Nirvana, in more ways than one.....

I haven't posted in a spell-been super busy at the office. My apologies.

It's now been nearly 9 weeks that I've been living in the Big Easy, and I've come to discover that the culture here is remarkably different than that of Atlanta. So much of city life surrounds food; folks talk about what they're gonna eat for lunch at 9am, and as soon as lunch is over, talk of supper begins. For the first couple of weeks, it struck me as odd that all anyone every talks about (and I'm using "all" in a very liberal context here) here is what's on the menu. It wasn't until I started trying some of the restaurants that I discovered there's certainly a reason why the culture revolves around food-THERE'S JUST TOO MUCH GOOD FOOD TO PASS UP!!

I live Uptown, right off Magazine....one of the most eclectic and favorite streets in the city. There are countless blocks of retailers and eateries all within walking distance. About a month ago, I made the conscious decision that I would try a new place on Magazine every week. I mean, I AM single now; what the hell else am I gonna do on a Saturday night other than go out? So far, I've tried: Byblos, a lovely Greek place w/very good food, although the humus needed more garlic; Theo's, a pizza place I wasn't overly impressed with, but their beer was super cold, though, so it wasn't a total loss; Sake Cafe, excellent sushi; WOW Wingery, and WOW were the wings salty; and finally Nirvana, a remarkable Indian place.

If you're like me, and most people aren't, whenever I hear the word Nirvana, a tiny chorus of angels sings out a lovely blended note....much like the sound I imagine when the gates of Heaven open............Getting back on track, I'd originally intended to try this Middle Eastern restaurant that fateful Saturday night, but when I drove by at nearly 9PM and only saw three tables of people at said Middle Eastern joint, something told me to keep driving. Nirvana was bustling, which is a clear and obvious sign that that restaurant is where I wanted to be.

I waited 10 minutes or so in the line at the door before the host came and asked me to sit at the bar and have a glass of wine while I waited for a table. 5 minutes and one glass of white wine later, a table was made available. Now, never in my life having tried Indian, and, having a distaste for any and all things curry, you'd think I'd have a difficult time choosing something to eat at Nirvana. SO not the case here! Their menu was vast and complex. You could choose any kind of preparation with chicken, seafood, lamb, or vegetarian. I opted to start with a cup of lentil mulligatawny (I figured if it was good enough for the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld, it was good enough for me!) and followed with chicken tikka masala with garlic naan.

Mere words alone will never be able to do this food justice. The soup was so spicy and so flavorful. When I want something spicy, it better make me sweat. This wasn't spicy like a habenero chili is spicy-this hit on a different part of your tongue. The soup made me sweat, but in an OH so good way! The chicken tikka was this dish composed of white meat chicken, garlic, peppers, onions in some kind of tomato pureed gravy....I'm struggling with the exact words to describe the consistency. Masala scooped up on some of the naan (unleavened bread), and boy howdy was Chappy happy! I could barely make a dent in the food, but thankfully, it made great leftovers.

As if I couldn't be ANY more glutinous, I decided "Why not top the night off w/a delicious piece of cheesecake?". There's a place on St Charles called Copeland's (it's a chain, I'm sure you've heard of it). I walked in, ordered a coffee, and told the waitress I wanted chocolate. She started asking me what kind, yadayadayada. "Surprise me," I said. HOLY TOLEDO Batgirl! She brought out a slice of chocolate cheesecake covered in a dolce de leche pecan praline sauce. Never, in my life, did I think a desert could make me happy-orgasmic, contented, full, yes....but happy? I must have looked like a complete idiot sitting there, surrounded by couples, on a Saturday night, looking fly, smiling from ear to ear eating this cheesecake. Much like my dinner at Nirvana, I couldn't finish all of the cheesecake either. I did, however, manage to take the praline piece shoved in the top home as a leftover..... and the happiness began all over the next day.

Correction: Ms. Owens

It was brought to my attention, shortly after I published the last post, that Ms. Owens was probably NOT a stripper. She was, however, an "entertainer"....there's a subtle difference, you see.

Oh, and she "allegedly" used to be a man.

Chris Owens

It simply amazes me when anyone is completely taken aback by celebrities. They're just people, right? They get up in the morning, make coffee, take a shower, walk the dog, etc. Contrary the aforementioned, however, celebrities are not like normal human beings. When face-to-face with a celebrity, you really can see exactly how different they are than you and I.

In a city that sells booze by the mega liter and is littered w/billboard after billboard beckoning passers-by to the local strip club of the day, I'm sure you can only begin to imagine the kind of celebrity of which I have now had a personal encounter. Now, New Orleans of course has plenty of famous persons that call this wonderful city home, everyone from Wynton Marsalis, to the Jolie-Pitts, to Harry Connick, Jr. (who I will love until the day I die). This city also has an incredible amount of infamous people, people of the night, professional entertainers, if you will, who walk these city streets.

It was this week, at another Chinese food place, that my celebrity encounter occurred. Side bar: yes, I fully realize how odd that it is that so many of my encounters begin and end at Chinese restaurants. While munching on some rather tasty house special lo mein, the women with whom I was eating lunch all began to whisper and point. With my back to the restaurant and only the mirrored wall before me, it was difficult to see exactly what they were all gesturing toward. When finally one of them clued me in, the person that had captured their amazement was none other than Chris Owens. To anyone who is not a native (which includes myself), Ms. Owens is one of the most legendary strippers/dancers in all of New Orleans. She is at least 70 and is known for the sheer amount of plastic surgery she has undergone. Every single person with whom I've spoken knows exactly who this woman is, and they all have a story about how their brothers/cousins/fathers/etc. used to sneak down to the Quarter just to get a peep at this woman. It is simply astonishing.

From the other side of the room, Ms. Owens vaguely looked like a woman who used to keep me as a child when we lived down in Florida. Something about her enormous, jet-black hair was oddly familiar. Yes, Mom, my childhood reference may be a little off. The point is, however, that Ms. Owens resembled someone from my past. Allow me, if you will, to paint a picture: Owens was dressed in skin-tight, nearly painted on jeans, stiletto heeled boots, a black bedazzled tee shirt, and a very unique short sleeved jean jacket/vest that was adorned with puffs of what I hope was faux fir around the collar, sleeves, and hem. Quite an odd ensemble. At one point, she passed behind me to hit the bathroom before she and her companion left. Her companion was something else! He looked like a 1970's pimp, complete with a giant, gray hair-helmet, jet-black porn 'stache, and an incredibly ill-fitting leisure suit. At one point, I honestly asked myself if we'd traveled back in time-one, because of the outfits on the people around me, and two, because of the smell, but I digress.

It wasn't until Ms. Owens walked behind me that I got a really good look at her....WOW. The expression "A wreck up, from the neck up" comes to mind. You could tell that at one point in her life, she was not entirely unfortunate looking. She has good bone structure and a nice height and a large, full head of hair. Unlike Cher, however, plastic surgery has not been a kind friend to Ms. Owens. They've managed to lift, and enlarge, and suck the fat out of the areas where one could conceivably have work done. For a woman who's older than my grandparents, her body, at least with clothes on (thank God for that saving grace) looked tight. All that said, her face? Mon Dieu! Her flesh was pulled so tightly over her cheekbones, if the woman had smiled, she would have cracked. Her lips were injected with so much collagen, she resembled a carp. I've never seen anything quite like it.

After she and her p-i-m-p left the establishment, the WHOLE restaurant was abuzz with commentary. Tables with families and small children were even talking about how amazing it was that they'd gotten to see the infamous Chris Owens out and about in society. I never thought that my first up-close and personal celebrity encounter would be with a madam, but I suppose you gotta start somewhere. The stories that woman could tell.....Lord, I don't even wanna know!