A few years back, when Trading Spaces was a reason to stay home on a Friday night, I got the bug to sew.  I had visions of curtains, pillows, table runners, you name it.  I did my research and bought a sewing machine recommended by a sewing friend.  This was before we had Sun.  People told me I was nesting.

Whatever the reason, I was a sewing fool.  I sewed curtains and pillows and eye pillows (I actually sold those) and wine bags for Christmas gifts (including the wine!). Then I sewed a dress and hat for SoMo’s daughter.  Well, hell, that was using a pattern and it looked pretty good!  Then I got addicted to Ebay (don’t judge–you know you’ve been there!).  And I searched all manner of vintage sewing notions.

Confessions of a Misplaced Southern Belle recently turned me on to Giabella Designs.  Giabella’s aprons make me ache.  They are sooo beautiful–go check them out!  They remind me of the best find I had found on Ebay back when the sewing bug bit me, this vintage apron pattern:

But I wasn’t done with Ebay.  I then found some Michael Miller designer fabric, called “Cocktail Time.”  It was the perfect match for the pattern.  And so I made an apron:

Isn’t it adorable?!? And with the extra fabric, I went to my sister who owns a serger and she made me two bar towels and eight cocktail napkins.  I still adore this set.  It’s my favorite thing I ever sewed.

Then I made the little black and white number, but I used some designer Christmas fabric. It’s in the attic, or I’d show you a picture of it too.

Then I got courageous and made this cocktail one again for a newly-married friend with Miller’s fabric entitled, “How to Keep a Husband,” and I adjusted the pockets to mimic the pattern.  She, too, got towels and napkins.

And since they are so darn cute, my sister and mother-in-law put in requests, and we even bought the fabric they wanted, for me to make them one, too.  That was about three years ago.

And now, after not having sewn in a really long time, I have that itch again.  That itch to stitch.

I went on a field trip yesterday, really a wild goose chase that bore no fruit.  It led me to the neighborhood I grew up in.  The area was very badly damaged by Katrina.  As I drove toward my old address, I passed the hospital I was born in, the library I used to spend hours in, street names that immediately reminded me of my childhood.  Simultaneously, everything, all I remember, was different.  But the same.  The buildings are, for the most part, still there.  But most are no longer what they were when I moved away over 15 years ago.

So as I was driving not recognizing a thing, I was turning on the streets without having to look at signs.  I know that area like the back of my hand.  I always will.  And it was the oddest emotional mixture being reminded of dance lessons and summer school and swim lessons and the house that kept their glass Christmas tree in their front show window all year ’round while at the same time seeing just the skeleton of those memories.  The neighborhood is still raw, exposed, vulnerable.  It’s like someone took a huge swath of duct tape and stuck it on all the surfaces and then YANKED.  Underneath it all, it is what I remember, the past.  But on the surface, what is the current, real situation is destruction and slowness of recovery.

The Catholic Church that was right down my street, that housed my Catholic grammar school, is in good shape.  They obviously worked to get it re-opened.  It looks different.  Again, the buildings are the same, but there was a new street and new paint that changed the appearance.  It no longer felt like “my” school.

Then I turned on my old street.  And I got butterflies in my stomach.  I remembered so much!  Our friends’ homes; the house of the cranky old man who had a hook instead of a hand (he was a fireman and lost it in a fire and was very bitter about it); the big house with the fountain in the center that we’d go through as it was being built; the house of the architect and his family–he built it off his own design ala Mike Brady; the houses surrounding my old house that house more memories than I could maintain in the moment.

And for each house that had been worked on and had a car in front, four houses were still empty with the tell-tale watermark and spray-painted “X” on the wall.  Some had painted over the “X” but when your house is brick, paint is hard to cover.  The one bright spot was that there was a car in the driveway of my old house.  It wasn’t a vacant, forgotten house.  It had no watermark.  It looked surprisingly like we left it, even down to a sticker we left on a small window in the front.  That sticker!  I have a shrinky-dink of that sticker in some box somewhere.

I do not think a single neighbor from 15 years ago still lives there.  The empty lot across the street had a “new” house on it.  It was vacant all those years we lived there.  It had been flooded, and the For Sale sign had a Mississippi phone number.  Another NOLA ex pat.

I pulled away and drove the block and a half to the location of my first job–a hardware store.  It is still open.  Just after Katrina, when we were still rather numb but functioning, I recall being at the corner of my street heading to drive to Baton Rouge (an hour away) to go to the temporary office my firm had set up.  On the local talk radio was a familiar voice.  My first boss.  He was pleading for help in getting electricity back on at the shop so he could sell, you know, HARDWARE to folks that needed it desperately. I almost cried when I heard his voice.  I had been thinking about him, the store, the old neighborhood, knowing it had been hit hard.  But he is tough and survived and was fighting to get back on line.  It was the first real sign to me that the city WOULD recover.  Because of the business owners like him that just wouldn’t walk away and would make it go even with no help from our government (fed, state or local).

I walked into the store yesterday.  He’d expanded the ol’ place.  One of the doors was boarded.  The front desk has a watermark a foot high.  I sneaked to the back and saw him doing something so typical–bending over a lawnmower with a wrench.  He sharpens chainsaw, lawnmower, and edger blades and fixes their motors, too.  He looked up and said, “Can I hep ya… [then he recognized me] … Girl, get over here and give me a hug!” And we embraced. And caught up on the last five years, focusing mainly on his recent heart surgery and his troubles post-Katrina.

He was like a second father to me back when I worked for him.  Two of my brothers worked for him before me.  And his key employee is the same as it was 15 years ago.  And many of her siblings worked there over the years too.  It is a quintessential family joint.

Damn. Writing this is getting to me.  I titled this post before I started writing it.  And I realize I am wrong.  My home wasn’t that house.  It was the people that housed my life back then.  And many are relocated but still around.  And seeing my old boss, my dear friend, WAS going home, at least a little bit.

I cannot say enough how much I like love crawfish bisque.  It may well be my all-time favorite dish.  Growing up, my mother never made it, not once.  The first time I had it was at my best friend’s aunt’s.  That bowl set the bar very high.  My grandmother would make it every couple of years.  Maybe.  Sometimes less.  The reason you see it so infrequently is that, done correctly, it takes a lot of time.  All together, it probably takes a full day to prepare.

First, you need to boil crawfish.  Then pick them.  Then clean the heads.  Cleaning the heads is the worst part of preparing this dish to me.  Not because it is as gross as it sounds (it isn’t much more weird than peeling the tails) but because you have to snip off the noses of the crawfish.  This rips my fingers to shreds.  Here’s what four look like cleaned and ready to be stuffed:

Only 146 more to go.  Yes, the recipe I use (from Marcelle Bienvenu’s “Who’s Your Mama, Are You Catholic and Can You Make A Roux? A Family Album Cookbook” –great title, eh?) calls for 150 stuffed heads.  That’s a lot of heads!  Now, the next step is to stuff said heads.  To do that, you chop bell peppers, celery, onions, garlic, and crawfish tails and mix that together with stale french bread crumbs.  You then mix in more tails you did not chop and saute in oil with lots of salt, black pepper and cayenne pepper.

Cooling crawfish head stuffing.

Let the mixture cool.  Then stuff the heads and roll them in a mixture of seasoned and plain breadcrumbs.  They will look like this:

Bake them until golden brown in a 375° oven (about 20 minutes).  At this stage, go crack a beer.  And give yourself a high mark for Effort.  You have come far and done well.  You are clearly at the point of no return and the rest, as they say, is a cakewalk.

Okay.  Now, the recipe calls for sauteing more crawfish tails (the recipe calls for a total of four pounds of crawfish tails) with salt, cayenne pepper and paprika.  The recipe suggests 1 tablespoon of cayenne.  That will blow my mouth apart.  We used 1/2 tablespoon this time, and that seems juuust right.  Then you add warm water and roux to the pot.  Well, damn. If I hadn’t read ahead, I’d have been in a pinch because I make roux and don’t buy it.  So before I get going on this step, I make that roux first so that I can add it without having to take my cooking pot off the stove.

Pontchartrain Pete doing the work of the sous chef.

In yet another pot, saute green peppers, onions and celery until they are tender then add them to the main pot along with more water.  Cook vigorously for 2 minutes.  Add more water and cook for 15 minutes at a lower heat.  Then add green onions and parsley and let cook 10 minutes more.  Use this time to also cook a pot of rice.  Your hard work will be rewarded with a lush pot of this:

Everyone you know, and some you don’t, will invite themselves over for dinner.  Seriously.  It IS that good.

And the best thing is that this is one of those dishes that tastes better the next day after the flavors have had time to meld and relax.  So leftovers are as decadent, if not more so, than the first eating.

Bon appetit!

Drinking in New Orleans.  I could say no more and just post pictures.  But who are we kidding?

Friday, a small group from the Twitterverse met up for lunch at Galatoire’s.  I adore Galatoire’s, and have said so time and again.  For a succulent read of Friday’s foray, read Pete’s post.  It was a glorious time.  After we finished dining, we were not done imbibing.  So after having two Sazeracs at Galatoire’s, we headed off into the French Quarter for more.

Galatoire’s Sazerac

Being already on Bourbon Street, we did not have to stumble walk far to end up here, the quintessential place to continue the consumption of Absinthe:

Since absinthe is again legal in the U.S., there is a new fascination with the green-glowing liquid.  The first brand we tried was Le Tourment Vert from France.  The Old Absinthe House burns the sugar cube and then pours water over the cube to melt it.  There is debate whether to burn the sugar cube or not; historically the cube was not burned.  But, damn, it is pretty:

We then tried Lucid (also from France):

Then we did Kubler, made in Switzerland.  My preferance? Tournment, Kubler then Lucid.  But they were all smooth and tasty.  Absinthe is anise-flavored.  Licorice.  But with the sugar and water that is added, it isn’t overly bitter.  In fact, as for drinking, it is refreshing, and kind of like a breath mint.

Absinthe posters at The Old Absinthe House

Now, aside from the booze, there is really an allure for me to be in a bar in the middle of the day.  It scares me sometimes how much I like it because left to my own devices, well, let’s not think about where I’d be on a given Wednesday at 2:30 in the afternoon if left to my own devices.

My ancestors on my father’s side of the family came to New Orleans over 100 years ago.  We stepped of the boat and started tending bar in the Central Business District and the French Quarter.  And we did this for decades.  It hasn’t worn of yet, that desire to be in a bar during the day.

And most appealing to me is an old bar, one that may have seen my ancestors.  Like the Old Absinthe House.

All the wood and brass.  The patina of years of traffic.  The legends and myths of meetings of pirates.  Ah, to go back in time in the very seat you are sitting on!  As the time passed, the bar went from mostly empty to quite busy.  Much of the crowd, like us, meandered from Galatoire’s.  Mid-afternoon, the skies growled then opened.  And it rained.  A lot.

And if there is one thing I like more than being in a bar in the French Quarter in the middle of the day, it is being in that bar with its doors thrown open when a good, hard rain comes through.  It quiets all of the outside noises down; no sounds of traffic or Lucky Dog vendors or folks walking down the street.  The entire universe, all, is what is inside that bar with you.  It is a lovely way to span time.

After more absinthes than I care to recount (ok, four), we left the French Quarter and made a stop at the Swizzle Stick Bar for my other recent luxury, the Adelaide Swizzle.  It was now 6:30pm.  I was exhausted.  We parted ways and ended a perfectly wonderful day of imbibing in the Quarter.

Crawfish boils are a common thing during summers in New Orleans.  I threw my first boil a couple of years ago and was amazed at the amount of work that goes into one.  Here’s a quick to-do list:

1. Order the crawfish in advance.
2. Buy groceries—veggies galore (this year, potatoes, onion, garlic—the typical trio—along with celery, lemons, broccoli, brussel sprouts, corn, artichokes, and mushrooms), sausage to throw in too, along with spices, salt, booze, napkins (and wet wipes), ice (day of), cokes (we in the South, or at least my family, call all sodas “cokes”), water, and garbage bags.
3. Cut the grass.
4. Board the dogs.
5. Sweep the porch.
6. Borrow and set up folding tables and chairs on newly cleaned porch to accommodate 30 people.
7. Put several fans (not less than three) on the porch.
8. Borrow second pot, burner, basket and cover.  Boiling goes quicker if you can do two pots at a time.
9. Fill propane tanks.
10. Be sure you have a tub for the crawfish to soak in pre-boil.
11. Pick up crawfish.
12. Prepare side dishes.
13. Set up pop-up tarp for the men-folk/boilers so they don’t fry in the sun.
14. Clean the house.
15. Bring ice chests down from attic.
16. Get koozies/huggies out of pantry.
17. Cut/prep veggies.
18. Purge the crawfish (sorry, fellas).
19. Boil the crawfish and the veggies.
20. Eat and enjoy!

Yes, they are a lot of work.  Almost as much work as will go into the crawfish bisque we will be making with the leftover crawfish.

Today was such a good day.  My sister and her husband and son arrived early, as did my aunt and uncle, to assist with getting things ready.  The women dressed Sun and prepared side dishes while I drove to the Marigny to get the birthday cake from NOLA Cafe and Bakery.  The men started boiling the seafood so it’d be ready when the guests arrived.

My husband also finally installed a swing on the porch for Sun.  She LOVED her swing.  How much?  She fell asleep in it!  Ok, that may have been because she still had fever and no nap, but it was darn cute.

I could write many other details of the wonderfulness of today—seeing friends and family that I see regularly and some not so often, drinking Pimms Cups, eating watermelon, enjoying my new teak furniture, laughing, relaxing, watching the rain—but what made today special was something less concrete than any one of these things, or even all of them combined.

Recovering from surgery still, I was FORCED to take things slow and not push to the extreme.  It caused me to be even more organized than I usually am for a party.  But as it got nearer and nearer to 1pm and I could see not every detail I wanted attended to was going to get attention, I didn’t resist or balk or scramble.  I just allowed it to be good enough.  I was confident that overall we were ready.

And those things that did not get attention, I promise you, no one noticed.  I was at peace all day.  As Sun ached with fever, we took turns holding her and caressing her and swinging her.  And she’d feel better or not or nap or not or laugh or cry.  But through it all, she was a delight.  My baby is turning into a little girl.  A gentle, wee bit shy, sweet little girl.  And mamma was mighty proud of her today, and mighty proud of her home, herself, her very life.

I am starting to feel a good bit better.  Thanks, Katie, for all your e-mails of support and for everyone else’s comments and twitterings; it all really helped!

Today I had the privilege of meeting Jane Moneypenny from Variety is the Spice.  I don’t know how many of you have read this blog, but it’s special.  It is co-authored by two 20-something girlfriends in a conversational setting–as though they are talking over a cup of coffee or a beer.

My suspicions were confirmed today.  Jane and I were separated at birth.  Yes, she is 13 years younger than me (not that she pointed that out, she is no way that rude!), and yes we don’t look all that much alike.  But we are one in the same.  We share the same childhood, the same all-girl NOLA Catholic high school experience, the same values, the same morals, the same opinions.  Hell, we even share the same philosophy about clothing and shoes: they are nice, but there are so many more REASONABLE things to spend our hard earned money on!

But here’s where she and I differ.  When I jumped into life, I jumped into law school.  And living 8 hours from NOLA.  Then came home and settled in for the long haul.

Jane, she went to college in St. Louis then stayed for a job.  But then she realized that wasn’t her life’s ambition.  So how did she jump into life?  She jumped off a cliff.  Literally.  And figuratively.  Because if jumping off that cliff wasn’t ballsy enough (and it was way more ballsy than anything I’ve ever done), she’s quit her comfortable, secure, 401(k)- and health insurance-provided job.  And she has no job lined up.  And she’s going to Europe for three (3!) weeks.  She actually does those things that I hardly allowed myself to dream.

She’s saved her money so that she can have this amazing European experience with a few of her friends.  And once back in the States, she’ll start looking for that right job, that right city, that is the right venue for her to continue her life’s great adventure.  Aren’t you dying of jealousy?  Didn’t you wish you’d have had the nerve to do that at 25 years old?

Well, you can!  Sort of.  You, like me, can live vicariously as Jane starts her life’s big adventure and blogs as she goes.  I am sure she will have a great time and have not one single regret about leaving St. Louis.  I am still in awe with what she’s already done, and she hasn’t even gotten on a plane yet.

Bon voyage, Jane!  Send us postcards!!

The thing about doing cool stuff with other bloggers is, well, they BLOG about it before you get the chance.  Yesterday’s food orgy is captured by Pontchartrain Pete better than I could have captured it.  So click here to read about the best oyster po boy I’ve ever eaten followed up by the best sno-ball I’ve ever had (and that is saying a mouthful!).  Truly a grand eats day!

And then for breakfast, I had one of Katie’s Caramel Oat Chocolate Bars.  She gives away her secret recipe.  Go get it.  Now.  I’ll wait. . . . Back?  These bars are the perfect blend of sweet and salty and chewy and crunchy.  They feel homemade yet are rich and decadent.

So, as long as my friends keep posting great posts, I am left with nothing to do but give out the linky love.

So what have I been up to? I’ve been busy with a teething Sun (three teeth in one day!), buying patio furniture I just love (peanut shaped teak bench, coffee table and two chairs), making plans to visit with Katie and Pete at Parasol’s this afternoon (after attending SoMo’s daughter’s birthday party).  Oh, and hunting streetcar art; click here to check out the awesome pieces I’ve been seeing pop up around town for YLC’s Streetcar Named Inspire project.

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.

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.