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.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
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.
Oh, and she "allegedly" used to be a man.
Friday, January 9, 2009
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!
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!
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Nick in 3F
I decided to finally leave the apartment Monday night and check out some of the surrounding areas. To date, I must admit that I've been rather cautious where I go, at least after the sun goes down. Don't misunderstand me; I feel perfectly safe where I live. That being said, it's difficult not to heed the warnings of the locals when they tell so many tales of robberies, muggings, and assaults on persons in the metro New Orleans area. There are at least a two dozen bars/restaurants/shops all within close walking distance of my house, but there are many dark, poorly lit areas between the house and the shops/bars, and I just don't feel comfortable yet walking alone, at night, down the street. I had no excuses not to go out on Monday, however, since my friend Tasha is in town visiting her family this week.
Tasha and I visited at the apartment for awhile before heading out. We became friends at the office in Atlanta when she joined the staff in 2007. She grew up in New Orleans and relocated to Atlanta during Hurricane Katrina (if I remember correctly). T is a great woman, so strong, and she's got an Afro the size of all outside when she wears her hair out. She often reminds me of Foxy Brown because she's wonderfully tall, has the most beautiful, perfect skin you've ever seen, and a smile that could warm even the coldest heart. She's got a great spirit and personality too, and since she's originally from here, it meant a lot to me when she commented how wonderful she thought my new place was.
Our first stop was to the bar across the street from the apartment, the Irish Garden Club. It was Monday night, so I wasn't anticipating a large crowd. There were maybe a dozen or so patrons inside, all men w/the exception of one woman and the bartender. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting as far as the people inside the bar were concerned. My house isn't extremely far from Tulane and Loyola and most of the people I've seen up and down Magazine Street are college/grad school-age and your typical DINK's (Double Income, No Kids) . In my naivety, I reckon I was thinking the crowd would be, more or less, close to my age range. The folks in this bar? NOTHING like that. The bar itself was clean and the people all very friendly and nice, but even in the remarkably dim light of this establishment, most of these people looked like they'd lived incredibly fast, hard lives. They could, conceivably, have been late 20's-mid 30's but you'd never know it by their faces. Say it with me people "Moisturizer!". One of my neighbors actually brought his giant dog inside the bar! While neither Tasha nor I are afraid of dogs, this one was jumping on everyone and grabbed a guy's arm in his mouth, so we were a bit intimidated.
Chris, the bartender, was very nice girl who's lived in New Orleans her whole life (w/the exception of 2 years surrounding Hurricane Katrina when she lived in Houston,TX). T and I chatted her up some. I told her that I lived just across the street and as soon as she found this out, she was more than diligent at calling over some of my neighbors who were also inside. She introduced me to some man, who's name I frankly cannot recall, and then introduced me to Nick. Nick is a young guy (or at least, he was one of the few that appeared so in this bar), maybe 23ish? Blonde, short, good handshake, and very friendly. He's a waiter at the Red Fish Grill down the in Quarter. We're talking and laughing, making small talk-me being my usual charming self. It's at this point that he tells me he lives above me in 3F. Upon learning this information, as is my typical MO (shooting straight from the hip), I responded to his comment with "Oh, so you'd be the guy that woke me up at three in the morning a couple weeks ago!". He looked both appalled and uncomfortable. In reality, I was trying to make light of it (well, sort of). I generally try not to hold onto things that irritate me that I simply have no control over-it's a waste of too much energy. After apologizing profusely, Nick seemed to brush off my rather brash comment and even went so far as to invite himself over to my house for St Patrick's Day (the house is right on the parade route and I have my own balcony) !
At least I know two of my neighbors now! Baby steps, my friends. Baby Steps.
Tasha and I visited at the apartment for awhile before heading out. We became friends at the office in Atlanta when she joined the staff in 2007. She grew up in New Orleans and relocated to Atlanta during Hurricane Katrina (if I remember correctly). T is a great woman, so strong, and she's got an Afro the size of all outside when she wears her hair out. She often reminds me of Foxy Brown because she's wonderfully tall, has the most beautiful, perfect skin you've ever seen, and a smile that could warm even the coldest heart. She's got a great spirit and personality too, and since she's originally from here, it meant a lot to me when she commented how wonderful she thought my new place was.
Our first stop was to the bar across the street from the apartment, the Irish Garden Club. It was Monday night, so I wasn't anticipating a large crowd. There were maybe a dozen or so patrons inside, all men w/the exception of one woman and the bartender. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting as far as the people inside the bar were concerned. My house isn't extremely far from Tulane and Loyola and most of the people I've seen up and down Magazine Street are college/grad school-age and your typical DINK's (Double Income, No Kids) . In my naivety, I reckon I was thinking the crowd would be, more or less, close to my age range. The folks in this bar? NOTHING like that. The bar itself was clean and the people all very friendly and nice, but even in the remarkably dim light of this establishment, most of these people looked like they'd lived incredibly fast, hard lives. They could, conceivably, have been late 20's-mid 30's but you'd never know it by their faces. Say it with me people "Moisturizer!". One of my neighbors actually brought his giant dog inside the bar! While neither Tasha nor I are afraid of dogs, this one was jumping on everyone and grabbed a guy's arm in his mouth, so we were a bit intimidated.
Chris, the bartender, was very nice girl who's lived in New Orleans her whole life (w/the exception of 2 years surrounding Hurricane Katrina when she lived in Houston,TX). T and I chatted her up some. I told her that I lived just across the street and as soon as she found this out, she was more than diligent at calling over some of my neighbors who were also inside. She introduced me to some man, who's name I frankly cannot recall, and then introduced me to Nick. Nick is a young guy (or at least, he was one of the few that appeared so in this bar), maybe 23ish? Blonde, short, good handshake, and very friendly. He's a waiter at the Red Fish Grill down the in Quarter. We're talking and laughing, making small talk-me being my usual charming self. It's at this point that he tells me he lives above me in 3F. Upon learning this information, as is my typical MO (shooting straight from the hip), I responded to his comment with "Oh, so you'd be the guy that woke me up at three in the morning a couple weeks ago!". He looked both appalled and uncomfortable. In reality, I was trying to make light of it (well, sort of). I generally try not to hold onto things that irritate me that I simply have no control over-it's a waste of too much energy. After apologizing profusely, Nick seemed to brush off my rather brash comment and even went so far as to invite himself over to my house for St Patrick's Day (the house is right on the parade route and I have my own balcony) !
At least I know two of my neighbors now! Baby steps, my friends. Baby Steps.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Leroy and the Chinese Food
It started out as a simple task: find a Chinese place for dinner. Should be easy enough. Unfortunately, though, nothing in my world is EVER simple.
At this point, since I've only been in NOLA for a little over three weeks, I haven't quite yet familiarized myself with every spot in town. Those parts of town that I DO know, I restrict myself to-particularly after the sun goes down. Since I left the computer in Atlanta with Ronnie after I moved, I'm forced to use the phone book to find places of interest. After looking for 5 minutes, I found one.... UNO Chinese places in the Uptown/Garden District phone book. Who thinks a major metropolitan area is only going to have a singular standing Chinese restaurant? Even living out in the middle of nowhere (a/k/a Commerce, GA), we had at least two Chinese restaurants, but I digress.
Cross checking with a map yields the location of said Uptown Chinese joint. A 10 minute drive later, I'm standing in the lobby of the China Orchid. I order a nice dinner of pot-stickers and Kung Pao Chicken and wait quietly for my food to arrive. While I'm sitting in the quaintly decorated lobby, fully equipped with dim lighting and tranquil music, I realize that what I really pine for is Chinese food from the place around the corner from my friend Jennifer's house. No other Chinese food on the face of the planet will ever compare with the cuisine at the restaurant near Jenny's. Be that as it may, beggars can't be choosers, and so at the China Orchid is where I waited.
Being conscientious to have my cell phone on me at all times, I make sure to clip it to the outside of my purse as I rise to pay the young cashier for my order. After arriving home and pulling a load of laundry from the community, coin-operated laundry down the hall, I prepare myself to sit down and dig into the delicious Kung Pao chicken that has been taunting me the whole way home from the restaurant. It is then that I realize my cell phone is no longer in my possession. After 15 minutes of frantically searching the house, the car, the street, and the laundry, I venture back to the Orchid and inquire if they've seen my phone. They respond in the negative, and without any luck, I irritatedly return to the apartment. I begrudgingly eat a small amount of the chicken and 2 pot-stickers then retire the food to the refrigerator, infuriated that I stupidly left to go get food in the first place. 2 hours pass, and I decide to finally go to bed.
At 8AM, Levi and Dallas woke me up, demanding to be fed. While in the kitchen preparing to feed the beasts, half-dressed, hair all askew, there is an incredibly loud banging sound at my door. The knock startled me, but scared the hell outta the cats, and they took off for shelter. I snatched my robe from the bathroom, amidst more banging, and quickly run to the door and slide it open. Standing before me is my Indian neighbor from downstairs (the one who talked of eating his cat before I'd even moved into the house), Bob. He hands me a sticky note and says that my mother has been frantically trying to reach me. Apparently some man named Leroy had located my cell phone and left it at a nearby pizza place. Before dropping off the phone, though, Leroy made sure to call my mother, my Aunt Amy, and Jennifer, all in an attempt to find someone who could get a hold of me. I don't have a land line, so after speaking with Leroy, mom was forced to Google my address to try and find some of my neighbors (who, thus far, aside from Bob, have proved to be rather standoffish).
I never did speak directly to Leroy, and I don't recall the name of the place where he told mom he worked. Should I ever cross paths with Leroy in the future, though, he shall be met with a firm handshake and hearty thanks for saving my cell phone from a worse fate and coming to the aide of completely irresponsible me.
At this point, since I've only been in NOLA for a little over three weeks, I haven't quite yet familiarized myself with every spot in town. Those parts of town that I DO know, I restrict myself to-particularly after the sun goes down. Since I left the computer in Atlanta with Ronnie after I moved, I'm forced to use the phone book to find places of interest. After looking for 5 minutes, I found one.... UNO Chinese places in the Uptown/Garden District phone book. Who thinks a major metropolitan area is only going to have a singular standing Chinese restaurant? Even living out in the middle of nowhere (a/k/a Commerce, GA), we had at least two Chinese restaurants, but I digress.
Cross checking with a map yields the location of said Uptown Chinese joint. A 10 minute drive later, I'm standing in the lobby of the China Orchid. I order a nice dinner of pot-stickers and Kung Pao Chicken and wait quietly for my food to arrive. While I'm sitting in the quaintly decorated lobby, fully equipped with dim lighting and tranquil music, I realize that what I really pine for is Chinese food from the place around the corner from my friend Jennifer's house. No other Chinese food on the face of the planet will ever compare with the cuisine at the restaurant near Jenny's. Be that as it may, beggars can't be choosers, and so at the China Orchid is where I waited.
Being conscientious to have my cell phone on me at all times, I make sure to clip it to the outside of my purse as I rise to pay the young cashier for my order. After arriving home and pulling a load of laundry from the community, coin-operated laundry down the hall, I prepare myself to sit down and dig into the delicious Kung Pao chicken that has been taunting me the whole way home from the restaurant. It is then that I realize my cell phone is no longer in my possession. After 15 minutes of frantically searching the house, the car, the street, and the laundry, I venture back to the Orchid and inquire if they've seen my phone. They respond in the negative, and without any luck, I irritatedly return to the apartment. I begrudgingly eat a small amount of the chicken and 2 pot-stickers then retire the food to the refrigerator, infuriated that I stupidly left to go get food in the first place. 2 hours pass, and I decide to finally go to bed.
At 8AM, Levi and Dallas woke me up, demanding to be fed. While in the kitchen preparing to feed the beasts, half-dressed, hair all askew, there is an incredibly loud banging sound at my door. The knock startled me, but scared the hell outta the cats, and they took off for shelter. I snatched my robe from the bathroom, amidst more banging, and quickly run to the door and slide it open. Standing before me is my Indian neighbor from downstairs (the one who talked of eating his cat before I'd even moved into the house), Bob. He hands me a sticky note and says that my mother has been frantically trying to reach me. Apparently some man named Leroy had located my cell phone and left it at a nearby pizza place. Before dropping off the phone, though, Leroy made sure to call my mother, my Aunt Amy, and Jennifer, all in an attempt to find someone who could get a hold of me. I don't have a land line, so after speaking with Leroy, mom was forced to Google my address to try and find some of my neighbors (who, thus far, aside from Bob, have proved to be rather standoffish).
I never did speak directly to Leroy, and I don't recall the name of the place where he told mom he worked. Should I ever cross paths with Leroy in the future, though, he shall be met with a firm handshake and hearty thanks for saving my cell phone from a worse fate and coming to the aide of completely irresponsible me.
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