I shopped for and cooked Sunday dinner – look at me go in retirement. The black bean enchilada skillet dish was very well received by my wife. I did ask her later what dish I had bought the plain yogurt for. The one last night – “Remember I suggested that you substitute if for sour cream and added it to your shopping list?” Ahh – I do remember now and we can use it on the leftovers.
A link to the recipe if you’re interested in giving it a whirl, don’t forget the sour cream:
Recipe – black bean enchilada skillet
Another “culture pass” from the library took us to the Ogden Museum of Southern Art on Monday. The first thing we saw was this “Universal, Cosmic Mule” on the way up the stairs:
Something about this guy really appealed to me.
We started on the fifth floor and worked our way down. The views from the fifth floor terrace were impressive. Here’s the World War II museum and Crescent City Connection (CCC) bridge:
And a good view of the “wing” cover over the terrace of the World War II museum:
An interesting seahorse on the patio:
There is an annual competition for local artists to have their work displayed at the Ogden and that was our favourite part of our visit. Such creativity in pieces created over the last year or two by folks living in the area.
This is a collection of 50 paintings of Vietnamese folks to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the end of the Vietnam war:
This level of detailed information really made this fifth floor exhibit for me. This one was called “Hurricane Proof House” and was painted “en plain air” shortly after Katrina:
The next floors had some older Southern art. I enjoyed these two paintings:
The one directly above had a real 3D feel to it.
This is one of the more well known paintings in the collection – French Quarter rooftops by Knute Helder from 1923 :
You might be getting bored with my tour of the Ogden by now. I’ll conclude with one final painting from the “20 years after Katrina section:”
The Ogden is a beautiful building – I remembered watching the HBO Tremé series character, Annie, playing the violin there for an event along with Joe Krown. I tried hard, even using AI, to find a clip to share – none out there. I guess HBO is just as effective as Bryan Adams at policing pirate copies of their videos. There’s the episode info if you would like to watch on HBO:
| Episode | Season 3, Episode 5 — “I Thought I Heard Buddy Bolden Say” |
| Performance Setting | Ogden Museum of Southern Art |
| Music Played | “O Ma Charmante, Épargnez‑Moi!” (Gottschalk) & “All That & Then Some” (Joe Krown) |
| YouTube Availability | Not currently found via public search |
And after all that, I don’t think this is the episode I’m looking for. I’ll have to watch the whole series again.
I gave McD a choice of two places for lunch after the exhibit – Peche or Cochon Butcher. I knew which she would choose, and I was fine with either one. We started with tuna crudo and followed that with Jimmy Nardello peppers over whipped tuna – the waiter sold it to us and I’m glad he did. Those peppers were smoky and sweet. I’m ready for some more right now.
This is some research on the Jimmy Nardello pepper that I had never heard of before:
“This fine Italian pepper was grown each year by Giuseppe and Angella Nardello at their garden in the village of Ruoti, in Southern Italy. In 1887 they set sail with their one-year-old daughter Anna for a new life in the U.S. When they reached these shores, they settled and gardened in Naugatuck, Connecticut, and grew this same pepper that was named for their fourth son, Jimmy. This long, thin-skinned frying pepper dries easily and has such a rich flavor that this variety has been placed in “The Ark of Taste” by the Slow Food organization. It ripens to a deep red, is very prolific, and does well in most areas.”
We finished lunch with the crab capellini pasta – such fresh pasta and tasty sauce.
We were chatting about how unique these dishes at Peche are compared to other New Orleans restaurants, the combinations of ingredients and flavours reminding us of the wonderful Odd Duck in Austin.
I watched the movie “She Came to Me” on Monday night. Peter Dinklage is an opera composer, Anne Hathaway his wife and psychiatrist, and Marisa Tomei is a tugboat captain. Very quirky and well done.
Tuesday began with a walk in Audubon park. It was a tiny bit less humid and I didn’t feel totally sweated out after a couple of laps. After the park, we made our way over to the Batture farmer’s market. This happens every Tuesday and the Batture is the part of land that is on the Mississippi river side of the levee – grandfathered in through some weird law. If you want to learn more, check out “River Rats” by Macon Fry:
They Call us River Rats by Macon Fry
I spent an interesting day at Macon’s Batture house and will be happy to share some stories the next time we talk…
The farmer’s market was small but very well done. Great looking peppers, exotic mushrooms, tomatoes, honey, and smoothies. We bought a crawfish and mushroom risotto that a fun lady was selling, and I couldn’t resist buying a pupusa from a lovely gentleman named Mike. It was huge and very filling – Diana and I nibbled on it for several hours. Certainly the best pupusa I’ve experienced – stuffed with delicious cheese and topped with a fried egg, pickled onion and crema. I highly encourage my New Orleans friends to check this guy out – he does the City Park market on Sundays as well. Additionally, he is opening a 70s cocktail bar and Tokyo style jazz club on Freret Street opposite the Gasa Gasa club. Should be open in a couple of months – permitting delays have delayed the anticipated dates – imagine that in this city.
The Batture will reopen with food trucks and other popup restaurants this weekend for the fall and winter seasons. We will certainly check that out.
We made our way home, McD did a quick change and pack, and then I dropped her off at Merry Lee’s pool for the afternoon.
My next agenda item was to see about my cyst surgery – this time in the right week. I told the doctor that I had previously had a one inch cyst removed and now a much smaller version had grown back. “You mean 2.5 centimeters, based on your accent?” It’s not usually picked up that quickly. Apparently his daughter his studying linguistics at Trinity college in Dublin – he might know a bit about accents. The poor doctor tried really hard to arrange my surgery while I was there and was unsuccessful.
How did we do in Tuesday evening trivia? We took second place by a very small margin. I think Kenny was our MVP this week.
I always enjoy the mashup questions – “What would you call an Abba song about the longest reining UK monarch?”
Dancing Queen Elizabeth – I got that one. Dad would be disappointed if I didn’t.
In other trivia news – Glasgow featured ab0ut cloning and Dolly:
Lastly, here’s our team captain turning in our answer that Kenny got right away. “Joan of Arc.” MVP for Kenny?
As we were leaving trivia Alex asked if anyone wanted to go and see the band at the Ponchatrain hotel. Sure, I’ll do that. At the very least it’ll get me closer to home. I can walk from there.
Turns out Alex has been taking drumming lessons from Stanton for a few weeks and he invited him to come and watch the show:
Alex was impressed that I knew Oscar Rossingoli- by a week from research following the John Boutte show last week.
We attended the funeral service for the lovely Alicia Cole on Wednesday. The last time I talked to her she was feeling great and enjoying life – that changed quickly. Such a lovely lady with a massively kind heart.
Kenny suggested Mandina’s for lunch after the service. This is a classic old school Italian seafood place with a Cajun twist, reminding us of Original Joe’s in San Jose (not the Cajun part).
We had a delightful lunch with great food and company. I made the mistake of texting Denny that I had enjoyed my first visit to Mandino’s. “You have been. 1st NOLA boys trip. Followed by a stop down the street for Rebirth at Chickie Wah Wah.” He is so correct – and I had a feeling when I wrote the text that he was going to say that. Mandino’s had a lot of Hurricane Katrina (more on that coming) damage and had just reopened when we visited the first time. And the Rebirth gave us a great show – almost too big for the newly opened Chickie Wah Wah.
Diana had a loaded salad and Kenny and I split the “burger on French” – I still couldn’t finish my half.
Mandino’s reminded me a lot of Tony Moran’s – the very first place I ate in New Orleans. I came in to check up on a team that supported State Farm insurance from New Orleans. They were still recovering from Katrina. I met Denny and Anne downstairs in the bar and we had desert together with the group upstairs. Then they took us to Geno Delafonse at the original Rock ‘N Bowl and the amazing Kermit Ruffins with Henry Butler on keyboards at Vaughans lounge. Why don’t I live in this city? Took me a decade plus to make it happen
Then, it was finally time for my surgery. Took about 10 minutes and was completely successful. The surgeon is very confident that I will not have another cyst in that location.
We had planned on going t see Mia Borders at the Banks Street bar, but I wasn’t really feeling up for it. Sorry Diana – two weeks from now?
Thursday had a very exciting start – checking out the newly opened Trader Joe’s. I’m not sure how to describe this store – here’s what AI has to tell me:
” known for its unique, private-label products, affordable prices, and a welcoming shopping experience. The stores offer a wide range of products, including unique snacks, international foods, dietary options, wine, and beer, with a focus on quality and value rather than traditional branded items. The company has a cult-like following, in part due to its discovery-driven model, friendly staff, and often limited-run products. “
I think that’s a great summary. We got a lot of interesting and varied food at a good price. It seemed like they had listened to all of my complaints about other locations – nowhere near enough parking, such skinny aisles that y0u can’t even pass someone coming at you, crowding by the salad and dip section right by the front door. All resolved at the new Tulane avenue location.
We had our first quarterly financial review on Thursday afternoon. Doing well so far. Thanks Uncle Pauline.
The paper had some “Then and Now” pictures today -part of the many 20 year anniversary of Katrina reporting.. The same location then and now. I’ll share a couple of examples:
Then:
Now:
Continuing on the Katrina theme, Chris Rose wrote this. Very well written (as always) and my friends will be upset with me for giving this ******* airtime:
“Dear New Orleans: Have you heard? The exhibitions, exclamations, exhortations and excoriations — in memorium, et ceterum, ad nauseam? Triggered yet? All these sad songs they keep playing, they’re so damn … sad. As Dr. John might put it, New Orleans is being traumaticalized, all over again. Deja Vieux Carre.
It’s been 20 years since I wrote a letter like this. That one was addressed to America, introducing our beleaguered friends and neighbors who were fleeing the floodwaters — unknowns bound for elsewhere. Our Exodus. So what is this thing that is happening right now, this … reckoning? An anniversary? Accurate, but that term always seems to fail this auspicious occasion. A commemoration? A remembrance? That one’s got a touch of proper gravitas.
An apotheosis, perhaps — a collective acknowledgment that Katrina still lords over our lives two decades later? The head spins. Who can even think straight with all this 8/29/05, 24/7, somebody please pass the 4/20.
Dear New Orleans. Here’s what it looks like from a distance — of time and geography, of memory and progress, of laughter and forgetting. I have come from the mountaintops, literally — and I’ve got Katrina cred with me. I was “the voice of the tortured city,” said The Washington Post. A truth teller, Oprah called me. (Or her people, anyway.) The McClatchy News Service crowned me “the literary avenging angel of the 504.” That was my favorite.
Folks even said I saved lives, that the stories I wrote in the aftermath were righteous balm for Katrina fatigue. Just last week, an old New Orleans acquaintance of mine showed up at the state park where I am living in the mountains of western Maryland just to cry on me. That’s happened a lot over the past 20 years. People see me, they cry. That’s some heavy right there.
What did I do to deserve all this? A city lay in ruin, 1,600 dead, homes and businesses destroyed, a vital culture drowning in its own filthy water. Somebody had to tell the jokes. Me and the refrigerators.
But I’m no hero, that’s understood. What became of me was, I drank myself to death just like everybody said I would. Caused a lot of pain to family and friends. In the fall of 2021, I was diagnosed with end-stage cirrhosis. These past 20 years of active, sometimes relentless drinking have turned my liver to stone. There is no treatment and there is no cure. I’m a dead man walking.
A recent article in this newspaper told my story in grim, vivid detail — a story of my death foretold — a story so convincing that my brother in Florida received several texts from friends expressing condolences at the news of my passing. But, like my dear City of New Orleans 20 years ago — reports of our death were greatly exaggerated. The writing may be on the wall, but I’ve still got some ink left in my pen.
It is said: The longer you live in New Orleans, the more unfit you become to live anywhere else. OK, I said that — 20 years ago. And I am proof. After my diagnosis, my vicissitudes of fortune rendered me unwilling, unable — yes, unfit — to live in New Orleans anymore. After 35 years of residence, if there’s anything left in this city that I’ve never done before — I probably shouldn’t do it. So I retreated to the woods, off the grid, into the solitude of the outdoors where the nightmares of my own past dissolve in each day’s new dawn; I fall asleep to the sound of waterfalls, wake each morning to campsmoke and songbirds. I have found my own peace.
But I raise a (nonalcoholic) toast to you who remain on this occasion, my dear New Orleans, for having stayed put longer than me, kept it together, stayed strong, stayed true. For having survived. Perhaps you’re tired of hearing about your resilience, equanimity, determination, fortitude and triumph of the human spirit — clichés all — but they’re still damn true.
Another cliché goes that living in New Orleans after the flood was like staying in an abusive relationship. For all her glaring faults, her vulgarity, her violence, she loves back like no other. Nobody puts the funk in dysfunction like the Maid of Orleans. A taste of her wicked, jasmine lips changes you forever. That’s why I still come back. I’m still smitten. New Orleans and I may be divorced now, but I guess you could say we’re still friends with benefits.
The last time I was in New Orleans was Jan. 21, 2025. If you’re looking for a balm for Katrina fatigue now, mark that date on your calendar. That was the day the people of New Orleans came out together like the folks in Whoville on Christmas morning when the Grinch brought all the presents back to the children. The day it snowed in New Orleans. Another weather event that crippled the city, blanketed streets and rooftops, canceled events and services, shut down roads and bridges. Only this time, when the snow melted and all that water soaked back into the ground, there was no bathtub ring left behind to remind us. Just some frozen toes and fantastic photographs.
But there won’t likely be any streaming documentaries about that day. Hell, it doesn’t even have a name. No books written about it, unless maybe a children’s book. No church services, obituaries, memorials, nor weeks and weeks of insufferable media coverage to keep reminding us over and over about how terrible was that Whole. Damn. Thing.
Funny though — there is a song that comes to mind. It’s called “Crescent City Sneaux.” Here’s a snippet:
Hold all our memories in one hand
So tight that you won’t let ‘em go
And in the other hand we pray
That the wind and the panic and the rain
Would all turn to a soft and quiet snow
New Orleans singer-songwriter Susan Cowsill wrote that song — 20 years ago — not about Jan. 21, but about Aug. 29. And yes, it’s so damn sad. At first.
Then it does this weird New Orleans thing. The song starts as a melancholy lament, an elegy for the landscape, “just paper and sticks and tattered sheets.” But then something happens, a slow parade snare creeps out of the dirge, Cowsill’s voice rises then soars, the coda drops a Cajun beat, then a second-line rhumba, and then inexorably, inexplicably, inimitably — and of course — a Who Dat cheer and the Saints go marching in.
It’s mournful, beautiful, inspiring, puzzling, convincing. It makes me cry, it makes no sense, just like my city — that mystery wrapped in a riddle inside an enigma — still here, still strong, still heart-breaking, love-making, wash away my sins and tears, my dear, dear New Orleans.”
Another article about Sean Payton (Superbowl winning coach of the New Orleans Saints) after the recent pre-season match between the Saints and Denver Broncos:
See how Sean Payton honored a New Orleans ‘icon’ after the Broncos win against the Saints
We met the same krewe for the kickoff of the college football season on Saturday afternoon.
Texas vs Ohio State was first, with local interest in the Texas quarterback, Arch Manning (3rd generation in the dynasty.) Texas lost – not the result that I was looking for. Next up Alabama vs Florida State. We didn’t stay for the end, but Alabama disappointed all those folks with red hats and shirts on. Not disappointed – the champagne girl:
She didn’t actually drink any of those, but they call Miller High Life “the champagne of beers” and so we thought this picture worked.
Where is that fun looking patio. That’s the Rusty Nail – a great place to watch football. I hadn’t been in many years and enjoyed the return visit.
I had started watching the new “Thursday Murder Club” on Netflix earlier in the week and just couldn’t get into it. I must have been in a more open mood on Saturday evening and enjoyed finishing this movie with such an excellent cast.
Kenny invited us to join them at the Southern Decadence parade in the Quarter on Sunday afternoon. I just wanted to chill at home, but Diana jumped on the offer and had a very good time watching all the crazy walking groups.
Meanwhile, I put together a white bean salad with feta and lemon-garlic vinaigrette. Tasted very healthy and filling.
My first book this week was “A Family Matter” by Claire Lynch. I’m not sure what possessed me to add this to the reading list – certainly not typical of my selections. Nonetheless, having rejected my prior read, I felt compelled to persevere with this one. While the subject matter didn’t appeal a lot, the humour and style certainly did.
An online summary:
“A young wife following her heart. A husband with the law on his side. Their daughter, caught in the middle. Forty years later, a family secret changes everything in this “quietly heart-scorching” (Barbara Kingsolver) debut novel.
1982. Dawn is a young mother, still adjusting to life with her husband, when Hazel lights up her world like a torch in the dark. Theirs is the kind of connection that’s impossible to resist, and suddenly life is more complicated, and more joyful, than Dawn ever expected. But she has responsibilities and commitments. She has a daughter.
2022. Heron has just received news from his doctor that turns everything upside down. He’s an older man, stuck in the habits of a quiet existence. Telling Maggie, his only child—the person around whom his life has revolved—seems impossible. Heron can’t tell her about his diagnosis, just as he can’t reveal all the other secrets he’s been keeping from her for so many years.
A Family Matter is an “intricately layered and infinitely nuanced” (Oprah Daily) exploration of love and loss, intimacy and injustice, custody and care, and whether it is possible to heal from the wounds of the past in the changed world of today.”
This is a quick and easy read. I think I particularly enjoyed the references to UK based things that I hadn’t thought of in decades.
