'Nawlins grub

When I told my Enterprise shuttle driver that it was my first time in 'Nawlins and my taste buds were looking forward to the local flavors, he eagerly told me I needed to get to Mother's. Through the drawl of his Southern twang, it was not clear what exactly he was suggesting for me to get down the hatch, yet it was obvious through his vocal excitement and listing of a few things that I had to make my way there.





This Ah-mazing stacking of slow cooked ham, pulled beef, shredded cabbage, creole and yellow mustard is soul-warming. The buzz of the place conveys the historic character that the restaurant has having served the local New Orleans blue and white collar workers since 1938. Not to mention comforting it's own employees and returning locals post-Katrina in two thousand five.

Somewhat cafeteria style, Ode Mae Peters (RIP) served as the head cook there for over twenty years and now has some of her kin still helping fill the bellies of hungry visitors.




After standing in a line (it took less than ten minutes) unsure of what to select from the stomach-grumbling list of Southern flare, I went with the house specialty, The Ferdi, and was damn glad I did. And, while I waited at the bar the tender told me his favorite was Mother's "black ham", which is the outer part of the meat that's been cooked crisp to flavorful perfection. Lucky for me, he wandered to the back to find me some, saying it might be gone since it usually is by mid-day - but he did! A little crunchy, yet still tender inside, black ham is the part I like most when I (over)make it home. Instantly I was in love.




In carrying on with what seems to be a local thang (cocktails in a portable plastic cup that is), I ordered up a bloody than can legally be taken away with me. It was good and there was nothing left to take
.
Thanks for the suggestion my 'Nawlins man! Mama's is the shiznit; and with only a day left here, I've made it a priority to head back for lunch again tomorrow.

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NOLA. Wow.

New Orleans is a place I've always wanted to experience. Photos of the quaint Southern patios lined with ferns and flowers appeared to create an ambience unlike any other in the US. Rich with history, the city was founded by the French in 1718, ruled briefly by the Spanish in the late 18th Century and sold to the United States by Napoleon in the Louisiana Purchase in 1803.
Staying in the business/warehouse district, the first thing to notice is the detail of the buildings. Each is ornate in its own way still calling the grand history of the area. In some places you can see where time has taken its toll like this dilapidated building with only a front facing the street.

With a short walk to the French Quarter crossing Common Street, the buildings are more provincial offering patios with rocking chairs alive with greenery. It's obvious when you're near the party scene - distant drum beats, shrieks and shouting, and a distinct smell like the morning after where one may be inclined to drink an opened, half drunk can of beer just to wet the palette. Yet looking up through the ruckus on Bourbon Street you can see the gorgeous molding around the large, crystal chandelier. Pre-neon signs and plastic cups it seems that this dingy place once carried some class despite being a port city marched through by men long away from a woman's scent and feel.

Common Street Car

Iberville Street is crowded with neon signs enticing excitable street folk to come on in. Many are easily sold given the obvious void of intimidation powered by the city's extremely large and cheap cocktails, which are carried around in place of the ubiquitous plastic water bottle.

Festive masks line the wall on one of many shops selling Mardi Gras gear.

I have to be honest. I didn't know what to expect. This famed Bourbon party street is far more squalid than I had imagined. It's more like a third world Vegas except the main drag is lined with sleazy strip joints and venues offering "Live Sex Shows". It is close to what I imagine a Red Light District in Bangkok or New Dehli to be like. Maybe it's in the wake of Marti Gras, I don't know, but things appear to be far out of control constantly. It's a haven for some. One man's treasure is another's trash. This place is not my treasure.
I took a step back at this one (while pulling out the lens, but too many people went walking through for a clear shot). This silly ho came out of her "Ho-le" to shake her stuff for everyone right on Bourbon Street. Where is Dollar Bill at?! He needs to get some control over his girls. When the bouncer returned he shoo'ed her bare ass away. Honey, you only get one dollar when they come in...save your sales skills for the inside.

Desire and debauchery are a big piece of New Orleans. Drinks and slippery aphrodisiacs guide the way.

Still the architecture gives so much character to the well beaten-up streets.

Parade participants marched the porch-lined streets and beads were tossed for fun and tatas. Still the remnants and odor linger on the Southern streets. Can't imagine how this place feels in the dead of summer dripping with Fratboy "Gone Wild" stench.

It's a Mardi Gras tree!

Perusing through the streets lit with the day's light, the Southern charm is exuded in the firn lined porches and colorful homes. The evenings: well they are a site to be seen - once. While I enjoyed the culture, my only reason for going back again will be for the outstanding food. More details on the grub here!

Re-Paris (pronounce Pair-E')

Since my first breath of the Parisian city odor, that rugged, nose-hair-raising smell found in all seasoned cities of the world, combined with ubiquitous cigarette smoke and the unwavering aroma of freshly baked croissants and cafe au laits, the romantic city seems to have not changed. Well not as much as me. Young purity has been replaced by won and lost love; mornings after too many glasses; a plethora of mentors; celebrations, grievances and boundary pushing, leaving an immutable yearning only to uncover more.

Then - I was a solid suburban prep school fourteen itching to take on the world.

Now - it's near fifteen years later.

In the 2004 Before Sunset flick, Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy) review their experiences in life walking together over and through the well-worn streets of Paris [nine years after meeting on a train in Europe and sharing a few life-branding hours with one another in Before Sunrise]. Like Jesse, I walked modern Paris with seasoned bright eyes and now as a published author. And while I wasn’t revisiting the streets arm-in-arm with a lost and re-found lover, it was refreshing to review the City of Love again with my galfriend who was taking in its unique pulse for the first time. I've covered many of the city’s cobblestones with various soles over the years. My memories of past times spent there excited me as much as uncovering new in the same place.Still, my soul fluttered most each time the brain recognized a garden, a steeple, cafe, or antique store sign through my older, still green eyes that have taken-in and analyzed aspects of life much more since then. So many memories shaken free from times that feel like so long ago. It was an abnormally warm high 70s at the end of September 2011. The city was still buzzing from Fashion Week and all the locals flashed still summer golden skin in Jardin des Tuileries, lounging around the triangle surrounded waters of the Louvre or perched on the Pont des Arts bridge filled with lover’s locks.The view from atop the Tour Eiffel remains the same, a piece in my life as sturdy as the wrought iron it's constructed of.



Daffodils are one of my favorite flowers since a semi-overcast Paris spring day in 2005. Having a wander on my own, I followed the blurred line of locals carrying the vibrant yellow bouquets of flowers that lit up the neighborhood, heralding the sun's rays. They led me to a quaint market where I happily purchased two bunches to liven-up the hostel room, an easy spot on the fifth floor offering a glimpse of the sparkling top of Eiffel.

Beans & Barley had some beckoning me in their water filled tubs this weekend. Now the smell of spring lightens the air of my bedroom at home, the vibrant flowers perched on my dresser beside a street purchased painting of a sunsetting sky mirrored in the river Seine.

Until next time, you saccharine city. Merci beaucoup for helping this American girl recall a few bittersweet pieces of what's become the modern me.

Below is a friend and I on the 4th of July, 1997. The portrait up top was done the same day in Montmartre. Believe me, messy pigtails were very hip then. Note my red, white and blue, including my Docs.


My first City of Love sunset in ninety-seven from a boat in the river Seine.