and it was thrilling.

But in addition to having an absolute blast and learning insults in 8 languages, I managed to learn a lot about food. Daily lessons when I was a server, and later working one-on-one with chefs on menus when I was a manager are what led me to have the appreciation that I have for that world today. There are real skills back in those kitchens and those were some of the hardest working people I've ever known in my life. Some of the people I've worked with I am proud to say have gone really far and I love following their successes. Restaurants have taken people who could never belong or want to belong in other industries and has made them stars. Especially over the last few years as the 'foodie' trend has taken off and Middle America families are glued to the Food Network and Bravo instead of the Big Three. It's comforting to believe that there's a place for everyone and a person for every place, and I've seen more misfits and rebels find their true homes and families whilst dancing behind the line. Because there's pride there, and there should be; it's not an easy life.

Last night, in a loft curiously similar to one that I inhabited in Atlanta a lifetime ago, I attended, along with a new friend, a truly lovely event hosted by The Dallas Wine Chick, Ms. Melanie Ofenloch. It was such a treat to meet her and other food, wine, and art devotees in my new city, as well as some of the residents of the beautiful Mockingbird Station Lofts. The talented artists showing their work were Michael Cross and the lovely Samantha McCurdy, who I discovered was also a new transplant to Dallas, and a fellow Pennsylvanian. The synchronicity that I felt throughout the evening was slightly overwhelming but welcome. 

The catering was provided by Cafe Momentum, an organization that provides culinary training for at-risk Dallas youth, similar to a group started by the Jamie Oliver Foundation on the other side of the pond. This was the first time that I heard about this local non-profit and I'm enamored. They train these youth in all aspects of the restaurant business and bring in guest chefs to teach, mentor, and use as references for future employment. The food at this event was impressive and the service was professional, and it was so special for me to later learn the background of the people providing it all.

To bring new people into a profession that is so close to my heart excites me, but to know that the people being brought into it are people who may have been slightly off-course for a little while and are finding their way home- that is truly inspiring. Thanks to the beyond hospitable world of food, wine, and culture that I'm just starting to discover here in Dallas, I can relate.