Mid-Summer Mardi Gras

My boat, the USS Isaac Sukz

Last night we had a party in New Orleans, a party to celebrate that Mardi Gras is only 6 months away. Yes, you read that right, we are partying to celebrate the partying that will occur in 6 months. The Krewe of Oak throws this party and parade the last weekend of August every year. While the name Oak probably comes from the street that the parade starts and ends on - Krewe members will say that it stands for "Outrageous and Kinky." And honestly this isn't a family-friendly parade. This year's theme "Motorboatin' on Oak," inspired my boat costume. I christened my boat, The USS Isaac Sukz, because I want this stupid storm to just go away, but more about that later. I met up with a group of friends and we boated on down the street to catch the parade.

The parade rolled at 7:30 on Oak Street and was quite a show. There were a number of the wildly named female dance crews, including the Muff-A-Lotta's and the Bearded Oysters. The walking parade had a lot of pull cart floats and decorated bicycles, and even a few cardboard boats, much like my own. The parade rolled up to Palmer Park on the corner of Carrollton and Claiborne. The beverages, brass, and brazen bawdiness of that party was out of control. Music flowed from every direction and people were boogying down. Eventually a brass band led us back down Carrollton and we continued the dance party down to Oak Street. In front of the Maple Leaf Bar and Jacque Imo's Cafe (if you ever get the chance go into this fine establishment and get the alligator cheesecake) there was a pool filled with a number of my friends and students. I did not get in it for fear that my boat wouldn't actually float. After wildly sprinting through the streets and a couple of falls I reunited with my people and we began the long walk home. Mid-Summer Mardi Gras Bash - YOU WERE AWESOME. And I'm so pumped for Mardi Gras this year it's sort of stupid.

Not Cool Isaac. Not Cool.

And just to let you know, I'm very very anxious about the upcoming storm, and if we have to evacuate I'm coming to you Missouri. And let me just say that I hate all the spaghetti models and constant coverage of the storm, because it's just making me more nervous as opposed to getting me ready.  Our Lady of Prompt Succor, hasten to help us. Pray for us down here, we need it. May God keep us all safe, and make good decisions. God bless all of you!

Yeah You Right, Joe.

Viet-Noms? Pho Sure!

For lunch today, my much-calmer-and-more-put-together friend Jonathan and I set our for a strange but wonderful New Orleans adventure. We headed out to the lesser-known far corner of New Orleans - New Orleans East. This little swamp made into suburbia is a unique, if not completely confusing part of the Crescent City. I asked my friend Jonathan to take me there, mostly because he is Asian (and of course I love him and think he's great) and we were headed to "Little Vietnam."  And honestly I was intimidated to go to Little Vietnam without an Asian ... even though Jonathan is technically a Filipino, I don't think anyone noticed.

Note the Guy in the Raiden-Hat.

We went to the Dong Phoung Oriental Bakery for an early lunch, and let me tell you, it's freakin' awesome. Except, and sorry to all the tapioca-ball-eating weirdos out there, Boba tea - I just think eating my drink is a little weird, unless it's a jello shot. I ordered the appetizer, Banh Xeo, basically an egg-heavy crepe filled with pork fat, shrimp, bean sprouts and green onions. And then came the GALLON of Pho  that I ordered (Note: hyerbolic language being used). I ordered the Pho Tai Nam, mostly because it sort of sounded like Vietnam, and in my misguided and semi-ridiculous approach to life I thought that meant authenticity. Anyway, it was so good, and I'm actually glad that I have the other half-gallon in the fridge. Be jealous, be very jealous, or just go there and get some for yourself, one or the other.

 Being that this is New Orleans and we love eating more than we should I then went into the bakery side of the Dong Phuong Bakery and Restaraunt and bought meat pies and Banh mi, a Vietnames po-boy of sorts. There was some 15 different kinds of Banh mi, and I decided (again for the sake of authenticity) to get the Viet-sausage. Though I don't think that sausage is a Vietnamese word. Again, it was all so good, and the Bahn mi is only $3.25 for a whole freakin' sandwich, a steal of a deal.

So if you're looking for an adventure, and you happen to have an Asian with you, I would suggest going to New Orleans East and Viet-Nom-Noming through a whole array of random and delicious foods.

Yeah You Right, Joe.

Dat Chicken

One of the many beautiful things about this city is eating, our food in NOLA is always a set of religious experiences. And while you can find a lot of good food in the Quarter, you need to find a neighborhood restaurant stuck between a couple houses in an unassuming building if you want to see the culinary life of this glorious city. Let's not forgot that eating is my favorite. I think Mike Piazza in his book, Why New Orleans Matters explains our deep love of food quite well: "It is a point of honor to make food that tastes good - I don't think a New Orleanian would even understand the concept of turning out blah food so you could just eat and run." (By the way, this is an awesome book if you want to get a little perspective on Katrina, and the deep love the people have for this place, go ahead, read it.) So a few weeks ago I posted about the famous Mother's Restaurant here in New Orleans. And now I'm going to post about another restaurant, that I'd try to take you to if y'all come visit. It's in Mid-City, and it has some of the best noms I've had recently.

Now many people think that they have found the Holy Grail of Fried Chicken, but my friend, unless you're talking about Willie Mae's Scotch House, you are mistaken. The breading, or maybe more correctly the crust on the chicken is enough to make you question whether or not you're currently in Heaven. Tucked between Orleans Avenue and Esplanade on St. Ann, this is one of those unassuming-where-the-hell-are-we-hard-to-find kind of places. And while I have only been a few times, let me tell you, Ms. Peachez ain't got shit on the Fried Chicken at Willie Mae's. The building itself is so obviously an old house it's almost humorous. It's composed of small spaces with tight tables, and one of the most attentive and sweet staffs I've encountered. I went there for lunch today with my friend J.A. Our waitress Sylvia was great and honestly just fun. The menu only has four entreés: fried chicken, chicken-fried pork, pork, or veal. And while I knew the chicken was the best fried chicken I've ever had, in the spirit of trying to "DO ALL THE NEW ORLEANS" I decided to try something new and go with the gravy smothered veal. It was the right decision. The peppery-buttery gravy pooled around some of the most tender meat I may have ever eaten. The portions are giant, and while I was full half-way through my meal - I would not, I could not stop eating. And then just for good measure, I ate some of J.A.'s chicken too. If you get the chance go get some of this, it'll make your life a little bit better.

Yeah You Right, Joe.

Red Dress Run, and Abita Wheat

Amanda & I, at 8:30 a.m.

I came home with a strange sunburn yesterday - a deep red V shined down by my front and back sides. Now, based on the ridiculousness that is my life, you think I would have had a weird sunburn from wearing a dress before, but in fact - this was my first I-dressed-like-a-girl-and-got-a-sunburn, sunburn. And it was completely worth it. When I woke up yesterday, around 7:30 a.m. it was raining and I surely wasn't thinking about the possibility of getting burned. I took a shower and pulled on my red dress, ready for this year's Red Dress Run. The Red Dress Run is a "Run" started by the Hash House Harrier's, a self-proclaimed "Drinking Club with a Running Problem." And while we are not the only city to have a Red Dress Run, we certainly have the biggest.

We got down to the French Quarter fairly early and after making some new friends on the bus, we stumbled upon a bar on Bourbon (at 9:30 in the morning no less) that proclaimed "Free Beer for all Red Dress Runners." We promptly entered Bourbon Live and got our first drinks. There were drinking stations throughout the Quarter, and while this was great, the true prize was at Louis Armstrong Park. There was live music, food, and as much beer, wine, and daiquiri that you could drink. While it was still fairly rainy at 10 am, the park was filling up. Something as silly as rain isn't going to stop a good 'ole NOLA romp. The "run" which we walked, started at 11. And while some of the more fit and trim folks jogged up ahead, personally I didn't want to spill any of the Abita Wheat that I had acquired. We walked around the Mahalia Jackson Theatre and I found myself once again, in the Treme, dancing down Governor Nichols Street, (see last week's blog if you wanna know what I'm talking about).

The Run died when it came back into the Quarter and a rather ragin' street party (including random mobile DJ and stripper's pole) had erupted right outside of Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop. (If you ever get the chance this "piano bar" was built in the early 1700s, and even if the electricity is out, they'll continue to serve you drinks by candlelight.) While the official route of the run might of continued in some direction, most people continued in the direction of Partying. We weaved through the crowd, and danced about, finding our way back to Armstrong Park. While there was most assuredly a helluva party going down in the Quarter - we chose to go to an empty bar on Rampart Street to grab a few Jello Shots. I learned my lesson, knowing that I will never again buy Jello Shots anywhere except from Fat Tuesday's Uptown, where Jello Shots are still 4 for a $1. BEST DEAL EVER. But I digest, or digress, or something.

Finding our way to Armstrong Park again was more than worthwhile. First, because the Hash House Harrier's know how to feed some people. Pulled pork, hot sausage, dirty rice, and pasta salad filled my belly, along with a few Abita Wheats. (Just to let you know there was also Abita Amber, and for the low price of $65 you could drink as much beer and eat as much food as you wanted... just sayin'). The crowd was raucous and no doubt havin' a hell of a time. On our way out of the park we were assured that we were still in New Orleans as a brass band greeted us, tuba and all. Another dance party had begun, and while the run was long over, the Red Dress Party was here to stay. If you happen to be in NOLA next August, sign up, drink a beer, take a jog, and dance the day away. Oh and if you want to feel good, maybe even great, about dressing up as a woman and consuming a great deal of Abita, last year, the Red Dress Run raised over $200,000 for New Orleans Charities. So Hell to the yeah, folks.

Yeah You Right, Joe.

Glory, Glory, Halle-Hot Dog

The world is a better place with Dat Dog.

A wise man once said, "The noblest of all dogs is the hot-dog, it feeds the hand that bites it." And I agree. Sometimes it really is the simple things, and one of those "simple" things, is the hot-dog. If you find yourself "way uptown," in my neck of the woods, come over to Freret Street and go to Dat Dog. It ain't your average hot-dog in-murky-water kind of place. They grill everything to order. They have a couple dozen different sausages, from plain ole beef, to turducken and back. I'm not kidding, I'm holding a turducken sausage in this very picture. ---> 
Add unlimited toppings, chili cheese fries, and a modest selection of beer on tap and you're gonna have yourself one hell of a meal, I know I did. Could Dat Dog exist somewhere else? Maybe, but if you took Dat Dog out of Nola, they wouldn't still carry Crawfish, Alligator, or even a regular Louisiana Hot Sausage. So Dat Dog is a home-grown NOLA kind of place.

The Wild Magnolias

Myself and Miss LeeAnn

This past weekend we celebrated something much nobler, yet somehow just as homey as the hot-dog, and that was the birthday of the late, great Louis Armstrong. (Not my best transition, Louis Armstrong is like a hot-dog??... Lord, help us.) In New Orleans style, there was a three day long festival, dubbed Satchmo Summerfest, including live music, seminars, and even "Some of that Old Time Religion." I joined the festivities on Saturday night, opening my Satchmo Summerfest with Big Chief Bo Dollis, Jr., and the Wild Magnolias. They're sort of a funk, jazz, and Indian chant fusion. If you don't know about the Mardi Gras Indians, then you should. And I promise I'll be talkin' about 'em from time to time. They were a good show, but to be honest, they wanted a lot from the audience. When someone yells at me, a few dozen times, "Make some noise," I stop wanting to make so much noise. (This is a great hint if you're ever trying to get me to shut up.) But besides the constant demands, I had a lot of fun, and if you've never seen a funky Mardi Gras Indian Jam, then your missing out.

This morning was my favorite part of Satchmo Summerfest, and one of my favorite things about New Orleans. We went to Church and second-lined from the Church down to the Festival itself, marching down Esplanade and having a hell of a time. Second lining, has become second nature, and right after Church itself, its the second best thing you can do for your soul on a sultry Sunday afternoon in New Orleans. And if you'll allow me a deeply Catholic moment, it was a Body of Christ moment, the diversity at that Church this morning was nothing short of stunning, and it gave me hope for the future and deep sense of peace. So, Mass, was beautiful, the Treme Brass Band played at the Historic St. Augustine Church in the Treme. This Church, which was dedicated in 1842, was one of the first integrated Churches, and was integrated while there was still slavery in the South. From the Church's website:

St. Augustine's Sans Second-Line

"A few months before the October 9, 1842 dedication of St. Augustine Church, the people of color began to purchase pews for their families to sit. Upon hearing of this, white people in the area started a campaign to buy more pews than the colored folks. Thus, The War of the Pews began and was ultimately won by the free people of color who bought three pews to every one purchased by the whites. In an unprecedented social, political and religious move, the colored members also bought all the pews of both side aisles. They gave those pews to the slaves as their exclusive place of worship, a first in the history of slavery in the United States."

We came out of Mass to a second-line parade, a walking parade, that was sponsored by the Zulu Social Aid and Pleasure Club and danced our way down the street. Just a little down Henriette Delille Avenue, catty-corner from the Church is the Backstreet Museum, (which I will visit and write about later) and on the porch were some Mardi Gras Indians, ready to join the second line. We popped in line behind them and listened to the beats and the chants, and we danced.

Yeah You Right, Joe.