Pontchartrain Pete

More from Tales of the Cocktail, day 2 for me, day 3 for everyone else. After attending the absinthe seminar, we headed back downstairs to formulate a plan. A plan never actually materialized, in no small part because we chose the hall outside one of the tasting rooms to check the schedule. Inexorably drawing us into the tasting room was the aroma of tequila and the promise of free glassware.

The folks from Don Julio were handing out samples and giving a slideshow/lecture about the blue agave tequila is made from and the jimadors, the men who harvest it. Jimadors use the flat, shovel-like implements to shave the leaves off of the agave plant, leaving a very large pineapple-like core that is finally cooked, crushed, fermented and distilled into tequila.

For some reason the guy giving the talk reminded me of Ari Gold on Entourage. He was much more jovial than Ari; as people filtered in during the middle of his talk he did not scold them, but scolded the pourers in the back, “Get these folks some tequila!” Mind you, this is at about 11:30 in the morning.

We stayed for a bit, scored some Don Julio glassware and glowed a bit from our a.m. tequila shots, and sauntered down the hall to “A Brief, Irreverent History of the Tavern.” Sponsored by Laird’s Applejack, it was given by veteran barman and historian Brian Rea. Drink of the hour: an applejack cocktail with lime and banana liqueur. Quote of the day: “The Romans had the original B&B’s–bar and brothel.”

Lunch. We headed out the Montleone. Line too long at ACME. We decided on the Bourbon House next door. Another one of Dickie Brennan’s joints, the Bourbon House has an impressive oyster bar and very nice dining room, with huge windows opening out on Bourbon Street. Awesome, hot and crispy French bread was promptly delivered. A good sign. Decided on crab claws as appetizer. Very nice. Here they are:

Unfortunately the entree, we both ordered the shrimp and grits, was not as nice. The grits were good, the shrimp were small and in a broth that, while flavorful, could have used a lot more reduction.

Off to work, more later.

YLC Streetcar artists Paulette Lizano and Will Smith popped up during Tales of the Cocktail at the event’s Cocktail Marketplace on Saturday. Paulette, who is in the process of building her streetcar, “Perley’s Barnyard Party” was there selling glass coasters and plates featuring martini glasses and S&WB meter cover designs.

Will Smith’s streetcar is located at the Prytania Theatre. It features Stella and Stanley from Streetcar Named Desire. He added sponsors John and Gayle Gish to it as well. Will was at Tales selling his Mardi Gras krewe giclees. He also had a new line of burlesque girl paintings on hand for sale.

Also posted at StreetcarArt.com.

I’ve decided to break this Tales of the Cocktail post into a few non-linear small parts. This part covers the first and last happenings of the day, the absinthe seminar and end-of-day cocktails at the Carousel Bar (below).

I continued on my quest at Tales of the Cocktail to learn all there is to know about absinthe and New Orleans. Nola came to see what all the Tales fuss is about and get back some of her blogging mojo lost in the summer doldrums.

I learned a little bit more today about absinthe at the seminar entitled “Cocktails with a Kick: Absinthe Returns to America.” Basically, it’s still so new on the scene no one knows what to do with it other than mix it with sugar and water. Panelists Paul Clarke and Gwydion Stone went through a lot of information. Although it’s predominate flavor is licorice, absinthes are made with a variety of herbs that give a multi-layered flavor profile that mixes well with many different cocktails. One of which, of course, is the original Sazerac; bartenders making them had to switch to other aromatic spirits like Herbsaint in the wake of absinthe’s ban. Here’s the Carousel Bar’s Sazerac, perched next to an Old Fashioned.

When we got to the Carousel Bar Friday evening, we spotted Chef John Besh hanging out waiting to give a presentation. Walking past him through the crowd looking for a place to sit, Nola said, “I just brushed up against John Besh’s ass.” Thoroughly impressed with her brush with greatness’ ass, I asked her if she wanted a picture with him. My day job magazine had featured his house in Pearl River after the storm, so I had an opening to talk to him. I spoke with him briefly about it, he was very nice and gracious and said he’d be happy to have his picture taken.

Chef Besh was very pleased to learn Lüke was Nola’s favorite restaurant, saying “Keep going. Please! I’ve still got to pay for it!” This was after some Philistine women hogged his attention for a picture for about 5 minutes. Very awkward, saying things like, “You’re almost as cute as my son,” or something like that.

So, everyone who wants to know what Nola looks like, here she is, cute as a button and with a real big smile, and not necessarily touching John Besh’s ass.

While spinning around on the Carousel Bar drinking our NOLA themed libations, I also spotted Kevin Brauch hanging out, and felt compelled (by the day’s booze?) to tell him I borrowed his line, “Ladies and gentlemen, start your livers!” as the title of Wednesday’s post. He liked the idea, and said he was almost hesitant to say it, not sure whether it would be offensive. We assured him it was not, but in fact, it was a very NOLA-appropriate thing to say. He talked to us for a few minutes about Tales, where it’s been (calling last year “magical”) and where it might go given how much attendance (and attention) has grown.

So many celebrities, so little time.

With that challenge, Kevin Brauch (the reporter on Iron Chef America who is not Alton Brown, thank Gawd) opened up Tales of the Cocktail.

But first things first. Today’s kick-off event was Toast to Tales of the Cocktail in the Riverview Room of the Hotel Montleone. NOLA blogger Loki of Humid City and the Krewe of Chartreuse offered up the first ceremonial toast of the day, which was dedicated to the Sazerac cocktail’s enshrinement as New Orleans’ official cocktail.

Ann Teunnerman, founder of the New Orleans culinary and cocktail event, spoke this afternoon and went over some of the highlights of the five-day celebration. When Ann announced Tale’s revival of the Green Hour and return of absinthe to America, the crowd went wild.

I have been assigned to write a story about absinthe and New Orleans, so my attendance at the various Tales of the Cocktail events will be centered around those featuring the spirit. There are many, many other events taking place: seminars, symposia, luncheons, dinners, tours and tastings. Here is the listing and ticket information.

Today’s event was tasting of absinthes offered by Lucid, Marteau and La Fee.

That’s the money shot of the day: absinthe being prepared the old-fashioned way with an ice water drip from a fountain.

The Absinthe Museum of America, opening this Saturday, is located at 823 Royal Street and hosted today’s event. Many absinthe artifacts—absinthia to the collector—will be on display, including this still, the fountain and glasses below, and many spoons, old bottles and artwork.

Ted Breaux, a New Orleans native and a driving force behind absinthe’s return to America was on hand. He is the also the creator of Lucid and several other varieties at Jade Liqueurs, overseeing its production at the Combier distillery in France’s Loire valley.

Marteau is made by Gwydion Stone, founder of the Wormwood Society, which is dedicated to bringing absinthe back to its rightful place in cocktail culture.

A number of bloggers/twitterers were there this afternoon. Loki, John Martin of Off-Focus, Leisa, Mr. Gunn and Robert Peyton of Appetites braved the afternoon heat to attend. Here’s a photo of John, Mr. Gunn and Loki, I’m sorry I had to leave for dinner with my folks and didn’t get more people in the picture.

More from Tales later this week. There is another absinthe event Friday at the Montleone’s Carousel Bar. I’ll attend that and make another report.

I believe we have a winner of a new tradition in the works. It’s called San Fermin in Nueva Orleans, or more appropriately, the Running of the Bulls in New Orleans. See other coverage here and here.

Held this morning in the Quarter, the New Orleans event pays tribute to the famous Running of the Bulls (the Encierro) during the Festival of San Fermin in Pamplona, Spain. Crowds of people there, dressed in white & wearing red sashes, dash through the town’s streets amongst fighting bulls who’ve been let loose from their corral. It’s a world-famous event, popularized through history and literature by the likes of Ernest Hemingway.

Of course, the New Orleans event is presented with a twist. There’s no bullfighting here (why?) and thus the city lacks a supply of fighting bulls. So to have fun and have an excuse for running through the French Quarter, the crowd opts to be chased by the participants of the city’s equivalent combat spectacle: Big Easy Rollergirls wielding plastic baseball bats.

It’s just the kind of event that’s perfect for the city, presenting another excuse to be drunk in public, a chance to lampoon a historically significant event while wearing a costume, and to have the luxury of being chased by fast women bearing weapons, laughing all the time. Holding it in the middle of summer, when all sane folk become completely inactive, is a stroke of marketing genius to inject some life and cash into the Quarter during the doldrums.

I think it’s a winner, and predict participation will grow exponentially next year and be expanded into an affair spread over several days; if not next year, in years soon to come.

But without the participation of real bovines, PETA will, alas, be uninvolved, sparing(?) the city of its Pamplona protest event, the Running of the Nudes. But knowing New Orleans, that’s by all means possible; I see Nude Running of the Bulls as a future night-time adjunct event, maybe.

Update: Check out Loki’s eyewitness account and many great pictures at Humid City.

Editor’s Note:
Nola’s post on da Schegmann’s jogged many memories. I started to share one in a comment, but it grew out of hand, so it’s now a post.

When I worked at Martin Wine Cellar on Baronne Street while I was at UNO, I once went to the Schwegmann’s on Annunciation on my lunch hour to cash my paycheck. I remember they had these funky machines at the check cashing windows that would simultaneously take your picture and a picture of the check and your ID. While in line, I overheard a conversation between two black guys in the line for the window next to the one I was in. It went something like this:

Hey-what you doin’ here?
I gots my check, gonna cash it.
Oh yeah, check money is O.K., but dey ain’t no money like dat cash money!
Yeah you rite!

At the time I just thought it was kind of funny, a redundancy-based colloquialism, that a part of society saw fit to categorize wealth into “check money” and “cash money.”

So, years later, when exposed to the NOLA hip-hop stylings of Juvenile and the other Cash Money Millionaires, I felt I had been exposed to some inside knowledge, where I, a most pasty white un-hip and un-hip-hop dude, knew exactly what was meant by the words “Cash Money.”

P.S. There was some other slang I was exposed to riding the Public Service bus to school. Anyone heard of “silver dimes” and “case quarters?”

Update: As Ender’s Urban Dictionary links point out, “silver dimes” and “case quarters” refer to the 10-cent and 25-cent piece coins. These things I learned riding the Public Service bus through “bad neighborhoods” going to school from Algiers to Uptown.

So, if someone axed (see here for more on that) you for a “silver dime” and you gave them two nickels or ten pennies, or one nickel and five pennies, you would be incorrect. Same with a “case quarter.”

I went on a trip to Houston this weekend for my nephew’s (he’s also my Gawd-child) 11th birthday party. Houston is not my favorite place. Other than my brother’s family, a few friends and the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, the city just sucks to me. It’s just too big. They’ve been working on the interstate for, maybe, 120 years. Traffic bites, etc., you get the picture.

So we basically played Mario Kart for the Wii all day. His grandparents bought him a telescope, and last night we went out to try to find the moon. The moon, alas, was not to rise until after midnight, so we looked at random stars.

The highlight of the trip was this giant frog painted on the I-10 overpass at Rayne, home of the Frog Festival, where we stopped for lunch on the way home.

Yesterday’s coffee klatch evolved into the ultimate tweet-up: lunch with Nola, Yat Pundit and Ryan (joined by his lovely fiance) at Galatoire’s Restaurant.

Galatoire’s is on Bourbon Street, near the corner at Iberville. Besides fantastic Creole cuisine, it’s famous for quite a few quirks, among them that they don’t take reservations for the first-floor dining room. This quirk complicates the fact that the first-floor dining room is the most popular place in the city for lunch on Fridays.

When the idea first started floating around for some of the NOLA bloggers to do lunch at Galatoire’s, it was generally agreed on that Friday was the only day of the week it could work. I was worried about that; legendary long lines are known to form to get a table there on Fridays. Here is a pre-K NPR story and audio of an interview on the topic of Fridays at Galatoire’s on the occasion of its 100th anniversary in 2005, also the year they won the James Beard award for the most outstanding restaurant in the country.

The Sazerac Cocktail

The restaurant has always had a special place in my family. My mom’s family is from Houma, La., and she had an aunt and uncle who lived in New Orleans. She and her brother and sister would spend summers in the city with them. My great aunt and uncle would dine at Galatoire’s every Sunday for decades, and when their nieces and nephews were in town they went along, too.

At the same time, my father (who would not meet my mother until years later at LSU) lived in mid-city off of Esplanade near the Fairgrounds, where his family rented a house owned by the Galatoire family; the Galatoire’s lived across the street. My father’s sister told me she remembers, as a little girl, Mr. Galatoire coming home on the bus with the restaurant’s receipts in a paper bag; he would hand out dimes to the kids in the neighborhood.

As we were growing up in New Orleans, my great aunt would take us to Galatoire’s for special occasions. When she died, at age 100, the entire family and many friends went to Galatoire’s after the funeral to celebrate her life. We occupied the first floor dining room for six hours. We still eat there about once a year, but never for the famous Friday lunch experience.

On this Friday, we got there fairly early, around 11:30. It was already almost too late, though. Most of the first floor had been seated already. A couple of tourists were outside when I got there and I overheard them complaining about not getting seated. “They don’t take reservations my ass,” said the guy. “You know every one in there has a reservation.” I didn’t say anything to burst his bubble because I turned around and saw Nola had arrived and we needed to pursue a table of our own.

The Grand Gouté: Shrimp Remoulade, Crabmeat Maison, Crawfish Maison and Oysters en Brochette (on separate plate)

They asked us how many, Nola said four, and they immediately said we’d have to wait for the next seating. We asked about upstairs, I wasn’t ready to hang out for an hour and a half watching people eat. They didn’t really answer one way or another. I went up there anyway to see if anyone else had arrived first. There was only one table occupied up there, no one I knew. I was trying to decide whether to call the hostess on the upstairs availability when they asked again, “How many?” This time I said five, remembering Ryan’s fiance was going to join us. Lucky thing she did, low and behold, there was a table for six open on the first floor which they gave us.

Soufflé Potatoes

Charlie, our waiter, took our drink order. Sazeracs straight up for Nola and myself. That’s another great thing about Galatoire’s–they will seat you even if the rest of your party has not yet arrived. Some people are critical of this policy. It’s not unknown for people to hire someone to stand in line and get a table for them, hold it until they arrive and then leave.

At Galatoire’s, once you have secured your table, there is no rush. It’s yours until you choose to leave. In fact, the first thing Charlie asked, after delivering our cocktails once everyone had arrived, was whether we wanted to sit a awhile, or order some appetizers? Being rather peckish, we went ahead and ordered the Grand Gouté and some Soufflé Potatoes.

Softshell Crab Meunière

We took our time passing around and eating the appetizers. Eventually we got around to ordering entrees. Softshell Crab Meunière for Nola and Yat Pundit, Trout Meunière Amandine for myself, Trout Meunière with crabmeat for Ryan, and his lady ordered what has to be the ultimate in soup and salad: the crabmeat stuffed avocado with a bowl of turtle soup.

Trout Meunière Amandine

One of the reasons this get-together happened was that Ryan said on the Twitter one day that he had a bad experience the first time he went to Galatoire’s, upstairs as part of a large graduation party. Nola told him no, you really need get the experience of downstairs at lunch. Well, Nola’s mission was a success. I believe Ryan’s opinion of Galatoire’s is now changed.

Brabant Potatoes

Stuffed Avocado with Crabmeat; Turtle Soup

There was a very nice crowd at the restaurant Friday. A lot of regulars were in, judging by the amount of people who the manager greeted by name at the door. One large table was occupied by about 12 people celebrating a birthday. There was more than one birthday because twice during the time we were there the waitstaff dinged on a glass and asked for everyone to sing happy birthday.

Friday hustle & bustle at Galatoire’s

Many in this crowd ended up, like we did, at the Old Absinthe House down the block on Bourbon Street. Nola has written about that adventure, and what it’s like now it’s actually possible to drink absinthe again at the Old Absinthe House.

Well, some folks from the Titterverse broke the cardinal rule of internet socializing and actually met face-to-face yesterday in the real world, or “meat space” as some call it. Nola, Ryan (WarriorEngineer), Ed, (the YatPundit), Charlotte and myself managed a get-together at CC’s on Magazine near Jefferson.

Baby Sun was also along and she seemed to be utterly fascinated by the traffic passing by our sidewalk table. Conversation was light; there was some talk about etiquette on twitter and a re-cap of a twit fight that occurred earlier in the day.

The highlight of the day was a young tattooed blond-headed girl who decided to panhandle our table. She said they gave her coffee, but she really needed some money for food.

It ends up Ryan had brought along some of the shrimp remoulade he wrote about for everyone to taste. Rather than give her money, he gave her the last of the shrimp, which by the way, were mighty tasty. The girl may have been disappointed that she didn’t snag any cash, but she did eat the shrimp right away and pronounced them “really good.”

Is there a lesson in this for us all?

It was a busy day. I started out on a quest to find a combination recuperation/baby’s first birthday gift for Nola & CS–a bottle of Kübler absinthe. Alright, it really wasn’t much of a first birthday gift for Sun; I promise to make it up to her next year. First stop, Martin Wine Cellar in Mandeville. Didn’t have it. I knew Acquistapace’s Covington Supermarket carried it, so that’s where I headed next. I couldn’t locate it their either, but luckily I ran into Adam Acquistapace, who fetched me a bottle. Armed with gift, I headed to Nola’s crawfish boil.

It was raining pretty hard when I got off the Causeway. I thought that, over the sound of the rain and my windshield wipers, I could hear “Oh, the suckage!” being screamed from Nola’s way. But, surprise, the pop-up tent and covered porch were keeping everyone dry and happy, with not one lament from Nola’s mouth at all. Sun, who I had heard was sick, was being pushed happily by her daddy on her new swing, all the Nola/CS friend peeps digging away at mudbugs, beer, potatoes artichokes, etc.

I left to go hunt streetcars; post at StreetCarArt.com coming soon. Then off to NOMA for the Rodrigue exhibit. If you haven’t been to the New Orleans Museum of Art recently, you need to get down there. The Rodrique exhibit is over June 8, but there is still plenty to see. One thing is a newly-acquired collection of 30-some odd pieces, including a painting by Fairfield Porter, probably my favorite non-impressionist painter.

After looking at the Rodrigues (and there is more to him than just the Blue Dog, and, by the way, I was not a fan of the Blue Dog, but have a new understanding and respect for it now) I headed up to the 3rd floor. I’m glad I did. Besides myself and the security guard, the only other person up there was John Bullard, NOMA’s director. I’d met him before, during the Femme Femme Femme exhibition. He’s a very convivial guy, a necessary trait when most of your job consists of raising funds. I told him I thought it was a great idea to keep the museum open all night, he said it’s been something museums in Dallas and other cities had been experimenting with to some success. They’re talking about doing it once a month, maybe on the last Wednesday of the month, to stay open to midnight. It’s a good idea; hotel, restaurant and hospital workers who otherwise wouldn’t get to see it come in then. It was a busy day for NOMA, too. He said they already had 2000 visitors on Saturday, and expected more Sunday.

After congratulating John on the exhibit, I mosied on down to the 2nd floor (the 3rd, by the way, is home to a small but impressive collection of Asian, African, South American and Native American indigenous art) where I was met full on with a sight inspiring the title of this piece–an exhibit of art from the Historic New Orleans Collection and NOMA called New Orleans: A Sense of Place.

Paintings, books, pieces of decorative art, including silverware from New Orleans smiths, all unmistakably NOLA creations. There are paintings of buildings and the city from the 1800’s and contemporary views, like a stunning, huge, painting of the Quarter, the docks and the Marigny as viewed from the top of the Jax Brewery–unfortunately I didn’t have anything to write with or I’d be telling you who the artist was.

In the middle of the room is a collection of books, old New Orleans classics from the Collection. Books by Lyle Saxon, Grace King, Kate Chopin, Lafcadio Hearn and George Washington Cable are on display. But at the top of the display is Ignatius Reilly peering out from the first-edition cover over the room, scimitar raised high, hunting cap on head, cockatoo perched on shoulder. Wow.

I went back downstairs where the crowd was growing. George Rodrigue and his family were hanging out, and as I walked out the door I ran into the person who started my day, Adam Acquistapace, absinthe dealer. I need to go buy a bottle for myself soon.