My funk is, finally, over.  Over. OVER. O.V.E.R.  And I hate to admit what it took, but I will

It took a day completely, fully, wholly, unattached.  Captain Sarcastic took Sun to Jazz Fest today, and because I had to work yesterday I was not in the office today.  Ten plus hours of me-time!  Ah, it was a luxury just to think of it.  I wanted to do NOTHING of the things I normally do; I needed to do something other than the same places with the same faces.

Yesterday on the twitter, talks were had about meeting for drinks this afternoon.  Things were settled on Cooter Brown’s.  Then, later in the evening on the twitter, Bud’s Broiler came up.  And before long, YatPundit and I had made plans to meet for lunch for a Number 4 and Number 3, respectively, each with cheese fries.

So once CS and Sun were off this morning, I spent an hour cleaning.  I got more cleaning done in that one alone-hour than I have in the past year!  It was amazing.

Then lunch.  I LOVE a burger at Bud’s Broiler; they are char-grilled and yummy.  But today the focus wasn’t on the food; it was on the company, the conversation.  We talked about blogging, twittering, lawyering.  We talked about the proposed church closings, cemeteries, where we went to high school.  We talked about being a cultural catholic, and about being a parent.  We talked and talked and talked.  No babies, no office calls.

After three and a half hours, I needed to leave.  I had meant to run to the knitting store between lunch and my next agenda item, but that fell to the wayside.  YatPundit and I parted and I drove to Old Metairie to meet Katie at Lovejoy Spa for a pedicure.  I haven’t had a pedicure since I was pregnant–a year and a half ago.  It was JUST what I needed.  Adult activities with adults with no children.  We talked about weddings and doctors and weddings OF doctors.  It was decadent.  I could have sat in that vibrating chair for two pedicures.

Then Katie and I parted–her to nap and me to head to Cooter Brown’s.  At Cooter Brown’s, Yat Pundit arrived and then WarriorEngineer. And so did my cousin and two of his friends.  We drank beers from “around the world.”  And I ate a dozen raw oysters.  Their oysters are some of the best in the city: super fresh, ice cold and salty.  Oh, and yeah, MORE cheese fries.  Damn, their cheese fries are amazing: hot discs of potatoes SMOTHERED in dripping hot melted cheese.

At the end of it all, I got a call from CS sounding downright frazzled.  This is a sound usually found in MY voice, not his.  All day at Jazz Fest alone with Sun–including an exploding diaper and port-o-lets–had taken its toll. I was needed back home.

Walking in the front door to a bathed Sun (Sun-bathed?) and an apologetic husband (he was sorry he’d interrupted my day alone–can you believe?), I was rejuvenated, refreshed.  I AM rejuvenated, refreshed.

I am appreciative of the blessings of my life, of my family, of this lil blog o’ mine, of the comments and e-mails you, my amazing readers, sent me regarding my last post.

I am a lucky gal.  And all I needed was a bit of exclusive me-time to feel it all again.

I had to pick Sun up from the Westbank today.  Seems I am across the river often these days.  Today I passed Mosca’s twice.  Once was hard, twice was really hard.  Especially because YatPundit kept twittering about how he had cooked Mosca’s Chicken a la Grande last night.

Over dinner, I mentioned Mosca’s, planning a trip back to eat dinner.  A diner close to us mentioned a rumor he’d heard about Al Capone sending his chef to New Orleans to learn from Mosca.  I have no idea if this is true.

Then later tonight, YatPundit posted about his home-cooked Mosca’s dinner last night.  He used a sauce Mosca’s sells in the grocery store.  And YP mentions yet another mob-themed rumor about Mosca’s in his post.

Oh, the allure of a mob-rumored hole in the wall restaurant in the middle of nowhere three cities away!  Yes, we will have to do a group dinner there soon.  Until then, I will just pretend that YatPundit’s post was also a scratch-n-sniff.  I can almost smell the garlic!

I have started and then resisted writing this post in the past because Angelo Brocato’s is a New Orleans icon and much can be said about it and I fear not doing it justice.  With that caveat (see the attorney in me kicking in?!), I will proceed for the benefit of those unaware of this spot of Heaven in New Orleans, like Katie. 

Angelo Brocato’s is an Italian ice cream parlor that has been a part of New Orleans for over a century.  It was originally located at 617 Ursulines Avenue in the French Quarter, and its name is still in the tile at its original corner (as is the curious second entrance that is tiled “Ladies Entrance.”)  They have been located at their current Mid-City location (at Carrollton and Canal, on the Canal/Carrollton streetcar line) for as long as I can remember.

Katrina did a great deal of damage to Brocato’s.  They have placed a brass plaque above the inside door handle indicating the waterline:

You can click here to see more photos relating to their rebuild and opening day (September 23, 2006) post-Katrina.

So their history is a long and rich one.  And speaking of long, so is the line to get in.  There is ALWAYS a line here, even if you come at 2pm on a weekday afternoon.  In the evenings, there is usually a security guard to help maintain that line.  What’s inside is worth the wait.

Gelatos, spumoni, cassata, cannoli, Italian ices (nothing compares to their lemon ice on a hot New Orleans summer day), and Italian pastries, cookies and candies.  The cookies and candies are made from their own recipies: Biscotti, scadalina, fig cookies, pigniolata, and my mother-in-law’s favorite, what she calls their “bird seed cookies” (Italian sesame seed cookies). And they serve hot chocolate, tea and coffee.  The coffee they serve is good steaming cafe au lait, espresso, cappuccino, and cafe latte.  Just look at their menu and beautiful brass coffee machine:

And here’s a pic of just one of the candies you can buy loose on the counter, their licorice pastels:

They have over 20 flavors of gelatos.  But I have only tasted about four.  Because that fourth one was their Pistachio Nut (as opposed to their Pistachio Almond) and I about died of ecstacy.  The texture of that gelato!  Really, it gets in your system and when it wears off, you simple CRAVE it.  So my typical order, no matter how hot or cold outside, is a steaming cafe au lait and a cup of Pistachio Nut gelato.  And when I am sitting on an iron chair in their bustling parlor, all is well in the world.

Somehow I managed to skip lunch today. This NEVER happens. But by 2 o’clock, as hungry as I was, I was beginning to think about dinner. And if I then ate lunch, it’d ruin my dinner. So I did what an self-respecting foodie would do: I called my husband and asked if he’d like to go to Doson Noodle House with me for dinner. He did.

I learned of this place through some friends–they ordered for us to go and we ate at their home. This was about two months ago. And since then, I have thought about this noodle house a lot. I love Vietnamese food, and Katrina took out many of the good Vietnamese restaurants in the area. So this restaurant was a welcome addition to the NOLA restaurant scene. And I have been craving it for about a week now.

Enough history. Now onto the food. For starters, I ordered an iced coffee:

You know how you can order a Thai tea at Thai restaurants and you get this sweet, chilled, strong, creamy tea? It’s like that but coffee. It was hard to stop at one, it is so tasty, but I didn’t want to be up all night, as these are big. It’s worth stopping here just for this coffee.

Then we ordered the Spring Rolls (they recommend these on their menu):

Two rolls come with one order. And these rolls are BIG, each nestling three large shrimp. They are cool, filled also with noodles, cilantro, cucumber, and tofu. I could make a meal of this appetizer. The sauce is nutty with a dash of spice–they have more heat on the table that both CS and I took full advantage of.

Then for the main course: Vermicelli. CS got his with grilled chicken and I got mine with grilled pork. Here’s a shot of the pork vermicelli:

This plate is deceptive. This dish is ENDLESS. It defies you to eat it all. How much is it? I skipped lunch and was ready to gnaw off Sun’s left arm (it DOES resemble a dumpling) and was content to eat all I could. I fully expected to finish this tonight. I didn’t. Neither did CS. Between the two of us, I have enough for lunch tomorrow. If, that is, I can resist eating it later tonight. Because I am already Jonesin’ for it again even though I am still WAY STUFFED. How stuffed? I turned down Angelo Brocato’s gelato that was RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET. Yeah, that stuffed.

So, if Vietnamese cuisine is your thing, trust me, this unassuming spot will scratch your itch.

Day 2 of 2008 FQF is in the bag for me. It was a fun two days, and I doubt I’ll make it back out tomorrow. This Fest has been my best yet.

It started for me the best way it could, at Napoleon House:

Isn’t their courtyard awesome?

and here’s my FAVORITE summertime cocktail, the Pimm’s Cup:

Napoleon House is gracious enough to share the recipe (click here) for this drink. I’ve tried and it’s just like the real deal (even with Crystal Light lemonade). I REALLY love this drink. It is cool and refreshing and let’s you know you are drinking alcohol but is mild enough to drink throughout a hot summer day. Yes, there will be many of these consumed by me in the coming months.

The Fest itself was really nice. The music was all fabulous, as was the food. In the two days, I ate the same two things: Tujague’s brisket with spicy horseradish sauce and Mrs. Wheat’s meat pies. I love, love, love these two items. And once I eat one of each, I am full. And very happy.

We spent much of our time in Jackson Square in a square of our own–a square of shade. We did walk to the river and see and hear what was going on there, too. We heard many bands and saw much art. Here’s artist Martin Wohlgemuth’s work set up in Pirate’s Alley (I couldn’t resist buying more from him today):

And here’s another artist in Pirate’s Alley working on a streetcar scene:

And here’s more art along the side of Jackson Square:

Here are a few sights in and around the Fest:

And a footnote on my latest obsession, absinthe. First, a pic of a cool sign for a bar that is no longer:

And some accoutrement located on a bar that now sells absinthe (again):

I like ritualistic eating, and I think I will like ritualistic drinking, too! However, I refrained from drinking it this time since Sun was with me and I didn’t want to risk seeing her with two heads or other such anomalies.

Yes, French Quarter Fest is my favorite festival of the year. And today the weather was just perfect for it. Also great were the eats and drinks and art and company of friends.

Napoleon House Pimm’s Cups.

Tujaque’s brisket.

Sun (the baby and the celestial body), husband, and friends.

Great music.

More good food.  And beer.

Exhaustion.

Read a far better description here.

Maybe a post about Day 2 will be better.  Because after a very long, restful night’s sleep, I am gearing up and going back down.

I just returned from lunch at Galatoire’s and am writing while still under its magical spell.

I went with two friends, one of which is an attorney I work with and the other someone who once worked in my office.  Her betrayal at leaving the firm, this many years later, is still not forgiven.

Anywho, where was I?  Oh, yeah.  So, while driving there, we came across this old biddy in a Volvo station wagon.  She was hogging the road–driving down the middle and not picking a lane.  She then stopped to drop someone off and one in my party said, “Oh, she’s probably dropping someone off for lunch at Galatoire’s.”  We pulled into a parking lot, handed the keys to the attendant and turned to face Ms. Volvo standing behind me, keys in hand.  Oy.

We get to Galatoire’s and get my friend’s favorite table at the front in the center by the window.  And we ask for his waiter, Dorris.

And in walks Ms. Volvo.

Unconcerned with Ms. Volvo, we turned our attention to buttering our warmed French bread.  And ordering a round of white wine for the table.  Then we decided on what to eat.  All the while, my stresses of the day were still playing in my mind; my cuticles still in jeopardy.  I settled on splitting a Godchaux salad (lump crabmeat and seasoned boiled shrimp over a bed of lettuce served with a remoulade dressing) with one of my friends.  Then I ordered the Crabmeat Sardou–which Galatoire’s describes as “tender artichoke bottoms filled with fresh lump crabmeat nestled in a bed of creamed spinach and drizzled with a wonderfully rich hollandaise sauce”–in honor of Daisy Duke.  (Daisy, yes, it was Heaven.)

And then we just relaxed.  And breathed.  And enjoyed ourselves.  And talked.  We talked about David Vitter and the potential closing of the Catholic churches in NOLA and the funeral and accompanying write-ups about Al Copeland and about traveling and the state of the airline industry and about the LA Senate striking down naming the Sazerac as the State Drink and about family.  Interspersed in this good conversation was good eats and good drinks.  All served in good time and not rushed.  And somewhere along the way, my cuticles were saved as my stesses finally went quiet and I was nowhere but in Galatoire’s enjoying the best the city has to offer with good friends.

In other words, it was just your typical lunch at Galatoire’s.

Sitting at a red-and-white checkered table at Bon Ton Cafe has a way of transforming you from the mental space you are in when you walk through the restaurant’s doors. Bon Ton Cafe has many tables in its one biggish room, and these tables are usually full during lunchtime. The buzz of conversation is intoxicating. I always feel like I will see someone I know upon walking in–a co-worker, a friend, maybe even my parents. Its brick walls remind you that this place has been here a really long time, and its distinct wall hangings keep watch to make sure things don’t change too much.

The nearby French Quarter offers many fine restaurants from which to choose. The Central Business District offers several good choices as well. The Bon Ton Cafe is one such CBD stalwart and august restaurant. Its creole and Cajun fare are top-notch. But it doesn’t forget that it’s a CBD restaurant. Which means that you get the luxury of a fabulous meal with the benefit of it fitting within your budget, both time-wise and money-wise.

And as your water glass is repeatedly filled by the wait staff and your bowl of crackers slowly get buttered and eaten along with gumbos and Debbie salads and fried oysters and grilled fish specials, and the clang of silverware plays its own song above the din of the diners, you forget those piles of paperwork waiting for you back at the office. Even if just for one too-quick-to-end hour.

I attended a national conference today that is going on here in NOLA (yay!). At day end, a small group of us headed to Cafe Adelaide for drinks. Walking in, it was impressive to see this ice block slowly melting in the center of the bar:

Having done research, I went with the Cocktail Chicks’ recommendation and ordered The Adelaide Swizzle:

It’s pink. And strong. And totally yummy. The Cocktail Chicks tell in their book that it contains amber rum, lime juice, Peychaud’s bitters, Simple Syrup, club soda and a secret ingredient. I did not expect it to be pink. This kept the men in our group from ordering it (their loss!). I have no idea what that secret ingredient is. Pink lemonade? I don’t know and I don’t care. Even if I knew the ingredient, I know it would not taste as good made at home as made in a bar that has a melting block of ice.

After two Adelaide Swizzles, we headed to dinner at Luke. The first order of business was getting drink orders in. I started on water. One of the women near me order a Sazerac. I have only had one Sazerac ever, and it was at The Fairmont Hotel (pre-Katrina–it is currently being renovated to become The Plaza) at their Sazerac Bar (fitting, eh?). I remember this drink being very strong and bitter. But lately I have been wanting to give this “granddaddy of cocktails” another try.

The Sazerac was created by Antoine Peychaud (the same Peychaud whose bitters were in my Adelaide Swizzle) here in New Orleans. He was a pharmacist and served his concoction as a cure for stomachaches. Peychaud’s Sazerac contained absinthe; absinthe became illegal in the U.S. in 1912. He served his drink in eggcups, called “coquetiers” in French. New Orleanians struggled with that French word and called it “cock-tay.” And thus was born the cocktail. How cool is that story?

Well, when that Sazerac was ordered, I was tempted. But, thought I, get it someplace known for it. The waiter began to discuss the Sazerac, explaining what was in it. He explained what Herbsaint was—an anise flavored liquor—that is used in place of absinthe. But then the waiter mentioned something I had not known: absinthe is legal again in America. Wha-wha-wha-what?? How do I not know these things? Pete tells me the answer is because I don’t listen as he told me this just days prior.

Anyway, the waiter proceeded to say that he had no idea how long it’d be legal in the U.S. (I had this sense that it could have been in the process of being banned before we finished dinner so I’d better not hesitate) and that it contains some chemical that is also found in pesticide. And I could have a real Sazerac with absinthe for $13. Of course, you know I ordered one:

It was very strong. And very smooth. And much better than the one I had years prior.

We all enjoyed our delicious dishes. Then I walked the group to House of Blues (thanks for the recommendation, Stacey) and headed home exhausted. I woke up today with a sore throat. I am sure it had nothing to do with the absinthe. Mostly.

I attended a little cocktail party affair tonight in the CBD for a conference that starts tomorrow. I was the only person in attendance from New Orleans. Tomorrow night, the conference has dinner arranged at several restaurants. Tonight, folks were on their own. Some of the attendees wanted raw oysters. So I volunteered to be NOLA’s goodwill ambassador and took them to Acme Oyster House. Except Acme was closed for a private party for the Zurich Classic.

No matter. I walked the group across the street to Felix’s. After waiting, I am not kidding, 30 minutes for drinks (I was ready to walk out at the 10 minute point but the group wanted to stay), I was dumbfounded to hear that they were out of oysters. None raw, fried, or etouffeed. Seriously, I was embarrassed. And we were now hungry. So we ordered some seafood and enjoyed the company. When dessert was offered, I opted to skip to go elsewhere. As we were walking out the door, imagine my absolute irritation at seeing the folks behind the counter shucking oysters. Oh, I was pissed.

So, after the most mediocre meal you could possibly have in this city, we mosied. We ended up at Brennan’s. But we were too late for dessert. Oh, did I want to hit the Pelican Club nearby and drink. But the good people I was with weren’t drinkers. I did insist that they walk through the Carousel Bar at the Monteleone Hotel. They wanted to go to Harrah’s. I obliged and took them there. And there we had dessert at the only place we could get it short of paying the full buffet price–Starbucks.

This was an unmitigated disaster. Acme closed? Felix’s with shitty service and no oysters? Brennan’s too late for bananas foster? Starbucks for dessert?

The company could not have been more agreeable or appreciative. There is a silver lining, however. The restaurants the conference has reservations for tomorrow night are Cafe Adelaide, Luke, Mr. B’s Bistro, Nola, Herbsaint, and Cafe Giovanni. I signed up for Luke. My little group decided we’d go to the Swizzle Stick Bar at Cafe Adelaide for drinks before dinner. Let’s hope I can make up tomorrow for tonight.

I suppose it could have been worse. At least I didn’t end up having the folks eat here: