Family of Five

Backtrack: New Orleans Restaurants

I wanted to give a little rundown of some of my favorite New Orleans restaurants while I was there, but I was simply too drunk and too sated each night to write after returning to our hotel room from all our fabulous dining experiences. Plus, three chickens in a hotel room, however spacious, was interfering with my focused internet time.

Royal Blend Coffee & Tea, 621 Royal St. (504) 523-2716
Has the loveliest coffeehouse courtyard in the Quarter. They serve good coffee and good food, but be prepared to wait. The pace is slow here. Chill by the fountain while your friend waits in line.

Jaques-Imo’s, 8324 Oak Street, 504-861-0886 http://www.jacquesimoscafe.com/main.htm
They don’t take reservations for parties of less than five, and it’s difficult to get a reservation before 10pm on short notice. The bar is good, though, and the Maple Leaf, one of New Orleans’ best music venues is right next door. The food and atmosphere at Jaques-Imo’s is not to be missed—buttery cornbread and wilted spinach salad to start, topped with a perfectly-fried oyster. The fried chicken is famous, but I usually get the venison. Everything’s good, and do not leave with saying hello to Jaques. Don’t look for him in the kitchen, the photograph above was totally posed; you'll find him in the bar.

Grabby Jack’s, 428 Jefferson Hwy. (504) 833-CRAB (2722)
Used to be The Louisiana Seafood Exchange, home of the best down-home overstuffed po boys in town. A bit off the beaten path—out past the Riverbend on Jefferson Highway—but well worth it for the freshest fried fish and oyster sandwiches in town. Nothing fancy, sandwiches come wrapped in butcher paper, and you can count on whatever you ordered to tumble out onto the paper for finger-lickin’ deliciousness. Jaques has added some creative offerings like fried green tomato and shrimp remolaude, rabbit, and his famous fried chicken lunches. Closed Sundays, and maybe Mondays, too.


William's Plum Street Sno-balls, 1300 Burdette Street 504-866-7996
Everyone’s got their favorite snoball stand. This is mine. Nestled in the heart of an Uptown neighborhood off Carrollton Avenue, Plum Street Sno-balls has a line out the door all summer long. Still standing after the hurricane, and although FEMA trailers are abundant, the neighborhood was still pleasant to stroll through. I recommend the Nectar Cream.

The Bluebird Café,3625 Prytania St, Lower Garden District,  504-895-7166
Simply the best hangover breakfast in town. There will be a line after 9:30 on weekend mornings for pancakes that cover your whole plate with blueberries, pecans, bananas—or all three griddled right in. Huevos rancheros,  homefries, bottomless coffee, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. So much goodness you’ll wish you had room for more. Closed Mondays and maybe Tuesdays, too, and only open until 2pm.

I've already recommended Café Du Monde—it’s a pilgrimage, across from Jackson Square, and open 24-7.

Adolfo’s, 611 Frenchmen St, 504-948-3800 (cash only)
A cozy little joint that’ll make you feel like a local for finding it. It’s upstairs from the Apple Barrel, where the drinks are bad and bartenders are rude. The chef, Adolfo, stowed away on a boat from somewhere in South America and jumped overboard somewhere along the Mississippi River many years ago (the story’s posted in a newspaper article on the bathroom wall) makes what he calls Creole-Italian cuisine—amazing cannelonis, pasta and fish with verde, shrimp and crawfish sauces. Café Brasil is just up the street for a fantastic post-dinner music scene that usually spills into the street.

Lola’s, 3312 Esplanade Ave (504) 488-6946 (cash or local checks only).
Located in Bayou St. John, Lola’s is known for the paellas and bread and butter so garlicky it burns your tongue. You can bring your own wine for a reasonable corkage fee, but don’t miss the sangria—they spoon a little fruit in your glass and pour it over. The best I’ve had in a good long while. Maybe ever.

Mona's Cafe, 1120 S. Carrollton Ave. 861-8174.
Lebanon Café, 1500 S. Carrollton Ave. 862-6200.
For me, these two are practically interchangeable. Excellent fresh Middle Eastern fare—hoummus, tabouleh, and kebab. The Lebanese tea at Lebanon Café is made with rosewater, and it’s divine. Go for lunch, it’s not a fine-dining experience.

Clover Grill, 900 Bourbon St., 504-598-1010
Late night burgers, diner-style. Closes at midnight, and homophobes should dine elsewhere; prepare to be abused and/or flirted with shamelessly by the flaming waitstaff. At the foot of Bourbon Street—stumble on down.

The English Language, Revisited

Yield, originally uploaded by texasgurl.

Fries = Chips, and
Chips = Crisps, but
Crisps ≠ Fries, even if they’re overdone.

Other Food:
Fiona offered my chickens some fromage frais that  first day we met and I, feeling worldly and European, said sure, they could try fromage frais. Um, okay, it’s only flavored yogurt—like the kind I buy for my kids all the time. The only difference I can see is that fromage frais sounds French, which makes it fancier, and it comes in a tiny container, like a serving of baby food.

Rocket. I have no idea what this is, but I’ve seen it on several menus. Any help, here? Buffy?

Things To Know:
A rack to dry your clothes on is not a drying rack, or even a clothes rack, but an “airer;” and,  according to the label on the package for the one I bought, a spatula is—I love this—a “slotted turner.”

Movies = Cinema
Change = Sterling
Cents = Pence or simply, “P”.

It's About Communication:
Your diary is not the written repository of your innermost thoughts and feelings, but rather, the daily schedule you check before you plan something; and if you need to use the bathroom, better ask for “the loo,” no matter how silly you might feel saying it. If you ask for the bathroom, the restroom or the ladies’ room, people will usually point you in the right direction, but there will be a pause—a hiccup in the communication as they take a moment to work out what you mean:

Does this woman need to wash her hands, or take a bath? Surely she doesn’t intend to bathe, here, in the restaurant? She looks relatively clean, I suppose, and there is that rather hyperactive child clinging to her hand, jumping up and down and whatnot—oh! She’s looking for the loo!

Half-Nine = 9:30. I like this one; it saves a syllable.

Bin, both verb and noun, is used to refer to trash cans and the act of throwing something out. Rubbish, not trash, goes in the bin. Rubbish can also be used to refer to something you don’t like, are disdainful of, or find to be in poor taste or of poor quality.

Sort, or sorted. Used as a verb or an adjective to mean worked-out, work it out, figured out, figure-it-out, or resolved. Overused, even.

Mail is “post,” both noun and verb, as in “Here is your first bit of post,” and “Do you need to post a letter?” Post boxes, incidentally, are shaped like cylinders, and the Royal Mail’s signature color is red.

Hoover is huge over here. Did you know they make refrigerators? And clothes dryers? (Our refrigerator is a Hoover, but I can only assume the bit about the dryer is true based on rumors and reports. I haven’t actually seen a dryer here, yet. More on that later. I have issues.) The British have adopted “hoover” to mean both the act of vacuuming and the vacuum cleaner itself. Fiona told me, “I’m so sorry, I forgot to hoover the cupboards before I left.”

Cupboard: generally what I would refer to as a cabinet, but may also refer to any sort of small closet. This is a word I very much enjoy using, as I find it rather quaint, and it puts me in touch with my inner Victorian.

I had originally thought I might feel pretentious using these “Britishisms,” and therefore had every intention of shunning them in favor of the good ol’ American words I already know. I realize though, that now I’m here that won’t be possible. Living in another culture is, at its most basic level, about speaking the language. How arrogant of me, I realize now, to think that I spoke English already.

A Little Note To The People At the Next Table

Beignets at Cafe DuMonde, originally uploaded by texasgurl.

Psst. Perhaps you didn't notice, because of the green awnings and all, but this is not Starbucks. This is Café Du Monde. You don't get it how you want it here, you get it how they bring it.

They're known for two things: beignets and café au lait. So just get that, okay? Because that's basically all they have. There might be some water in bottles, and I think they have some juice or something, but you can buy juice at the gas station, right? Order your café au lait iced if you’re feeling fancy, but don't get the juice or the bottled water, because the café au lait is their specialty. It goes perfectly with the beignets, and it's what you want, whether you know it or not.

So, your coffee--iced or hot--will be perfect, and it will arrive with three golden pillowy beignets, adrift in powdered sugar. And since powdered sugar is thirsty work, your courteous server will bring you a short glass of water. You don’t have to order the water; it just comes with the beignets. Every time.

Finally, there are three beignets to an order. Not two. Not one. But three. Stop making an ass of yourself asking if they can bring you some other number, because they can’t, and they won’t. Believe it or not, once you start eating you will want  all three, and you won't want to share. Or--nevermind. Go ahead and get a single order, and when you finish that, order another. Think of me when you do it.


So, remember, when they say, “What can I get for you?” your line is, “Two beignets and two café au laits.”

Good luck.

Landed in Texas

Landed in Texas, originally uploaded by texasgurl.

I am here, in Texas, staying at my mother’s house. I am in limbo. There are loose ends to tie up, and I am trying to do that, but I am also just floundering a bit. I haven’t taken many pictures, haven’t gotten too much accomplished, and I fear I may be eating too much Mexican food. Assuming it’s possible to eat too much Mexican food. Which it isn’t.

My mother, god bless her, is a physician, and has just about the healthiest habits of any person you’ll ever meet. She shuns anything with any kind of flour, sugar, or dairy in it, and she has an entire cupboard filled with vitamin and nutritional supplements. Since my children’s favorite food is macaroni and cheese, it’s hard to coordinate a dinner I can make in under two hours that both she and my children will eat.

I exaggerate--but only a little. The good part is that—because of my mother—my kids are generally willing to eat salmon and walnuts and spinach with their mac & cheese. Mother’s been working for the last few years on the cutting edge of nutritional medicine—the idea that disease begins at the level of the cell itself, and that the foods we choose to eat can prevent or promote disease. She believes, and I tend to agree, that someday we will look back on this period in our history as a time when disease and obesity rose to alarming levels due to the overwhelming prevalence of mass-manufactured and processed food in the American diet. And I’m not just talking about the worst offenders, like McDonald’s, but about all that boxed and bagged and frozen food we buy at Costco, or Wal-Mart, or our local grocery.

So I do my best, right? My kids eat eggs and flourless bread for breakfast, and they almost never get anything from a can or a box. It's taken a few years, but I have convinced them that McDonald’s is disgusting. And yet, with all this to be proud of, whenever I’m with my mother, I’m totally self-conscious about what they eat. Feeling like I don't measure up because I'm willing to eat cheese. My need for my mother’s approval runs much deeper than my superficial rebellions.

So it bothers me. We have these tense little conversations around meal preparation and grocery shopping—like how to prepare the squash and what sort of oil to use in the stir fry. But what bothers me most is that we don’t share food like we used to. Tomorrow is Ollie’s birthday, and although there will be cake, she won’t eat it. If I make a simple pasta dinner tonight, she will fix herself a little salad or some nuts and soy yogurt instead. And although I’m sure she would say I’m crazy, it  still feels like I’m disappointing her.