The period of the Jazz and Heritage Festival is the ideal event to showcase the spirit of the city, as a Cajun hotbed of music and unique cuisine. A long weekend during the Festival was enough to fall in love and resolve to return to a city distinct from any other in the United States. Now for the itinerary:
Thursday April 25, 2002
6:30 pm: We check into the LaSalle Hotel, located at the pulse point of the city. On the corner of Basin and Canal, it is the perfect platform from which to cruise the French Quarter, the Garden District or the Central Business District. Other hotels such as the Sheraton and the Hyatt may offer more luxury at an inflated price, but we were content with a modest room at an affordable rate. Given the amount of time we plan on spending in the room (almost none), it makes sense.8:30 pm: After a catnap and an invigorating shower, we meet up with our friends from Australia and head to the French Quarter. My philosophy whenever I visit a new city is to dispense with notorious tourist traps upon arrival. In the case of New Orleans that meant a stroll down Bourbon Street. I admit to being curious about the avenue infamous for moral depravity. I had been warned that the street was devoid of charm during a major event like the Jazz Festival. The warning was prophetic because after one minute, I deciphered what Bourbon Street is about. I have seen it before in Acapulco, Daytona Beach and even Amsterdam. The art of pandering to the lowest common denominator with alcohol, sex, food, and insipid merchandise. Bourbon has it all but despite the repugnance, I feel elated to be here. The mood is electric and I feel alive. In good company, my stomach growls at the prospect of sampling some noted local fare.
9:00 pm: New Orleans is humid, even in late April, so we venture in search of a thirst quencher. A frozen daiquiri proves to be the elixir and we sip and stroll down Bourbon toward the Acme Oyster House. Recommended to us from our Melbourne mate who volunteered to wait in line if we produced beer, we stand outside and peer in with ravenous curiosity. As our table is called, we down our sweet icy drinks, incur a fantastic head rush, and enter the establishment on a mission to eat.
The good people at the Acme Oyster House serve oysters by the ton. They serve them raw, fried, in a shooter, or in a po-boy (click to find out what it is). Crawfish is also a favorite and between the four of us, we inhale enough of both to put them on the endangered list.
I love raw oysters but never imagined them coated in batter and submerged in a deep fryer. To my surprise, the batter is light and crispy, with a perfect plump oyster nestled within for me to slurp. Crawfish were new to me although as a crustacean aficionado, I was familiar with their cousins. Once you acquire the knack for sucking the tender meat out of the shell without looking like a complete lunatic, the experience is rather pleasant and delectable.
One table amenity I came to appreciate at the Acme Oyster House and everywhere else I ate in New Orleans was the preponderance of hot sauce. It went well with everything and the fire on my tongue was satiated with a bottle of local Blackened VooDoo beer. Not yet content to leave without more food, we split an order of seafood gumbo and jambalaya . Full and dizzy from alcohol, laughter and food, we spill out into the night toward our next destination.
11:30 pm: A short taxi ride later and we arrive at a cool spot in the Warehouse District named the Mermaid Lounge. We are here to see The Dirty Dozen Brass Band, a New Orleans staple rooted in jazz with a fusion sound soaked in bebop, R&B and soul.
The atmosphere inside the lounge and on the street is reminiscent of a summer block party. Hard to imagine that a famous local jazz act in existence for a quarter century is about to play in such an inauspicious venue. People mingle outside and come and go from the club. The night air is humid but scented with something sweet and unfamiliar that wafts in now and then with a cool breeze. It reminds me to maximize what precious time I have here.
1:00 am: We are exhausted, but the buzz is intense as the anticipation mounts to a crescendo and we soon forget how long it has been since last we slept. As the band commandeers the stage after an energetic set by the funk-rock group Afroskull, the lounge swells with people. The Dirty Dozen Brass Band annihilates the joint as the room sways with the frenetic movement of people. The smell of sweat, beer and grease is in the air but I welcome it and inhale. This is an authentic New Orleans experience.
Friday April 27, 2002
11:30 am: Our day begins with a walk to the French Quarter. The morning stroll is welcome as we obtain our first glance of the city in daylight. New Orleans is afflicted with a confounding sense of extreme racial poverty and urban blight, in stark contrast to a visual sense of opulence within one glance. I notice the phenomenon whenever I visit a large metropolitan area in the American South and find it rather disturbing. Nonetheless we walk past the homeless drug addict in front of the Ritz Carlton Hotel on Canal on our way to Decatur Street.
Decatur is more sophisticated than Bourbon, with less dirt and grime, and is lined on the south side by the Mississippi River. The view of the street heading east from Canal is superb as you approach the heart of the French Quarter. The architecture is stunning and street signs remind you that the area owes more to Spanish influence than French. We yearn to stroll down Decatur until our feet ache but the smell of lunch, or breakfast in our case, is seductive.
12:30 pm: After a 20-minute wait for a table at Caf Maspero, a popular local haunt that serves up the best muffuletta in the city, we sit down in the crowded dining hall and scour the menu. By now we have learned to accept that the default preparation of food in New Orleans is with a deep fryer. This is the South after all. Yet our usual aversion to batter and grease has been cast aside for now, as we adopt a "when in Rome" outlook. I order the fried oysters with French fries and a small salad.
The salad, much to my chagrin, turns out to be a handful of iceberg lettuce with a slice of cucumber, ranch dressing and a pile of grated cheese. Even salad is a coronary in the making here. When the main dish arrives however, my jaw drops to the floor. The plate is piled to the ceiling with fat, plump oysters on a bed of freshly cut potato wedges. Forgetting the calorie count, I satiate my appetite with a huge smile on my face.
The famous muffuletta, which I sample a small bite of, is delicious, although we order the vegetarian variety. The preponderance of meat in the original sandwich is just too much to bear at the moment. The experience at Maspero is positive, from the service and the food, to the crowded lunch crowd atmosphere. My final memory of the restaurant is a note scribbled on the bathroom door that read: "Tip the waitress like she your mama."
3:30 pm: On a full stomach, the walk to the bus stop to catch a ride to the Jazz Festival is welcome. The stop is around the corner from our hotel so we stop in to clean up before making our way to the Fair Grounds; the converted horse race track where the festival is held.
The city bus to the festival takes us through some scenic neighborhoods of the city where the residential architecture is rather unique. The lazy ride there has us primed to hear some incredible music. I scour the itinerary I printed up the week before of the featured acts and consult the map of the stages to orient myself. We walk for ten minutes from the stop to the venue and go through a routine security check before stepping into the Fair Grounds for the first time.
4:30 pm: The first thought that enters my mind is Woodstock . The Jazz Festival area is immense. There are music tents erected on the perimeter devoted to gospel, blues and jazz. I can hear a beautiful cacophony of sound as we walk to the center of the site.
Large stages have been set up all around us and depending on who is playing, there are thousands of people taking in the set. Local arts and crafts are on display and for sale throughout. Then I notice the food stands. They are everywhere, with large signs above advertising the dish on the menu. From typical Louisiana fare to Caribbean cuisine, the choices are impossible to wrestle with. The beautiful part though is that for a few dollars, you can sample a small plate and then move on to the next. Better yet, with a group of four, you can indulge in a communal taste of everything. As I gaze at the scene around me, I breathe a sigh of pure satisfaction.
5:45 pm: After sharing a plate of spicy alligator nuggets (delicious), a crawfish po-boy and a huge glass of cold mandarin orange iced tea, we venture off to listen to some of the main acts. We take in Taj Mahal & The Phantom Blues Band, dancing and sweating the food away, and then enjoy the a capella sound of Ladysmith Black Mambazo, made famous on the landmark Paul Simon album Graceland . The ambiance at the Jazz Festival is inviting and peaceful, as all ages take in the wonderful music and food.
7:15 pm: The Festival is closed for the day but as we pile out into the streets with the crowd, I notice that food vendors are selling excess stock at a discount. I snag some jambalaya and an alligator casserole and filter into the horde. People are singing and dancing and performers are hustling for a buck roadside. We take our time walking back to the bus stop and after a long wait under a willow tree, we rest our sore feet and enjoy the ride home.
8:45 pm: We arrive at our room and after a welcome shower, decide to relax and plan out the next day. Spent, I drift off into deep sleep less than an hour later.
Saturday April 28, 2002
10:30 am: New Orleans is home to a popular local and tourist spot known as the Caf du Monde, a required destination for breakfast according to several people. Although hesitant to appear at a crowded tourist trap, I am persuaded to go.To my pleasant surprise, the Café is located on Decatur near the ornate Jackson Square. As we wait in line to sample the menu staple of a beignet and café au lait, I take advantage of the scenery to snap several photographs. A saxophonist is entertaining us with music and comedic banter, showing clueless patrons still not yet awake to vacated tables. We sit down soon enough and order the famous breakfast. The latter is not authentic café au lait at all, as it is prepared in Paris or Montreal, but a decent cup of coffee and nothing more. The beignet however, is quite decadent. Instead of lingering around, we decide to explore the French Quarter.
11:30 am: The Quarter is alive with vendors and musicians who line Jackson Square, on St. Peter, St. Ann and Chartres Street. We stroll and observe the action and step into a few jewelry and antique shops. Then we decide to visit the impressive St. Louis Cathedral on Chartres. We cut through the square and the bronze General Andrew Jackson and walk into a stunning basilica, the oldest in North America. The architecture is reminiscent of Europe, from the exterior faade to the large vaulted ceiling. A sign serves as commemoration of a papal visit in 1987, when Pope John Paul II conducted mass for over 200,000 by the city lakefront.
2:30 pm: We arrive at the Jazz Festival on a high and hungry. I scoff a plate of red beans and rice and sample crawfish etoufee , corn shrimp and sausage maque choux and jerk chicken. I can now die a happy man. We walk from the gospel tent to a stage with a calypso steel band to the jazz tent. The music is as eclectic and savory as the food.
5:30 pm: We have a predicament. Lenny Kravitz is about to appear on the main stage in front of a capacity crowd but India.Arie is about to begin her set as well. We are closer to the India stage so we decide to watch her and then head out to catch the end of Lenny.
6:15 pm: India is giving the supportive crowd a wonderful dose of her acoustic soul. The challenge presented by having Lenny play at the same time is great because the sound of his set is audible from where we stand and his crowd is immense. We wait for a pause in her set and slip through the crowd to get to Lenny.
As we approach the outer vicinity of the stage, we realize that there is no way to obtain a decent view, unless we attempt to surf the crowd and suffocate to death. We decide to stand by the side of the stage, which is a wise decision because we are out in the open on the periphery of the crowd but can still take in the sonic power of the set. Kravitz is a natural performer; his vocals and instrumentation is identical to listening to him on CD. We sing along to our favorite Lenny songs with the crowd and scream for an encore when his time is up.
9:30 pm: The culinary journey perseveres with a dinner in the Quarter of red beans and rice (again), raw oysters and softshell crab. I down a drink called Cypress Scream with three types of rum that smacks me upside the head.
11:30 pm: We hit a quiet jazz bar on Bourbon and enjoy another drink with some solid local music. After the set is up, we decide to walk back to the hotel and call it a night.
Sunday April 28, 2002
12:30 pm: I have the luxury of two hours to myself so I decide to head to a venerable New Orleans institution for brunch: Mother's. The restaurant on Poydras Street in the Central Business District has been serving soul food and New Orleans cuisine in a lunch counter and cafeteria setting for almost a century.
I line up in front of the open kitchen and order a shrimp etoufee omelet with biscuits. As I pay for my order before waiting for my plate, I cannot resist a slice of sweet potato pie by the cash register. I add it to the total with a cup of coffee and sit down at a long counter opposite the production line of cooks. I notice that several patrons have chosen the flagship dish, the Famous Ferdi Special: a po-boy with cured ham, roast beef, debris , gravy, and shredded cabbage. I remain content to look but not touch and enjoy my brunch, although I have no stomach for the biscuits. The omelet is one of the best I have tasted and when coated in hot sauce, it is a masterpiece. The sweet potato pie is a revelation and a perfect way to cap the meal with good black coffee.
1:30 pm: I snap some photographs and head toward the Mississippi via Canal. I venture into the Riverwalk Marketplace; a shopping, dining and entertainment district that is lined up against the water. If you plan on doing some damage with the credit card in New Orleans, do it here. The area includes the Aquarium of the Americas, a Hilton hotel and a Convention Center. After some peaceful meditation riverside, I take a walk back up Canal to take a streetcar ride with the rest of my party through the Garden District.
2:30 pm: The St. Charles Streetcar Line slices through the northern half of the famed Garden District, home to author Anne Rice and Tulane University. I marvel at the above ground tombs of the Lafayette Cemetery No. 1 and imagine that Rice vampire Lestat is among them. The ride is a revelation of architecture and Crescent City wealth. The Spanish moss and Georgian manors that line St. Charles are unlike anything I have seen.
4:00 pm: Our final day at the Jazz Festival is marked with more wonderful food: stuffed artichoke, eggplant with shrimp and tasso sauce, smothered shrimp and okra, pheasant gumbo, and pecan catfish. A taste adventure indeed.
We take in a boisterous and soul stirring blues performance by legend Marva Wright. The woman is a vocal powerhouse and the steamy tent is transformed into an old-fashioned revival. I shake my head in disbelief at the range of her voice and wonder out loud how some people make it in the music business while more talented singers toil in mainstream obscurity.
After Marva is through, we catch the end of a rousing set by New Orleans native Wynton Marsalis and his excellent ensemble.
5:55 pm: Despite the amazing talent of India.Arie and Lenny Kravitz, my musical highlight will be now. Teddy Pendergrass is about to take the stage. The man who is synonymous with Philadelphia soul is as charismatic as ever, despite the wheelchair he is confined to.
The women still swoon for the "Teddy Bear" and older couples around us dance like teenagers. We have an amazing view of the stage and move to the rhythm of his amazing band. The vibe is positive and inspirational as Pendergrass serves up one hit after another. I feel privileged to have seen (live) the man who moved me as a boy in 1985, as I witnessed his dramatic return to the stage at Live Aid in Philadelphia.
9:30 pm: Our Jazz Festival experience complete, we return to our rooms to shower and dress for dinner. I wanted to close the weekend with a meal at a reputable New Orleans restaurant and Café Sbisa fit the criteria. We arrive with a second to spare on our reservation and sit down in anticipation of a wonderful meal to follow.
The setting is posh, classic and relaxed. The bar is perhaps the most resplendent feature of the restaurant and we soon take advantage of it. I start with a Brandy Milk Punch and sample a Green Apple Martini, whetting my appetite further.
Based on the recommendation of the attentive and patient waiter, I share the Crab Cakes and Crawfish Ursuline to start. As a major fan of the former, I announce to everyone that they are among the best I have tasted and pass them around to share. The crawfish is excellent as well.
Dinner is a succulent plate of Blackened Redfish that is prepared to perfection. I know how delicate a procedure it can be to prepare fish, so my mouth is quite happy. Everyone else scores with their order and I insist on tasting a sample in order to validate that claim. I can assure you that it was an accurate one, with high praise for the Courtbouillon .
Dinner is over but I have yet to finish because the one item I failed to consume at the Jazz Festival is on the dessert menu: white chocolate bread pudding . The waiter gushes as he provides the description. I need no coaxing and order it with a cappuccino. The pudding is so decadent and sinful that I have to take my time to savor each mouthful. I finish the last morsel coated in whiskey sauce and sink into my chair with a sigh.
I realize as I look around that the restaurant is empty except for our table. We have been so absorbed in good conversation and food that we have lost track of time. The staff is at the bar and cleaning up in a discreet fashion. The waiter however, assures us that we may take our time and the manager of Café Sbisa, Tom, could not be more professional. He meanders to our table and engages us in amiable conversation. Impressive, I think to myself; small wonder that the restaurant has lasted since 1899. Café Sbisa proves to be the perfect final destination on our New Orleans food and music journey.
New Orleans food terms:
The following is a guide to the unique cuisine of the Crescent City. Read it and memorize it if you go in order to avoid looking like a tourist when you order.
Beignet: Sweet, square doughnuts that are heavily sprinkled with powdered sugar.
Bread Pudding: There are many versions, but at its best it's light, fluffy and smothered in whiskey sauce.
Courtbouillon: A spicy stew made with fish, tomatoes, onions and vegetables.
Crawfish: Locally known as Mudbugs. Served in many different New Orleans dishes. Only the tail of the crawfish is eaten.
Debris: Pieces of meat with gravy left over in the pan.
Etoufee: A tangy tomato-based sauce. Etoufee is used in many New Orleans dishes.
Gumbo: A thick, mostly okra-based soup that is poured over cooked rice. There are many different types of gumbo, including Chicken Gumbo, Shrimp Gumbo, and Crawfish Gumbo.
Jambalaya: Tomatoes, cooked rice, ham, andouille sausage, chicken, celery, onions, and seasonings. Similar to paella.
Maque choux: A Cajun dish made of sweet corn covered with onions, sausage, seasonings, garlic, and one red tomato.
Muffuletta: A huge, round sandwich consisting of ham, salami, and other meats, cheese, pickles, and olive salad.
Po-Boy: A large sandwich served on French bread. Po-boys can be stuffed with fried oysters, fried shrimp, roast beef and gravy, softshell crabs, turkey, or hot sausage.
Red Beans and Rice: Red kidney beans mixed with rice, seasonings, spices, and sausage.
Resources:
http://www.alanet.com/cookin.html (for complete list of food terms)
New Orleans Travel Guide
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