The Cheese Stands Alone (Well, It Stands with the Meat): St. James Cheese Company

Oh, St. James Cheese Company, why did I wait so long to present my tastebuds as a petitioner at your door?

It is not because I doubted your ability to assemble a plate of meats and cheeses that would please me beyond earthly virtue or vice. Not at all. Rather, it must be that I feared how right you would be.

Charcuterie is one of my most exquisite temptations, and this city is a mistress of providing opportunities to exploit it, as it does all my others. Before, I had been able to resist this particular one—though barely by the skin of my teeth. Literally. But the St. James Cheese Company had come highly recommended, it was in my neighborhood and I had a coupon and a beautiful day. The Fates had spoken, and so be it.

The shop is located on a hip little stretch of Prytania, albeit with little foot traffic. It features a nice little shared, shaded patio as well as a few tables out front with a street view. The inside also receives a nice share of sunlight from the front window-wall, but, per usual, I was already too busy ogling the goods on display to really appreciate any spatial aesthetics as that point.

I didn’t drool too closely, though, because buying as many large chunks of cheese and cured meats as I could carry was not my mission that day. Nor was the offering of lovely-sounding sandwiches and salads displayed on their menu board. No, I was there to order four meats and three cheeses on a plate, if you please. And a glass of the rosé. (Because of the weather, of course, I said.)

Service was super friendly, even with a bit of a line, and I learned that they supply cheese to the tasty City Pork Deli in Baton Rouge.  Cheers!

My friend and I took a seat outside in the afternoon sunlight, and, as promised, we received our bounty presented on a slab of slate.

             

The nice man did try to explain to us what all the offerings were, and I did try very hard to listen and comprehend, but it was mostly drowned out by the cheesily (yes) angelic choir chords filtering through my head.

Clearly it had been too long since I’d had charcuterie.

Anyway, the individual highlights for me that afternoon were the rustic, thick cut pepperoni-style slices of meat (bottom left, above the candied nuts) and, for the cheeses, the Stilton (last cheese in the column on the right). Guess I was having a robust day.

My favorite part, though, was when we were getting towards the ends of our selections and started mixing and matching pairings like bacchanalian scientists. The spicy mustard with which they provided us (top left) seemed to go well with everything, but I was pleasantly shocked when at the very end of the plate I added a dollop to the paté then swiped it through the sweet-tangy red jam. Success. And then I chased it with a grape.

Overall, the charcuterie plate commanded so much attention that I forgot I had a glass of wine at my hand, which is saying something.

The moderately high price point will probably relegate the St. James Cheese Company to a special treat rather than a part of my regular rounds, but it is definitely worth a try or three. 

Rooftop Augury

Some nights it is just not enough to hear your city sing from the streets, to stand on the ground and look up. Some nights you have to scale fire escape ladders in alleyways one-handed, dredging the ices of a frozen Pimm’s Cup. Because it is summer, not technically but the air whispers sticky that it is, and anything frozen is worth trying once.

These are some nights. These are the nights you climb regardless of whether you are wearing your bad luck dress, nights when luck is everything and nothing.

Don’t look down yet. There’s another flight, another ledge, another rooftop to conquer.

Let your legs dangle. These are the nights you can stretch Canal out below you, spangled bawdy with its nighttime glow. The streetcars grumble over their tracks, sparking, listening to conductors hollering car to car at passing stops. An airplane weaves too low in the skyline. It is headed the wrong way for any airport in particular, but you don’t mind overly much because some nights we all feel like that too.

Life goes on below in murmurs and shouts. In loiterers, in tired night shift workers, in men in crumpled suits crossing towards the French Quarter without their wives. Up here, too, where you stack your cigarette butts neatly along the precipice and marvel. Quietly, and after another breath comes another. You can feel the line of sweat sidling where the cement meets the flesh underside of your leg. Still, you are surprised pleasantly by the mildness of the night, the breeze. Nothing like the oppressive day-heat coming down like a greedy ruling hand. That’s just how it is, though, on these nights.

Going back down is an easy hand-over-hand down the rungs, toting an empty cup. Never less afraid of falling than on these nights. But planting feet on the sidewalk again is not always a let-down. Some nights it is a segue.

Some nights you don’t know where your next step is going to fall, but you can promise it will be forward. Some nights you don’t know the night air until you’ve knocked a tall shot of it back.

These are some nights.

Bonus Blog for Bloomsday!

But I would be incredibly remiss if I did not take a moment to wish into the world a Happy Bloomsday!

The events of the delightfully mind-cramping Ulysses take place on the 16th of June 1904, and fans of James Joyce have appropriately staked out this date to celebrate the author's life and work with readings, pub-crawls, parties and the like.

Here in New Orleans, the Bloomsday celebration is tonight at the Irish House. All attendees are invited to read at their pleasure. Some of my fellow denizens of the New Orleans Poetry Brothel will be performing Molly's erotic soliloquy from Ulysses, and it's sure to be a doozy. Nola.com did a short and sweet pre-write-up here if you're interested in more information.

I leave you with the closing lines of Ulysses. Say yes to the world.

I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another… then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

Louisiana Cajun-Zydeco Music Festival

Aiyee! It's been something of a busy week for me, but I did get the chance to snag a few minutes on Sunday for my first visit to Armstrong Park for the Louisiana Cajun-Zydeco Music Festival.

I parked a few blocks down, and I could hear the music wafting out of the park and through the streets as soon as I got out of my car. Definitely put a little pep in my step for the walk, and set a good tone for the afternoon.

Here's just a few quick snaps from the day:

Cajun waltzing! I proudly texted my mother to inform her I was upholding our heritage by watching tipsy, sun-reddened folk weave around in 3/4 time. To which she responed, "You get out there and DANCE! It's in you, cher." 

After a short but determined bout of hands-on (feets-on?) experimentation, I had to concede that it may not, in fact, be in me. My appreciation for zesty fiddling, accordioning, and washboarding from that point on was limited to mostly keeping my feet on the ground and enthusiastically bob-nodding and swaying.

Also had my first softshell crab poboy. I devoured it in its entirety, which... is how it's supposed to be eaten. Logistically, not the easiest feat standing in a park with a single paper napkin . Snagged this from the Ninja booth, and though I wasn't expecting a sushi restaurant to be the one pushing out softshell crab poboys, I have to say they did a pretty fine job of it. Those dollops of spicy mayo on top made my afternoon.

Lessons and demonstration in basic Cajun two-step dancing. At which I also failed miserably.

"Awberry" would be the most adorable flavor, though.

Finished out the afternoon with some artisan popsicle from Meltdown. Decided on the lime ginger flavor, which won out over the salted caramel by only a narrow margin. That ginger really popped!

And just some good old fashioned mannequin heads on fence spikes to round off my walk to my car. 

Turned out to be quite a beautiful day after some ominous threats of rain. Not a bad way to kick off the week!

It Brings All the Boys to the Yard: The Milk Bar

One of the neighborhood joints I’ve been meaning to sink my teeth into for a quick bite is The Milk Bar on Prytania. I’d heard nothing but good things about their sandwiches, not to mention the whispers of the wonders of their milkshakes.

[Cue awful outdated pop-joke about milkshakes]

The Milk Bar keep a cute, quirky little space, with Pepto-Bismol pink walls, kitschy coffee signs reminding you that you can sleep when you’re dead, and a bulletin board adorned with customers’ cow drawings on napkins. Service was quick and friendly.

It took me a couple of moments to come to a final sandwich decision, but I inevitably went with the Wolf Me Down. If 1) they’re putting roast lamb and hummus--along with spinach, mozzarella, tomato, and red onion--on ciabatta and 2) naming it that, then I’m sold.

In an attempt to steer myself away from afternoon hibernation, I had to make the heartbreaking call to skip the milkshake this visit. Even though I sat with my back to the blackboard listing the extensive, delectable milkshake options, I could hear it calling me the entire time I was waiting for my sandwich. Which, thankfully, was not long, because I would have given in sooner rather than later.

Fear not though, milkshakes, for I will return for you.

Since it was another beautiful day outside, I ate at one of the sidewalk tables in a dapple of sunlight. It was a good call, even though I panicked a little when a passing meter cop jokingly tried to confiscate half of my sandwich. Needless to say, he did not succeed.

The sandwich itself was fantastic. In deference to its name (and my hunger), I consumed both halves instead of the one I’d originally intended. The lamb was tender, and the smoky spices of the  hummus added just the right zap of flavor. The ciabatta was so fresh and of such the perfect consistency that attempting leftovers would have been a crime anyway.

                                        

And they gave me a freaking Chupa-Chup lollipop in the bag with the sandwich. It was no milkshake, but I’m pretty sure it was strawberries and cream, which is fantastic. Definitely made the walk home a little sweeter.

At $8.50, the sandwich was a bit pricier than I had expected, but that’s the average range for a Nice Sandwich here, and I definitely won’t protest if I’m getting lamb on it. Overall, definitely a venue worth revisiting to check out other menu options—I hear their salads are quite worthwhile too. Oh, and no one is forgetting the milkshakes.

There's No Place Like Brunch: The Ruby Slipper Cafe

We all know that brunch is the most important meal of the day. But one must appreciate the particular charm about a weekday brunch that goes above and beyond the average drizzle of hollandaise. Really, there’s nothing quite like enjoying the double-down decadence of some Hangover Benedict while the nine-to-fivers are churning away at their Monday.

A good friend and fellow brunch-enthusiast was in town for the day, so we decided to try out the Marigny location of one of the New Orleans breakfast-lunch-and-whatever-in-between staples, The Ruby Slipper. 

It’s a lovely little space, airy with lots of streaming sunlight and colorful art on the walls. All of which I took in peripherally and duly noted as I studied the drink menu.

There are very few things in this world that will induce me to pass on a mimosa during  brunchtime. A good Bellini is one of those things. I can hardly wait to start buying up batches of fresh (and slightly overripe) peaches from farmer’s markets and gleefully blending them into a fine puree to mix with some bubbly and crushed ice in summer-appropriate quantities. In the meantime, the Ruby Slipper’s double Bellini isn’t a bad choice to tide me over, especially at the point in the glass where I’m tipping back shreds of schnapps-soaked peach.

Food-wise, ordering was even simpler. I’ve been on a shredded pork kick of late, so the “house specialty” of Eggs Cochon was an easy green light. My friend ordered the Tex-Mex style Migas scramble, to which I said, “That list has too many ingredients for me to actually read them all now. Go for it.”

Both were a good call. But given my pretty consistent fetish for hardcore comfort food, I was definitely more enamored of my choice. The pork debris had a sweet-smoky savor and was just the right amount of juicy. And really, you can’t go wrong with decent biscuits and the poached eggs/hollandaise combo as a brunch base. I was going to eat just half, but my early afternoon animal instincts kicked in and, well, that was the end of that plate.

The Migas was fun if you prefer your eggs with that Southwestern flair. The tortilla chips at the bottom added a nice crunch that was unexpected. At least to me, who obviously hadn’t read that far in the menu description. Brunch nachos!

I declare this a successful first visit, and it was a great start to the week. Nothing on the menu here looks exceptionally zany, but there are a few dishes I wouldn’t mind at all coming back to try, especially the Bananas Foster Pain Perdu or Eggs Coubion. More and more of these places seem to be popping up that do brunch-style menus every day of the week, but that doesn’t make the weekday experience any less magical for me.

So many poached eggs, so little time. 

Ripe to Bursting: French Market Creole Tomato Festival

The unspoken tenet underpinning the slew of New Orleans festivals (and perhaps New Orleans in general) might as well be “Let Nothing Go Uncelebrated!”

This weekend the masses gathered to cheer the beginning of Creole tomato season with the annual French Market Creole Tomato festival. Enthusiastic diners and chefs alike can’t seem wait for these fleshy, flavorful Louisiana veggies to start getting plucked off the vine and thrown into pots, pans, and griddles across the city. Judging by the flocks chowing down on Creole tomato-centric concoctions whipped up by local eateries, this year’s crop must already feel quite appreciated and welcome.

There was a bustling variety of activity going on around the Market, including live music, cooking demonstrations, and an area playing favor to the kiddies. But let’s be real. It was Sunday, and I had skipped brunch for this. I was there for the food.

Proper strategy for optimal menu selection at a French Market Festival dictated that I canvass the entire row of food booths before making a final decision. But, oh, as soon as I laid eyes on the Crêpes à la Cart booth fairly early in the lineup, I knew my heart and stomach were won. I’ve been slavering for a good crêpe lately, and the Creole Tomato, Basil, and Mozzarella crepe (named Tastiest Dish of the festival , no less) did not fail to deliver.

I said-a crêpe, crêpe, crêpe-ity crêpe,
 a-crêpe crêpe crêpe-ity crêpe.

Anything remotely “Caprese” style, i.e some blend of tomato, fresh basil, and white cheese, is a pretty easy sell on me, but they had folded this into a triangle of bliss. The light savor of the filling was complemented by the touch of sweetness in the crêpe batter, and it was satisfyingly more filling than a small snack yet not as exhausting as a whole heavy meal. Good enough even to keep me distracted from getting jostled by a large sweaty group of drunk tourists wearing Mardi Gras beads.

Oh, I also picked up a Ginger Basil Lemonade with Bayou Rum while I browsed the offerings. While the drink was blessedly cool and refreshing, neither the ginger nor the basil came out as much as I had hoped. I did enjoy the rum and lemonade mix though, so altogether not a bad choice for enduring the 90+ degree afternoon.

Pro Tip: Always stay hydrated.

                                     

Not quite full to bursting, I decided to take in one more nosh. To top off I chose the Gulf shrimp with smoked Creole tomato sauce and mushroom grit cake from the Little Gem Saloon/RioDel Mar booth.

The Southern comfort of shrimp 'n' grits

The shrimp themselves lacked oomph but did well paired with the delightful flavors and textures of the grit cake and tomato sauce. With their powers combined, the dish provided the unique blanket of tastiness that only Southern comfort food can really offer.

Serenading me through most of my festival experience was The Honeypots, a chill but very groovin’ lady-based New Orleans band. Perfect music for a Sunday afternoon amidst the blooming of delicious local cuisine.

Crowds and Louisiana’s sweltering heat are usually enough not only to make me cringe and scowl, but often stay home entirely. Something about New Orleans intoxicates me (literally and/or figuratively) enough to transcend that madness and even enjoy myself at these types of events. So here’s to being pulled out of my shell, and I'm already looking forward to next weekend’s Louisiana Cajun-Zydeco Festival. 

Happy Hour: Sunset on Magazine

One of the best parts of taking a summer happy hour prowl down Magazine is seeing all the sandwich boards lined up in front of the bars and restaurants. They stretch down the street into the distance, beckoning their sly happy hour drinks and noshes. Decisions, decisions! The sultry heat breezes may fight the blasts of A/C from stalwart doorframes, but we all know who is going to win there, too.

As my dear Oscar Wilde said, “I can resist everything except temptation.” And of course I graciously went along with the wiles of happy hour, spending not one but two golden afternoons this week at GG’s Dine-O-Rama (formerly Gott Gourmet Cafe). Their “Sunset on Magazine” special runs 4-7 p.m. Tuesday through Friday and features daily rotating drink specials as well as $5 appetizers.

I’m not big on the kind of kitsch their design and menu headings seem to be employing, but if you’ve got the kitchen to kick the ass of categories like “Snack-O-Rama” and “Fork And Awesome”, I’m willing to give my blessing.

Started off Round One (Wednesday) with the drink special for the day, Sangria. Not as heady as I’m used to with sangrias, and definitely not as sweet. But quite refreshing, and snacking on the apple chunks at the bottom of the glass is a tasty pop.

Sangria: Putting the "gold" in "golden hour"

Then, upon me did descend a plate of fried artichoke hearts with a side of truffle aioli, and yeay, it was good. But I had to try another plate again the next day, for quality and fact-checking purposes.

Fried Artichoke Hearts and Shrub Lemonade

Yep, still pleasing. I peeled off and ate one aioli-dredged leaf at a time to get the whole, glisteningly crunchy effect.

For Round Two, I also got the Thursday drink special, a $5 Basil & Meyer Lemon infused gin lemonade.  That’s a summer drink I can really sink my gullet into (or is it vice-versa?). Light, with a hint of carbonation and a dollop of sweetness mellowed out by the basil.

Also tried out the Chicken Verde Nachos, which pretty straightforwardly fit the description implied by “Snack-O-Rama”, I do believe. You can drizzle cheese sauce and pile fixins on pretty much anything and call me a happy girl, but you better believe I dragged some of those chips through the last of that aioli. I regret nothing.

Chicken Verde Nachos

                                            

All in all, a worthwhile little venture. Patio seating with a nice spray of mist from the awning, so that if you choose to brave the glare of late afternoon sun, as I did, you can watch the pulses of Magazine life trickle by.

She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey hey

Yes, those would be Train lyrics in the post title, in honor of the month and the Drops of Jupiter red blend that apparently the lead singer created and I am imbibing.

Pictured here with dinner prep. Yes, I was singing the song all evening.

Says Train-singer-cum-wine-maker Jimmy Stafford, "I don't have a particular favorite wine, but I'll never turn down a great red." All right, guy. Close enough. And on sale at my nearest Rouse's.

Anyway, looks like there are a good few events to hit up amongst the hustle and hub-bub of New Orleans this week. Here's a handful I'm aiming for:

• This week (5/2-5/8) is Negroni Week! Though the cocktail has never struck a particular chord in me before, I'm willing to give it another try, especially when local venues add their unique flair. Heaps of bars and restaurants around town are participating, many contributing a portion of proceeds from Negroni sales to charity (predominately the New Orleans Musicians Foundation). A fairly extensive list of down-to-Negroni bars can be found in this article.

• Sunset on Magazine is held at GG's Dineorama Tuesdays-Fridays from 4-p.m. I'm always ready to oblige a good happy hour, and this does not look to disappoint. Gourmet small plates for $5 and rotating drink specials--I'm holding out for the Sangria. 

• The final Blood Jet Poetry Reading of the Spring Season, with excellent wordsmiths Brett Evans and Christopher Shipman. Last chance to catch this lovely series until September! At BJs in the Bywater at 8 p.m.

• Getting Hi-Fi with Vixens & Vinyl on Wednesday(s) at Spitfire! Lovely ladies and vintage tunes, what could be better? Oh yeah, there's no cover.

• DIAL YR DREAMZ at the New Orleans Poetry Brothel Poetry Hotline this (and every!) Thursday from 8-12 CST. Denizens of the Poetry Brothel--including yours truly--will be waiting to whisper sweet everythings into your ear. 

• The Annual Creole Tomato Festival is this Saturday and Sunday (5/8-5/9) at the French Market, 10 a.m.-6 p.m. Fresh tomatoes, recipes (samples, please!) and live music make for a fun set-up to hang out in the Quarter this weekend.

• It's Always Sunny in Burlesque: The Nightman Cometh runs this Friday and Saturday (5/7 & 5/8) at 11 p.m. at the Shadowbox Theatre. I'm not sure I even need to say anything else about this besides the title, but this threatens to be the highlight of my week. From the same ensemble that put on the phenomenal Arkham ASS-ylum, this show sold out before I could get in last week. Tickets are $10, I would strongly suggest purchasing ahead of time!

Hail NOLA, Full of Grace

Oh, well hello there, New Orleans.

I know you’ve seen me making eyes at you from across the lake. I’ve been skittish about letting things get hot and heavy with us, but I’m done playing coy. So let me say this: Now is our time.

Yes, I (foolishly) held out for two years, but the siren song of this beautiful, boisterous city finally lured me to my fate. So with the help from some saints I’m lucky to claim as friends and family, and with the promise of great (or at least radically entertaining) things in store, I packed up my earthly possessions and rearranged my roots so they would start to grow here in the Big Easy.

As I’m closing out my first month here, I’m happy to report that I regret none of it.

But I’ve been so delightfully busy going through what I like to call my “grace period.” That is, taking some heavy-duty time to indulge in the “I just moved to New Orleans! Woo!” high. And, oh, it can be a doozy. When I mention this to other transplants, they usually respond with a long nod, a chuckle, and something along the lines of, “Ah yes. That’s a good time. I remember going through that. Well, mostly remember.”

So I’ve been devouring my first samplings as a live-in local of the city’s food, bars, and creative scene. Burlesqueries, picnics, brunch, Pimm’s Cups, crawfish, sno-balls, friends new and old...all of it has conspired to convince me that I am in the right place. And there is only more to come. I’m looking forward to plotting and chronicling here many more of my revelries, revelations, and delicacies. The game is afoot!

Just a few snapshot moments...

Uptown Hen

Truth.

Getting schooled by the ladies' room of Twelve Mile Limit

First foray into District Sliders--Turns out Mexican Hot Chocolate is a great way to make a donut

Rainy day brunch in the Marigny at Horn's

Some Mostly Obvious Things I’ve Learned So Far:

• The best remedy for a New Orleans Hangover is a New Orleans Brunch.
• If it’s Monday, the answer is Red Beans and Rice.
• GPS can navigate driving the French Quarter about as effectively as a wasted tourist.
• Actually, don’t drive through the Quarter if at all possible.
• Should probably just factor towing costs into the budget.
• Can’t just refer to the neighborhood vaguely as the Marigny-Bywater anymore, the boundary is the railroad tracks, figure it out.
• People get pretty tetchy about their neighborhoods.
• Traffic lights seem to be more of a suggestion, really.
• Left turns, per se, are not actually a thing. Getting used to New Orleans Lefts involves U-turns, aggressive intuition, and the grace of God.
• Ambivalence in choosing a restaurant is no longer acceptable. Too many options, no one has time for that kind of dithering. Make a list.
• Bars don’t close at two. (Yes, that is sunlight. Go home.)
• Cabs are a thing here. Go ahead and punch that into speed dial.
• Your life is what you make it, regardless of where you unpack your boxes. But moseying to the rhythm of New Orleans every day certainly doesn’t hurt.

Kisses & Mischief, etc,

A