Urban Comfort

Spring at Afton Villa

 
Ask people who or what inspired their aesthetic and they'll cite any number of influences. But it's taken me a long time to recognize that most of my personal aesthetic is inspired by the unparalleled beauty of trees in the South. Perhaps it's the birthright of a Southerner to have a strong sense of place, but the trees...It's one of the primary reasons I needed to come back home.

At any rate, I was looking through these photos I took a few weeks ago at Afton Villa, where only the gardens remain, and I realized that nearly everything I surround myself with or live with somehow looks good under those trees. Whether it's the colors I choose, the contrast of clean lines played against graceful abundance, or the well loved aspect of my favorite possessions, when you get right down to it, they are intertwined with those trees. 

Now I know. And now that I've gotten that glimpse into my decorating psyche, I hope you'll enjoy these photos. I can never quite capture how spectacular these trees are in person, but that never stops me from trying!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Cheese Plate

I think if I had to choose a last meal it would come down to sushi or a cheese plate. I suspect the cheese plate would win out in the end because really, it's just pure pleasure served on a plate. But I'm lucky that I don't have to wait for a last meal; I have a fantastic cheese shop within walking distance of my home.

At St. James Cheese Company, every employee is knowledgeable and passionate to the point you feel you're always speaking to the proprietor. I don't even bother making decisions anymore. I tell them I'd like a cheese plate (with three, five, or seven choices) and leave it in their capable hands. I've never been disappointed.

Last week, I had the luxury of a very long lunch of cheese, charcuterie, and wine and I wanted to share the selections they brought for us. Four of the seven were domestic cheeses (which I love!) and I suspect most of them can be found at reputable cheese stores (and if not, ask about them). 

 

Manchego (Spain) - A classic sheep's cheese from Spain (ours was a 6 month-old). Not a surprise for me, but always good. Instead of quince paste, they served it with fresh fig preserves and that was a new experience.

 

Weybridge (Vermont) - A cow's milk farmstead cheese produced by Scholten Family Farm in Weybridge, Vermont. It has a softened rind with nutty, earthy flavors and a tart finish. Semi-creamy with a denser center that contains citrus notes.  I also detected a delicate mushroom aroma to the cheese.  Very, very good! 

 

City of Ships (Maine) - This tangy, semi-hard, raw cow's milk cheese was absolutely delightful and I may never have it again unless I'm in Maine. Produced by Hahn's End Farm, this handmade small-batch cheese is only sold regionally, so I was lucky that one of the employees was visiting and brought some home in his bag.

La Jeaune Autize (France) - An aged, washed rind goat's cheese made in a style similar to Morbier. It's a tangy, earthy cheese with a line of vegetable ash running through its center. It was creamier than I expected it to be from appearance and not too sharp.

 

Green Hill (Georgia) - This soft-ripened cow's milk cheese may have been my favorite of the afternoon. Produced by Sweet Grass Dairy in southern Georgia, it was lush and rich with a buttery creaminess and a sharp tang that gave way to a slight bitterness in the rind. I could have eaten this all day. 

Blue d'Auvergne (France) - A creamy, moist cow's milk blue that was strong and pungent like most blues, but perhaps slightly milder than some I've encountered before. Very nice if you're a blue cheese lover.

 

O'Bannon (Indiana) - This fresh goat's milk cheese from Capriole Farmstead in Greenville, Indiana was a surprise for me, in the very best way. It was dense, almost fudgy, with an unmistakeable fresh, citrusy taste. I'm a big fan of goat cheese anyway, but this was something different. Perhaps it's the fact that they soak chestnut leaves in Woodford Reserve Bourbon before wrapping the cheese. Whatever it is, I'm buying it again!

Home

I am disaster weary. I have no right to be, nothing has happened to me. But Mother Nature has been a beast around the country and across the globe, so much so that I can't quite process one disaster before another occurs. Still, my heart is heavy today, heavy with the knowledge that many of my neighbors outside of New Orleans will be suffering catastrophic losses this week, suffering losses so that I might stay dry in my city. I understand it intellectually. I'm sure most do. But still, it seems so unfair.

I made the mistake this weekend of reading comments on various stories about the flooding of the Mississippi. So many who stand in judgment, deciding that those who live in disaster prone areas get exactly what's coming to them, that they'll just be another community waiting for a handout. It made me think a lot about home, the place that our heart can never quite leave, the place we feel lucky enough to inhabit.

A sense of place is so prevalent here in the South. Perhaps it's not like that everywhere, maybe I take it for granted. But I know that you can't just plant yourself anywhere in the great wide world and expect that it'll become home. Some places grab you and don't let go, places where you aren't able to tell where your body ends and the Earth begins, part of everything above and beneath you. If you had that, what wouldn't you give to keep that sacred place? I know a lot of my fellow Louisianians understand this.

My husband and I were talking about living here in New Orleans, about the possibility of losing everything and having to start over. Such conversations are commonplace for us, usually just about the time we're entering a new hurricane season. It's a reminder every year, much like the letters the Army Corps of Engineers send out to homeowners in the flood plains annually - we just want to remind you that disaster may occur, we may take away your way of life...For us, we've decided that our experiences here, our passion, outweigh the potential losses. We'll continue to take the risk.

The water gives and the water takes away. I doubt there are any that know that better than the Cajuns. They're resilient and they'll take care of each other, their families, their communities. They'll come back, they'll rebuild on the sacred ground they call home. But still, my heart is heavy on this beautiful sunny day. I am sorry for their sacrifice, so sorry, that it makes it difficult to feel relieved.

Tobacco Road

It all started at Pegu Club in New York. My husband came home with the tale of a chance meeting with Ted Breaux, a chemist from Louisiana who was creating an artisanal liqueur from a rare tobacco called Perique, a tobacco that could only be grown in one small area of Louisiana. Being a great romantic at heart, I was immediately intrigued by something so remote and mysterious. I wanted a bottle. 

Eventually we acquired this liqueur, which only increased my interest in the cultivation of this rare crop, its planting and harvesting methods passed down to the French from the Native Americans who were in Louisiana at the time. Finally, last summer, with tobacco season in full swing, I set off with my cousin and a friend to St. James Parish, to a small town nestled against the Mississippi River, just an hour away from New Orleans. There, near the end of a dead end road, lay an ancient story, a living history with only a toehold in the present.

We were greeted by Jimmy LeBlanc, a Cajun with a deeply tanned, permanently etched neck and an accent so thick that it required careful listening, who told us the story of this tobacco, his family's passion and livelihood for generations. They were down to harvesting just a few barrels of Perique a year, striving more to keep the tradition alive than to turning a profit. 

It was hot and I was sweating in the intense humidity, but the scent of mystery hung low in the air. The barn, with its many tobacco leaves hanging, drying in various stages, smelled sweet and warm. The scent was pleasant, though heady, and we were warned that we might feel sick if we spent too much time in the barn. It happened to each of the workers throughout the season, as they bundled and stripped each tobacco leaf by hand, a labor-intensive process that led to a small amount of the finest, rarest tobacco in the world.

We all had our roles, my cousin asking the right questions, one man of the land to another, my friend capturing the beauty of the details with her camera, and myself, simply listening and observing for future distillation. A small moment in time, a glimpse of the past, a heartbeat in the middle of nowhere. I love this wild, tangled land I'm lucky enough to live in.

This year, the story came full circle and my husband created a cocktail using Perique and tobacco bitters, along with rum, velvet falernum (a clove liqueur), and a drop of chocolate bitters. It's an incredibly smooth, complex drink that's perfect for the gentleman (or cocktail snob) in your life. The ingredients aren't readily accessible, but I wanted to post this cocktail anyway (for the intrepid hunters and gatherers) and because when I drink this cocktail it takes me back to the end of a dead end road where tobacco leaves rustle in the occasional breeze and history lives on.

 

Tobacco Road

1 3/4 ounces Ron Zacapa Rum
1/2 ounce Perique Liqueur
1/4 ounce John D. Taylor's Velvet Falernum
1/4 ounce fresh lime juice
2 drops Snake Oil Tobacco Bitters
1 drop Bitter Truth Xocolatl Mole Bitters

Combine all ingredients in an ice-filled cocktail shaker. Stir to chill. Strain into a chilled coupe or old-fashioned glass. Garnish with an orange twist.
 

Note: My husband took creative license with the naming of this cocktail, since Tobacco Road actually refers to the tobacco producing area of North Carolina. I mention this for the know-it-alls who will write to tell me that he got it wrong.

In My Neighborhood

You don't need an expensive camera to capture great photos.  In fact, some of my favorites have been taken with a camera phone or plastic Holga.  But if you do invest in a decent camera, you owe it to yourself to invest in a lens that allows creative freedom. I made that leap recently, going from a middling digital camera to a Canon EOS 50D. I got the kit, with its all-purpose lens. But then I also bought a 50mm lens (f1.4) and it's completely changed the way I shoot. In fact, photography is just more fun now.  

Ever since my weekend of shooting in the French Quarter, I've been taking walks around my neighborhood at dusk, playing with my camera and getting to know it a little better - learning how things like white balance can completely change the feel of a photograph, or how opening the aperture wide allows for great bokeh effects. 

I'm also having more fun shooting for this blog. Still lifes don't fill me with quite as much dread these days, knowing that I can finally achieve the shallow depth of field that I admire in so many beautiful, dreamy photographs. I could never capture that effect with my last camera, a fact that always frustrated me.  

The only thing that hasn't changed for me is my photo editing software. I still don't know my way around Photoshop but I find iPhoto to be about as easy as it gets. In the end, they're just tools. But they're tools that have given me a new creative perspective - and that's been worth every penny.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cocktail Rings

New Orleans is unique in that it offers its partygoers a portable option for cocktails - the "go cup."  Armed with a go cup, you're able to journey from one destination to another without being stopped for an open container.  So when my East Coast girlfriends came down for the weekend to celebrate two milestone birthdays, it seemed only fitting to find a go cup that was a few steps above the norm (the norm being plastic - which, legally, is what it's supposed to be). 

I went to Cheryl Charming for handmade cocktail rings - vintage glass coupettes attached to adjustable, silver plated rings. We wore them, we drank from them. They were a blast! And should you find yourself coming to New Orleans for a girls weekend, you can have your own, sold here or at Lost and Found. 

Even if you're not coming to New Orleans anytime soon, here are the recipes for what we drank that weekend. The Vieux Mot was perfect for our cocktail rings and the Ramos Gin Fizz is a New Orleans classic that swayed even the most reluctant of drinkers among us.  Cheers!

 

Vieux Mot
(created by Don Lee of PDT)

1 1/2 ounces Plymouth gin
3/4 ounce St. Germain elderflower liqueur
1/4 ounce Simple Syrup
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice

Shake all ingredients with ice and strain into a coupette. Garnish with a Luxardo cherry.

To make Simple Syrup:  Bring equal parts water and sugar just to a boil; stir to dissolve sugar. Remove from heat and let cool.

 

Ramos Gin Fizz

1 egg white
2 ounces Plymouth gin
1 ounce cream
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice
1/2 ounce fresh lime juice
1/2 ounce Simple Syrup (see above)
4 drops orange flower water
2 ounces club soda 

Place all ingredients except the club soda in an empty cocktail shaker and dry shake to emulsify the egg white faster.  Add ice to the cocktail shaker and shake VERY well. Strain into a tall, chilled glass with club soda in the bottom. Garnish with an orange twist. 

 

In a New Light

For a long time I've wanted to get up before sunrise and shoot photographs in the French Quarter. I managed to pull it off this weekend, when several of my East Coast girlfriends descended upon the city to celebrate two milestone birthdays. 

Up before dawn with two tired, but enthusiastic partners we made our way down to the Mississippi, just in time to see a magnificent fog rolling in, the sun rising at the same time. It was one of those magical moments and I was so excited to be there, to get to take it all in with my camera.

That experience recharged me creatively and I took more photos over the weekend than I have in a long time. Empty restaurants, streets photographed through the smoke from sparklers at a wedding, lit chandeliers in otherwise darkened storefronts, lights blazing in decaying stairwells...It was a completely new experience for me, photographing my city at times of night and morning when I'm usually sleeping, and I'm already thinking about my next subject matter, the places I want to explore in the near dark. It also reminded me that when you're at a creative ebb, it's sometimes just a matter of stepping outside your comfort zone, forcing yourself to see things in a new light.

 

 

 

A Sandwich for Spring

A couple of weeks ago I had a great sandwich at The Lucky Ladle here in New Orleans. It sounded so interesting I couldn't help but order it and I was pleasantly surprised. It was easy to recreate at home, so I thought I'd share it with you.

 

Smoked Turkey and Strawberry Sandwich 

Smoked turkey breast slices
Strawberries (2 or 3 per sandwich), sliced
Baby spinach leaves
Avocado, sliced
Mayonnaise (I added a little balsamic vinegar, to taste)
Sourdough bread

Layer and eat.  Light, fresh, perfect for springtime! 

Coconut Cupcakes

We spent twelve hours at the Mardi Gras parades yesterday, no small feat when young children are involved. My son ended up passing out in my lap during the final parade, waking only to mumble the occasional "Don't miss, mom" as he envisioned me still catching throws for him (he's become a true New Orleanian).  

Twelve hours at the parades requires frequent fortification so there's always plenty of food involved. We had BLTs, fried chicken, and lots of Zapp's potato chips in various flavors.  And while you'd expect that we'd have king cake, we admittedly broke with tradition and I made these coconut cupcakes instead. They're insanely good and they stay fresh for several days, which is a nice bonus. 

I also used this recipe as an opportunity to try out a baking ingredient that I found at King Arthur Flour, a gluten free cake enhancer. It's supposed to make your baked goods lighter, moister, and keep them fresh longer. This cupcake is already wonderfully moist but I wanted to see if I could detect a difference. It turns out that the cake enhancer did lighten up the crumb of the cupcake just a bit and it was even moister on the third day than it was on the second day. So if you have a cake recipe that you love, but tends to dry out too quickly, this might be a good product for you.

Without further ado, here's the cupcake recipe, adapted from The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook.  And then I've got more parades to prepare for.  Happy Lundi Gras!

Coconut Cupcakes
(makes 24 cupcakes)

3/4 pound (3 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
2 cups granulated sugar
5 extra-large eggs, room temperature
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 teaspoons pure almond extract
3 cups all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons cake enhancer (optional)
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda 
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup buttermilk
14 ounces sweetened, shredded coconut

1. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

2. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy, 3 to 5 minutes. With the mixer running on low, add the eggs one at a time, scraping down the bowl after each addition. Add the vanilla and almond extracts and mix well.

3. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, cake enhancer (if using), baking powder, baking soda,  and salt. In three parts, alternately add the dry ingredients and the buttermilk to the batter, beginning and ending with the dry. Mix until just combined. Fold in 7 ounces of the coconut.

4. Line a muffin pan with paper liners. Fill each cup to the top with batter. Bake for 25 to 35 minutes, until the edges of the cupcake begin to brown and a toothpick comes out clean. Allow to cool in the pan for 15 minutes. Remove to a baking rack and cool completely. Frost with cream cheese frosting and sprinkle with the remaining coconut.

 

Cream Cheese Frosting

11 ounces cream cheese, room temperature
1/2 pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
3/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 + 1/8 teaspoon pure almond extract
1 pound confectioners' sugar, sifted

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, blend together the cream cheese, butter, and vanilla and almond extracts. Add the confectioners' sugar and mix until smooth. 

Lambreaux's Big Shot

My husband had to create a cocktail for a Treme charity event taking place this weekend and it needed to have a tie-in to the show.  Michael (with his encyclopedic knowledge of every detail and line in any show he watches) recalled that the character Albert Lambreaux was drinking a Strawberry Big Shot (a local soda) in one of the episodes and Lambreaux's Big Shot was born. It's so pretty and it tastes so good, I thought I would share it.

Cheers! Have a great weekend!

Lambreaux's Big Shot

1 1/2 ounces Bulleit Bourbon
2 strawberries
1 basil leaf
1/2 ounce Sugar in the Raw Syrup
1/4 ounce lemon juice
1/8 teaspoon basalmic vinegar

In a cocktail shaker, muddle the strawberries, basil, sugar syrup, lemon juice, and balsamic vinegar. Add the bourbon and ice cubes. Shake, strain into an ice-filled rocks glass. Garnish with a strawberry (cut large strawberries in half) and a basil sprig.

Sugar in the Raw Syrup:

Place equal parts Sugar in the Raw and water in a small saucepan; bring just to a boil. Stir, to dissolve sugar. Remove from heat and cool before using. Store in the refrigerator for up to a month.

 

A Weekend Breakfast

Recently I had the pleasure of dining at Green Goddess, a tiny little restaurant here in New Orleans, staffed entirely by cooks who collaborate on the menu and run the restaurant as well. I had a wonderful breakfast there, simple in concept, but absolutely delicious.  So delicious that I knew I needed to recreate it at home so I could be tempted by something else on the menu during return visits (I have a bad habit of loving something at a restaurant and ordering it every time I go). 

The dish consisted of sweet potato biscuits with boudin patties, spicy pepper jelly, and cane syrup served alongside truffled grits. Since I could buy most of the ingredients, I really just needed to make the sweet potato biscuits and the grits from scratch. I used a sweet potato biscuit recipe I found in one of my new cookbooks, The Complete Southern Cookbook, and it was no more difficult than making regular biscuits - though it helps to plan ahead and bake your sweet potatoes early on. 

Pork boudin (a mixture of seasoned pork and rice) is readily available in my area, but can be mail ordered from The Cajun Grocer. You form it into patties, dip it in a beaten egg, then pan fry it until it's crispy on the outside. Another option for this breakfast, however, is to use a regular pork sausage patty. It won't have the same texture, but it will still taste good. I used Tabasco brand spicy pepper jelly and Steen's cane syrup. Both are generally available at most grocery stores.  If you can't find it at yours, you can mail order them from The Cajun Grocer as well. 

This was such a good breakfast that I'd happily serve it to guests. In fact, I just may have found my new Mardi Gras breakfast. Though the restaurant served truffled grits, we were satisfied with Quaker Old-Fashioned grits (made with equal parts milk and water) served alongside. The perfect breakfast for a chilly morning.

 

Sweet Potato Biscuits
(adapted from The Complete Southern Cookbook)

Yield: Makes about 13 biscuits

4 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons baking powder
2 teaspoons kosher salt
8 ounces (2 sticks) unsalted butter
1 cup cooked mashed sweet potatoes
1 cup buttermilk

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Rub a thin layer of shortening or butter on the skin of 2 medium or 1 large sweet potatoes and place on a baking sheet.  Bake until soft, approximately 1 hour. When potatoes are cool enough to handle, slit the skin and scoop the contents into a bowl. Mash well and let them cool completely.

2. Raise the oven temperature to 425 degrees. Lightly grease a cast-iron biscuit baker or baking sheet and set aside.

3. In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. Cut in the butter with a pastry blender or 2 forks until the mixture is crumbly.

4. In  a separate bowl, stir together the mashed sweet potatoes and buttermilk. Add to the flour mixture, stirring just until moistened.

5. Transfer the dough to a lightly floured surface and knead 4 times. Gently roll the dough out to approximately a 1/2-inch thickness and cut with a 2-inch round cutter. Gently gather together the dough scraps and pat the dough out again, again cutting with a 2-inch round cutter. Transfer to the prepared pan and bake 12 to 15 minutes, or until golden brown. Serve warm.

 

To assemble:

After the biscuits have cooled just slightly, split them and put a thin layer of pepper jelly on each side. Put a boudin patty on the bottom layer of the biscuit, drizzle some cane syrup on the boudin patty and top with the other biscuit half.  

Merry Christmas!

Wishing all of you a very merry Christmas and a happy new year! May the best be yet to come.

(Also, a shoutout to La Belle Vie Design for our holiday card this year. Thanks for the great design!)

Seasonal Cocktails: Praline Eggnog & Bourbon Milk Punch

Calling Bourbon Milk Punch a seasonal cocktail is a bit of a misnomer since New Orleanians imbibe it as a brunch cocktail year round (Hey, I just live here. I don't make the rules!) But it's definitely the season for eggnog and this version has a local spin to it, with the addition of Sazerac Rye and Praline, a pecan liqueur. A little something to make it all just a bit more festive.

Bourbon Milk Punch

2 ounces bourbon (we like to make it with Makers Mark)
2 ounces half-and-half
1 ounce Simple Syrup
1/8 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Shake all of the ingredients in an ice-filled cocktail shaker. Serve neat, or on the rocks. Garnish with freshly grated nutmeg.

Simple Syrup: 1/2 cup water and 1/2 cup sugar. Bring just to a boil; stir to dissolve sugar, then remove from heat. Let cool. Keep refrigerated. 

 

Praline Eggnog:
(makes 2 large drinks)

2 eggs
2 ounces Sazerac Rye
2 ounces Praline Liqueur
1 1/2 ounces Brandy
1 1/2 ounces Simple Syrup
4 ounces whole milk
4 ounces heavy cream

Put all of the ingredients in a blender to combine. Refrigerate until thoroughly chilled. Serve neat with grated nutmeg on top.

 

 

Jambalaya

By now, many of you are starting to feel the first hints of fall - a little nip in the morning air, trees starting to change color...This isn't happening here in the South and probably won't for another six to eight weeks. But psychologically, I begin to switch into a fall frame of mind right about now, even if the weather isn't cooperating.  For me, it's all about the food.

Fall brings heartier dishes, definitely more meat, and always jambalaya. Truthfully, I love jambalaya year round, but never more so than in the fall and winter. It's just so incredibly satisfying and I can't get enough of it.  Like most regional dishes, everyone has their own way of making it.  But this is the way I make it - and don't even think of adding tomatoes to mine!  I like the Cajun version, brown instead of red. And as far as regional dishes go, it doesn't get much easier than this.  Bon appétit!

Jambalaya
(Serves 6-8)

1/2 cup vegetable oil
3 cups chopped yellow or white onions 
1 cup chopped bell peppers
3 teaspoons salt
1 1/4 teaspoons cayenne
1 pound andouille sausage (you can substitute another smoked sausage for the andouille), cut into 1/4-inch slices
Approximately 1 pound boneless smoked ham steak, cut into small cubes
Approximately 1 1/2 pounds boneless chicken meat (all white or a mix), cut into 1-inch cubes
3 bay leaves
3 cups medium-grain white rice*
6 cups water
1 cup chopped green onions 

*You can use long-grain rice instead of medium, but the texture will be different.  Medium-grain makes a slightly wet jambalaya whereas the long-grain makes it a bit drier. It's really personal preference.

1. Heat the oil over medium to medium-high heat in a large cast-iron pot. Add the onions, bell peppers, 2 teaspoons salt, and 1 teaspoon cayenne. Brown the vegetables for about 20 minutes, stirring frequently, until the onions have caramelized and are a dark brown. Add the sausage and cook for 10 to 15 minutes, scraping the sides and bottom of the pot to loosen any browned pieces.

2. Season the chicken with the remaining 1 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon cayenne. Add the chicken, ham, and bay leaves to the pot. Brown the chicken for 6 to 8 minutes (but it's not necessary to cook the chicken all the way through).

3. Add the rice and stir well to combine and coat the rice evenly. Add the water, stir to combine, and bring just to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium, cover the pot, and cook for 20-30 minutes, without stirring, or until the rice is tender and the liquid has been absorbed. Remove the pot from the heat and let it stand, covered, for a few minutes. Remove the bay leaves. Fluff with a fork.

4. Stir in the green onions and serve.

REMINDER:  PLEASE take the time to vote in the Better Homes and Gardens contest by following this LINK. Voting for this round will continue through October 10th, and you may vote for your favorite mask once a day.  Thank you for the support you've already shown me.  I greatly appreciate it!

My New Orleans

(A sign on a house in the lower 9th Ward - almost 3 years after Katrina)

 

New Orleans is on my mind this week as the 5th anniversary of Katrina approaches. On the day the levees broke and my beloved city began to flood, I was on vacation in Maryland, just feet from a lazy Chesapeake Bay. It became a mockery, those calm waters, over the surreal days that followed, as my heartbreak became complete.  It had been years since I'd been a full-time resident of New Orleans, years since the sorrow of my initial departure, but the tears and heartache were all too real, as was the helplessness that so many of us felt, displaced or not.

New Orleans was a city that left its imprint on me early in life. I had an odd childhood here, the observation of sorrow and brutal reality mixed in with the more normal childhood passions of neighborhood friends, games that lasted until daylight faded, bike riding and roller skating and playing dress up. And then there were the unique New Orleans experiences - the fever of Carnival season, crawfish boils and Saturday night seafood dinners with my grandparents, riding the ferry to and from Old Algiers, class field trips to the French Quarter, and weekend beignets at Cafe du Monde.

I lived in a large house, in a terrible neighborhood, where my parents ran a drug rehab center. There were mornings I awoke to junkies on the doorstep, another place setting at the table, cops who might pick up one person and drop off another, a swirl of multihued humanity becoming part of my everyday experience. My neighborhood was so bad that I wasn't allowed outside, except for my comings and goings to private school. Even today, I couldn't tell you much about my neighborhood, because I never really saw much of it. I can tell you what it sounded like, sirens throughout the night. Oddly enough, I can still be lulled to sleep by the sound of sirens, which served me well during my years in New York.  There were adults who said it was no place for a child, no life for a child, but I am no worse for wear - perhaps just a bit more observant than the average adult, able to discern sorrow in the most benign of expressions.

My other, more normal, life took place over the weekends. I spent that time with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I had my weekend friends, my weekend toys, and all the experiences that most children in New Orleans encounter in their life here. I loved it. In fact, I loved it all - good and bad.

My immediate family left New Orleans just before I turned eleven. The sorrow of leaving this city is still so vivid to me. It ruined me for any other heartbreak, and I have always been able to say goodbye to other cities with little more than a backward glance. In the eight years that followed, I lived in three more towns and cities, none more than an hour-and-a-half from New Orleans, but it was never the same. There are cities that simply take hold of you and never let go. New York was like that for me, but it was the right city for the person I would become; New Orleans has always been the city for the person I was born to be.

It is no accident that I've returned here. It felt there was no other real choice after Katrina. It is my duty and my pleasure to be here, to help rebuild and strengthen a city. I do this with great love, for this city gave so much to me. And for those who question whether it's really worth it to rebuild, whether we should employ extraordinary measures and spend vast amounts of money to ensure its survival, I say to you with certainty - there's no other city like this city.

For the Ladies

  
I am still without a computer. I would love to tell you that it's allowed me to more fully appreciate the simple things in life, that I've had some great epiphany about living without technology...but truthfully, I feel untethered. Yes, I can borrow my husband's laptop, as I am now (though after years of being a Mac user, I seem to have forgotten how to use a PC), but it's just not the same. And I realize that my laptop had become one giant journal - a compendium of all my hopes for the future, a place for inspiration, and an archive of past achievements and memories. I know, it sounds ridiculous. But I accept it - a life without technology just doesn't suit me. I can't wait to get back to normal.

In the meantime, I have been busy with deadlines, local field trips, and now Tales of the Cocktail which kicked off yesterday. I know I include a number of cocktail recipes in this blog and I'm sure there are many who simply skip my posts on those days. But today I offer you something simple. I'm not going to give you lots of recipes - I am merely going to suggest three liqueurs that I think most women, with or without cocktail know-how, will enjoy. They are not new to the market, but unless you've been following cocktail blogs, you may not know about them - and they're worth getting to know! And then, just because I can't help myself, I'm including a link to a clever little tutorial that will shed some light on making perfect cocktails. (You can get cocktail recipes from each of the product sites as well.)
  
The first, St-Germain, is a delightful artisanal French liqueur made from elderflowers. I find that it pleases both men and women, though its packaging is definitely feminine. You can mix it with gin (or vodka) and tonic, serve it with champagne, or mix it in more complex cocktails (yesterday I tried it at Tales with tequila and it definitely wasn't a girlie drink). It's highly drinkable and I challenge you to keep a bottle around for more than a few months. It's a staple in our home bar. 

My second suggestion is Domaine de Canton, also a French liqueur with exquisite packaging (no reason that a home bar can't look pretty). It's a ginger and cognac-based liqueur that can be enjoyed by itself, with champagne, or mixed into a cocktail. It's also wonderful to cook with and I enjoyed a coconut Domaine de Canton sorbet that has lingered in my mind for the last year.

The third bottle is downright homely in its packaging and you'll probably be tempted to hide it from view, though its flavor and aroma are absolutely divine! I can't say enough about Barenjager, a German honey liqueur. It's one of my favorites! You can sip it cold by itself, add it to a simple vodka and lemon juice base, or mix it into something more layered. Yes, it looks like a musty old bottle that you'd find in your grandmother's attic or basement (and not in the good way), but give it a try. It truly is lovely.

I'm off for my last day of Tales education and festivities (the full five days would kill me) and the Apple store. Keeping my fingers crossed for better than hoped for news.  See you soon!

Barbecue Shrimp

  

If ever there were a dish loaded with meaning, it would be this one. Not just this particular recipe, but this particular occasion. The recipe itself was a long time coming. It belonged to my childhood best friend, who I've written about before (and to understand the meaning of this recipe, you'll need to know that she has since died).  At any rate, my friend used to make this recipe in college, but only for boys she fancied. It was inexpensive, took no time to make (so she still looked fresh when she sat down to dinner) and was impressive enough to warrant another date. She would go on and on about how wonderful this meal was, but stubbornly refused to hand out the recipe. She never once made it for me. I was equally stubborn, and refused to ask her for the recipe more than once. 

More than a decade later she had ovarian cancer and was fighting a losing battle. She came to visit me in Los Angeles, and one afternoon she silently placed her coveted recipe card on my refrigerator. It was in that darkly comic moment - one that can only happen between true friends - that we both acknowledged her gift as a sure sign she was dying.   

Whenever my husband and I make this dish we talk about my friend. It's another way we keep her with us. Far from a somber occasion, we always find a reason to laugh - which is exactly what she would have wanted. And I'm pretty sure that wherever she is, she's annoyed that I'm handing out this recipe on the Internet. I'm definitely having the last laugh.

But it was hard to laugh when I went to the local seafood market today to purchase these shrimp. I had been putting off buying and eating seafood, as if somehow my denial could make the oil spill disappear. I realized that denial was exactly what I'd engaged in when I pulled into the market and saw that only a few vendors remained. Far from the usual laughter and banter, the vendors were mostly silent and somber, their demeanor relieved only by the sight of a little girl working her family's seafood stand, gathering blue crabs for the few customers there. I felt teary. This was not a part of the process that I was prepared for. If I return in a week - will there be even fewer vendors? This is something I have never even considered before - our city, no seafood. I can't even begin to comprehend that possibility. 

Our dinner was wonderful, despite the mixed emotional baggage. It was shared by family and friends, as all the best meals are.

Barbecued Shrimp
(Serves 2)

1 lb. large or extra-large shrimp (preferably with heads on, but at least with the shell on)

Seasoning Mix:

 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme leaves
1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary, crushed
1/8 teaspoon dried oregano

1 1/2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1/2 cup clam juice
1/4 cup beer, room temperature
1/4 lb. + 5 Tablespoons unsalted butter (melted)

1. Rinse the shrimp and drain. Pinch off the heads, leaving as much of the orange shrimp fat from the heads as possible. Set aside.

2. In a small bowl, combine the seasoning mix.

3. Combine 1 stick (8 Tablespoons) butter, garlic, Worcestershire, and seasoning mix in a large skillet over high heat. When the butter is melted, add the shrimp.

4. Cook for 2 minutes, shaking the pan (versus stirring). Add the remaining 5 Tablespoons of melted butter and the clam juice; cook and shake pan for 2 more minutes. Add the beer and cook and shake pan 1 minute longer. Remove from the heat.

Serve immediately in bowls with lots of French bread on the side.

(Do not double the recipe - cook each batch separately. Also, shaking the pan keeps the sauce from separating.)

Moving On

 
This past weekend family members converged on my grandmother's home in the country to pick blueberries for the last time and to help my grandmother begin to fully clear out her house. I admit, it was a bit of a shock to see the realtor's sign planted by the front gate. My 87 year-old grandmother had already moved out over the winter into an assisted living facility, and I'm happy because she's back in New Orleans instead of living alone, out in the country an hour-and-a-half away. But still, the realtor's sign seems so final.

My earliest memories of my grandparents are in their New Orleans home - in a city life. But I can still remember when they purchased the property in the country and they'd spend the weekends there in an RV while my grandfather slowly began to clear the land. Then there was a barn, a barn that my grandfather built by himself with a work shed down below. Then there was a functioning apartment above the barn, again, everything completed by my grandfather. And finally, years later, there was the house, which became the last home that my grandparents ever lived in together. The house in New Orleans stood empty, a relic from the first decades of their shared life.

In this house in the country my grandmother now looked weary, and my aunt equally so as they sorted through all of the details that my grandmother had left behind when she'd first moved out. Perhaps she'd left so many things because it was less frightening that way, less final, a way of holding out hope that she'd return. I looked at all of the boxes and baskets and items scattered around and I felt emotionally tired before we'd even begun.  How do you go about dismantling a life?

I helped to cart away some possessions for the thrift store, and I found myself caught in the details. The things I wanted weren't valuable, they wouldn't be important to anyone else, but they triggered memories for me nonetheless. I took the old ice cream scoop, and a banged up ladle and the nut cracker that I can still so clearly see my grandfather using. I kept the mink stole that my grandmother seemed reluctant to part with, not because she would ever wear it again, but because it had been a gift from my grandfather. I will never wear it for ethical reasons, but I like that I will have it for her in case she needs to see it one more time. I took the embroidery hoops, the aluminum gelatin molds, the champagne coupes that were an anniversary gift, a bowl that so often contained my grandmother's memorable potato salad and the vegetable peeler I'd seen her use a thousand times. 

How do you dismantle a life? It turns out that you do it piece by piece, taking out the tiny stitches that hold it all together. You let some of it travel far beyond the boundaries of your life, without asking where it's going, and you hold some of it close, as if it were life itself.

The Evacuation List

 
Today is the first day of hurricane season and forecasters are predicting a grim season, comparable to the year Katrina struck. In my household, we're already discussing where we'll be taking our 'hurrication' should the need arise. This is a conversation that has become routine for us, despite the fact that I grew up without evacuating once. In fact, I can only remember one hurricane in my youth that did a moderate amount of damage, and that was at least 30 years ago.

But it's a new time, with new rules. During Katrina, members of my family evacuated for the first time in their long lives. They waited until the last moment, took very little with them, and fully anticipated that it would be like any other time - somewhat of a false alarm. Most of my family came back to minimal damage, but other extended family members lost their homes and everything in them. Their houses were insured, they started over, but they lost all the mementos that meant so much to them.

My first evacuation was for Hurricane Gustav a couple of years back, and I remembered the lessons from Katrina survivors - pack up the important stuff, don't forget your recipes and photos, and definitely clean out the refrigerator before you go. It was the first time that I had to really take stock of my possessions and decide what was meaningful on a soul level. (It wasn't the same as deciding what possessions to sell before a cross-country move.) The only rule - everything had to fit in the car. 

It took a very long day-and-a-half to secure the house and pack our belongings, and I sifted through everything with a careful eye, as if I would return to nothing. It was a life changing experience, taking stock of each and every thing we had accumulated over our lifetime together. In the end, we were able to distill the essence of our life into a load that fit in the car. Granted, it was packed to the rooftop, but we were able to leave without fretting over what had been left behind. I came back to grit and dirt and the loss of a garden, but it was insignificant. Still, I am ever so grateful for the process. On a self-awareness level, the experience was priceless.

I'm more organized this year. I already have two suitcases packed with important items and an inventory of what we'll take. It's basically the same as it was two years ago, and somehow this brings me comfort, knowing that it's still manageable.  There have been some things I've streamlined over the last two years - it motivated me to scan all of my favorite family photos (a smart move for anyone), go digital with my creative resources, and archive as much as possible, including my family recipes. 

Hurricane or not, I think that creating an evacuation list is something everyone can benefit from. What's on it - and what's not - just might surprise you. At the very least, you'll know where you stand in relation to what you own, and that can open up an entirely new dialogue with yourself and your family. Here's my evacuation list.  What's on yours? 

Download Hurricane Evacuation List

{Image via}

Louisiana on My Mind

   

Forgive me for not having anything inspirational or creative here today. I am heartbroken over the oil spill in the Gulf, devastated by what is taking place along the coastline of my beautiful state. Watching and waiting as this catastrophe unfolds, I understand the helplessness and anger and sadness that my fellow residents are feeling. So much at stake, so much to lose. My son summed it all up when he saw a picture of the Gulf on television and remarked, "Look, Mommy! It's like chocolate water."  

I don't often discuss current events here, as this is my creative happy place, the place where things go right and the best parts of life can be distilled into small bites. But how can I not address this tragedy, when so much of what I talk about here comes from the rich heritage of growing up in this wild, primitive place?

I hope the "top kill" works.