Keith Robertson

“Anne’s Pre-Birthday Week”

Diana and Anne had a pool day planned at Merry Lee’s place on Monday.  They invited me to join them for lunch at Tacos del Cartel beforehand.  This was a wonderful meal in a very pretty restaurant.  We started with a delicious ceviche and then I had the birria tacos on the clothesline, while Anne had soft shell crab tacos and Diana some yummy mushroom tacos.  All three were fantastic.

The jaguar seemed to have a role to play in the restaurant – Diana’s drink and a topiary in the outside area:

It’s nice when a “pretty” restaurant (what the kids call “Instagram worthy”) also delivers good food.

After lunch, I was on my own to get home.  I thought I’d try the streetcar but couldn’t figure out where the stop was.  I did chuckle as the stop was somewhere near Herbsaint restaurant – apparently quite the power lunch spot as there were dueling Ferraris outside.

McD was talked into a quick jazz outing to Dos Jefes on Thursday night.  The Mark Coleman band was playing – Mark is our friend Chris Henry’s (tennis coach) piano teacher.  John Fohl sat in on guitar.

I was quite entertained when Fohl walked in about 15 minutes into the set, plugged in his guitar, and immediately started jamming.  So much for the 30 minute setups that most musicians indulge in.

I absolutely love that we can leave the house at 8pm, listen to an hour and 15 minutes of world class music, and be in bed by 10pm.  Exactly why we moved here.

A guy came to the door on Friday to tell me that Entergy (local energy company) was going to be trimming trees away from the electric lines and did I know who the parked cars belonged to.  I had no idea.  Turns out a raft of trucks from all over were involved in this operation, with no clear leader.  We saw trucks from Texas and other locations – quite disorganized.  Would have been good to have some advance warning before we went out shopping and then couldn’t get back into the street.  I watched the tree chipper burn up and then we waited on the replacement to roll in.  All was cleared up before Denny picked us up for Anne’s birthday dinner.  We had a card and gift for Anne to open before everything got busy:

And what a wonderful birthday dinner Denny had organized.  Acamaya (Spanish for crawfish) was excellent.  Ana Castro has previously had excellent Mexican restaurants in New Orleans – Lingua Madre was her high end tasting menu at what is now Wild South.

The food was amazing.  The arroz negro with squid ink in the rice and topped with squid and mussels was a complete stand out.  One of the best things I’ve tasted in a long time.

Diana doesn’t like sweet potatoes, but whatever they did to this one made her really enjoy it.

All of the dishes we had were amazing.  Great call Denny!

Here’s the local food critics write up:

https://www.nola.com/entertainment_life/eat-drink/acamaya-serves-upscale-mexican-seafood-in-nola-bywater/article_8b75dac4-5384-11ef-b85a-eb2649c0c4d2.html

We followed dinner with a visit to Markey’s and then BJ’s lounge.  Here we are at Markey’s (next to the Country Club restaurant).

The Happy Talk Band was playing at BJ’s lounge.  I enjoyed watching Alex McMurray ramble in (he played Kenny’s retirement party with the Tin Men).

Sixtieth birthdays are a big deal, and Diana had arranged a ladies brunch for Anne on Sunday (in addition to the various other celebrations.)  La Petite Grocery was the destination and they made sure the decorations and cake were staged before everyone arrived.  Reports are of a very successful event.

Meanwhile, Campbell was enjoying the wide open spaces of Wyoming:

Doesn’t that look amazingly relaxing?

My book this week was “The Women” by Kristin Hannah.  This was a quick and easy read.  The reaction to Vietnam heroes returning from war took me by surprise.  Can Americans be so callous?  Here’s the online synopsis:

“When twenty-year-old nursing student Frances “Frankie” McGrath hears these unexpected words, it is a revelation. Raised on idyllic Coronado Island and sheltered by her conservative parents, she has always prided herself on doing the right thing, being a good girl. But in 1965 the world is changing, and she suddenly imagines a different choice for her life. When her brother ships out to serve in Vietnam, she impulsively joins the Army Nurse Corps and follows his path.

As green and inexperienced as the men sent to Vietnam to fight, Frankie is overwhelmed by the chaos and destruction of war, as well as the unexpected trauma of coming home to a changed and politically divided America.

The Women is the story of one woman gone to war, but it shines a light on the story of all women who put themselves in harm’s way to help others. Women whose sacrifice and commitment to their country has all too often been forgotten. A novel of searing insight and lyric beauty, The Women is a profoundly emotional, richly drawn story with a memorable heroine whose extraordinary idealism and courage under fire define a generation.”

Something interesting from the always controversial Gil Scott Heron:

Maybe the best piano music ever:

I was listening to some “Classic Rock” from the London Symphony Orchestra that reminded me of  Nigel Boddice and his trumpet work on the Rolling Stones classics.  I looked him up and was sad to see his passing in 2022.  It reminded me of train rides with him from Edinburgh to Glasgow and our reviews of music scores and mountain climbing magazines.  Such a giant of trumpet and conducting.  A good friend who had a big impact on my musical career.

Coexist peacefully, with patience and compassion for all!

“Entertaining Anne”

We loved the Nori Guys food tent at French Quarter Fest back in April, and so were excited to see them doing a pop-up at the wonderful Broadside theater on Tuesday evening.  I love their crab and tuna wonton nachos.  Looks messy but the very fresh seafood and the sauces are yummy together.  And nicely washed down with a hibiscus margarita from their new indoor bar.

The Nori guys were excited to tell me that they just got the keys to a brick and mortar store at Broad and Bank streets.  We’re looking forward to that.

We accompanied Kenny to a talk on Social Security strategies at the Metarie library on Wednesday evening.  I’m not sure we learned very much that we didn’t already know, but we did stop for a delicious snack at the Hog Alley Lounge in Metarie – a new place to us and so named because it used to be a field area where pigs were reared.

Diana had two options for Happy Hour on Friday – The Bower or The Library, both new places for us.  She opted for The Bower.  Kenny joined us initially with Anne and then Kara joining later.  We enjoyed the drinks and Happy Hour snacks very much, and had a great private seating area in the front window.

The Bower was followed with a quick stop into Pete’s bar (just down the street).  They always have some fun games to entertain us – this time a basketball thing that took some skill.

I did refer Kenny to the sign as his volume started to increase.

On Saturday we made a visit to the Alker distillery on Oak street.  It was the grand opening event and the distiller is the son of Peggy’s college roommate.  We picked up Anne and met Peg there.  The girls reported that their cosmopolitans were the best they have had.  It will be interesting to see how this place does.

Laura and Anne met us for an early dinner at Café Degas on Sunday.  We had a very nice meal (one of our favourite New Orleans restaurants) – Laura is always entertaining.  I loved our meat and pate platter and my quail salad was excellent.

Where was Denny during all of this?  Fishing with the boys:

I did enjoy the Olympics very much this week.  Katy Ledecky continues to deliver amazing performances:

I finally finished the massive, 950 page book that is “Southern Man” this week.

There is almost too much going on in this book – antebellum slave history, family medical challenges, presidential candidates, small town politics, fires, shootings and on and on.  I was impressed by how current the presidential political drama seemed.

Here’s Bobby White, presidential candidate in 2027, explaining his vision of apocalyptic events occurring every 82 years:

“”The critical battles of our major wars.  The existential turning points.  Seventeen eighty-one, the Battle of Yorktown.  Eighteen sixty-three, Gettysburg and Vicksburg – decided on the same day.  And of course 1945: Hiroshima.”

The certainty in his voice is chilling.  “Sooo…next comes 2027?  What’s the political situation then?  The crisis, whatever?

Bobby waves his hand.  “I don’t have time to get into the weeds on that.  Suffice it to say it’s a three-body problem.”

“Humor me.”

Bobby takes a sip of his Mountain Dew.  “Well, as I said, it’s potentially apocalyptic.  The venue is the Holy Land, of course.  And this is a three-body problem in three different ways: political, religious, and radical.”

“What are the countries?”

“Israel, Iran, China.  THe religions, obviosly Judaism, Islam, and godlessness.  And the races: Semitic, Persian, and Asian.”

“Sounds like a pretty complicated war you have brewing there.”

Bobby nods.  “We’re well on our way toward it now, though we don’t seem to know it.”

“How so?”

“Simple.  Israel under Netanyahu is leaning ever further to the right, almost to fascism in some ways.  They’re supposedly the most vigilant nation in the world.  But I’m not so sure.  It’s easy to get complacent.  Iran is pouring resources into Hamas and Hezbollah, and they mean business.  Israel, of course, possesses more than four hundred nuclear weapons as of today.  And China has announced its intention to double its nuclear arsenal, as well as to modernize it.””

I always enjoy the saxophone sounds on James Hunter songs:

Something sweet from the Bryan Ferry Orchestra:

And finally, some Philip Glass:

Coexist peacefully with kindness and patience for all!

“When did you become a citizen?”

We celebrated July 4th with a pool party at Alex and Laura’s home.  When I arrived, Kenny and the krewe were quizzing me about when I became a U.S. citizen – I couldn’t immediately recall the month or year, much to the chagrin of Kenny.  I was able to look up a picture of my certificate and report that it was on September 20th, 2022.  Kenny has promised to make sure this date is celebrated every year – fine with me, Kenny.

Once the ribbing about citizenship dates subsided, Thom and I advanced our idea of a monthly gentleman’s lunch.  It’s amazing how much fun the group was able to have establishing rules and bylaws around governing the monthly lunch group.  I’m looking forward to our first outing to Plume in Algiers.  We’ll vote on the group name and logo at this inaugural event, and then pick the location for the following month.  Each attendee is to make presentations on name, logo and next destination.  Here’s what I’ve worked up so far for name and logo:

I think the first meeting on July 18th could be quite good fun.

We met Denny and Anne on Friday for Happy Hour at Chais Delachaisse.  This is perhaps my favourite Happy Hour destination – the food and drink options and prices are so good.  We tried their octopus for the first time – served with some pineapple like Avo, so I suppose that is a more popular thing than I realized.  It was very good as expected.

Again the weekend was pretty quiet as we got ourselves organized for our trip to Scotland.

I started the massive, 900 page opus that is “Southern Man” by Greg Iles this week.  Here’s the online summary:

“A senseless tragedy
When a brawl at a rap festival triggers a bloody mass shooting in Mississippi, Penn Cage finds himself in a country on the brink of eruption. As the stunned cities of Natchez and Bienville reel, antebellum plantation homes are being torched and the deadly attacks are claimed by a Black radical group as historic acts of justice. Panic quickly sweeps through the communities, driving the prosperous Southern towns inexorably toward a race war.

A rising star
But what might have been only a regional sideshow of the 2024 Presidential election explodes into national prominence, thanks to the stunning ascent of Robert E. Lee White on social media, a Southern war hero funded by an eccentric Mississippi billionaire, who seizes the public imagination as a third-party candidate.

A country ready to implode
As his hometown devolves into chaos, Penn Cage tears into Bobby White’s pursuit of the Presidency and ultimately risks a second Civil War to try to expose its motivation to the world, before the America of our Constitution slides into the abyss.”

This story is almost scarily current given all of our election drama of the last few weeks.  I’m almost half way through and am most impressed by Iles’ capability to weave three or four main narrative arcs together in a cohesive way.  More to come in the next few weeks – the book is too heavy for travel.

What an amazingly laid back and subtle guitar riff from the amazing Lee Ritenour.  I have it stuck in my head for over a week:

I always enjoy the guitar tone and vocals of Snowy White:

And finally, the technique and guitar tones of Alvin Lee – beautiful:

Coexist peacefully with kindness and patience for all!

“Culture Week”

Book readings, an Opera concert, and the Paramount Jazz Band – what a lively week of cultural events.

The culture kicked off on Tuesday evening.  Kenny and Kara joined us at the Garden District Book Shop for a reading by Brian Fairbanks, author of “Waylon, Willie, and the Boys”.  Here’s the online summary of the book:

“The tragic and inspiring story of the leaders of Outlaw country and their influence on today’s Alt-County and Americana superstars, tracing a path from Waylon Jennings’ survival on the Day the Music Died through to the Highwaymen and on to the current creative and commercial explosion of Chris Stapleton, Brandi Carlile, Zach Bryan, Jason Isbell, and the Highwomen.”

This was a unique reading, in that Brian enlisted local musician Connor Donohue to perform songs after he read a passage about them from his book.  The event was well attended and the newly opened bar in the shop did a good trade.  A very enjoyable evening.

There was another book reading on Thursday evening – this time at Octavia books.  The shop was recently remodeled, doubling the space, and really nicely done.  The reading was by Jimmy Nolan from his book “Between Dying and Not Dying, I Chose the Guitar – The Pandemic Years in New Orleans.”

The title is somewhat misleading in that Nolan did not learn to play the guitar during lockdown – rather he posits that creative pursuits were the key to making the most of the time alone.

The book attempts to strike a common theme between the three pandemics that Nolan has endured – Polio in his youth, AIDS while living in San Francisco, and the Coronavirus.  The talk started out well – Nolan has led a very varied and interesting life around the world – but quickly bogged down in revisionist history, arguing the efficacy of various approaches to slowing the spread of the virus – six foot distancing, masking etc.  Diana said she would have liked to ask him what three key points he was hoping to share – given the rambling and somewhat disjointed talk.

I did read another of Nolan’s books this week – more later in the Books section.  We were glad we attended the event – this one even came with complimentary wines.

On Friday, I asked Diana to be ready to leave at 6:30pm for an evening of Italian stuff.  The details on the “stuff” were a closely guarded secret.

An Uber dropped us at the Piazza D ‘Italia for “Opera in the Piazza.”  I had read about this in the Offbeat magazine and thought it sounded like something Diana would enjoy.

We had a very pleasant evening.  Three hours of singing.  Here’s the program:

And a couple of songs:

Diana seemed to have a very good time.  Nor Joe’s was the main food vendor – some very yummy pasta.  These are the guys we used to cater our New Year’s Eve party.

Saturday took us to our regular spot on the grassy neutral ground at the Kingpin dive bar.  The band was a repeat from several weeks ago, the Paramount Jazz Band – the one I describe as French café jazz music.  The clarinet player is the leader of the band and always entertains me.

I enjoyed this video of Irma Thomas backstage with the Rolling Stones at Jazz Fest:

https://www.nola.com/entertainment_life/festivals/see-a-rolling-stones-jazz-fest-rehearsal-with-irma-thomas/article_08a6cb0a-0c9c-11ef-a69e-d75338c94409.html

My first book was “Broken Bayou” by Jennifer Moorehead.  This was one of those free Amazon reads, so I didn’t have very high hopes.  It turned out to be an entertaining murder mystery.

Here’s the online summary:

“In this debut thriller, a troubled child psychologist returns to a small Louisiana town to protect her secrets but winds up having to protect her life.

Dr. Willa Watters is a prominent child psychologist at the height of her career. But when a viral video of a disastrous television interview puts her reputation on the line, Willa retreats to Broken Bayou, the town where she spent most of her childhood summers. There she visits her aunts’ old house and discovers some of her unstable mother’s belongings still languishing in the attic―dusty mementos harboring secrets of her harrowing past.

Willa’s hopes for a respite are quickly crushed, not only by what she finds in that attic but also by what’s been found in the bayou.

With waters dropping due to drought, mysterious barrels containing human remains have surfaced, alongside something else from Willa’s past, something she never thought she’d see again. Divers, police, and media flood the area, including a news reporter gunning for Willa and Travis Arceneaux―a local deputy and old flame.

Willa’s fate seems eerily tied to the murders. And with no one to trust, she must use her wits to stay above water and make it out alive.”

Kenny’s Ninth Ward accent is apparently called “Yat.”  This paragraph made me smile:

“They ask questions all at once about living in a big city and how Mama’s getting along and why I haven’t been back sooner, all in slow rolling accents that sound more Brooklyn than southern gulf.  The Yat dialect, as it’s called in New Orleans.”

This was an entertaining murder mystery that read very quickly.

I did come across the most annoying phrases that I hear daily from entitled millennials – “Let’s grab lunch” or “I’ll do the shrimp salad.”  When did eating together become a “grab” situation rather than time to relax and slow down.  And who on earth “does” a shrimp salad.  I’m on a mission to stamp it out, but like so many other millennial challenges, it’s rampant.

Next, I read one of Jimmy Nolan’s previous books – “Flight Risk.”  This is essentially an autobiography, focused on the various countries and situations that Nolan has had to escape from in his very colourful and rich life.  Here’s the online summary:

“Flight Risk takes off as a page-turning narrative with deep roots and a wide wingspan. James Nolan, a fifth-generation New Orleans native, offers up an intimate portrait both of his insular hometown and his generation’s counterculture. Flight runs as a theme throughout the book, which begins with Nolan’s escape from the gothic mental hospital to which his parents committed the teenaged poet during the tumult of 1968. This breakout is followed by the self-styled revolutionary’s hair-raising flight from a Guatemalan jail, and years later, by the author’s bolt from China, where he ditched his teaching position and collectivist ideals. These Houdini-like feats foreshadow a more recent one, how he dodged biblical floods in a stolen school bus three days after Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans.

Nolan traces these flight patterns to those of his French ancestors who fled to New Orleans in the mid-nineteenth century, established a tobacco business in the French Quarter, and kept the old country alive in their Creole demimonde. The writer describes the eccentric Seventh Ward menagerie of the extended family in which he grew up, his early flirtation with extremist politics, and a strong bond with his freewheeling grandfather, a gentleman from the Gilded Age. Nolan’s quest for his own freedom takes him to the flower-powered, gender-bending San Francisco of the sixties and seventies, as well as to an expatriate life in Spain during the heady years of that nation’s transition to democracy. Like the prodigal son, he eventually returns home to live in the French Quarter, around the corner from where his grandmother grew up, only to struggle through the aftermath of Katrina and the city’s resurrection.

Many of these stories are entwined with the commentaries of a wry flâneur, addressing such subjects as the nuances of race in New Orleans, the Disneyfication of the French Quarter, the numbing anomie of digital technology and globalization, the challenges of caring for aging parents, Creole funeral traditions, how to make a soul-searing gumbo, and what it really means to belong.”

Here he talks about tourists on a vampire tour, who are more interested in the sight of someone who actually lives and operates in the French Quarter.  This is after his rant on how suburbs are the “death of society.”  He may not be wrong in my experience.

“But the tourists aren’t starting at the balcony where the bloody ghost supposedly appeared.  Mystified, they are watching me at my gate, juggling a coat on a hanger, a bottle of wine, a bag of tomatoes, mail, and house keys.  I am the real ghost, of how urban Americans used to live.”

A small part of a long rant about the ineptitude of the local and national governments post Katrina:

“The city had at its disposal a fleet of public-transport and school buses, which should have been parked on dry over-rise highways to carry people out of the city in the event of flooding.  I grow impatient with city officials’ excuses about the lack of bonded drivers with chauffeur’s licenses, a cover-up, according to historian David Brinkley in “The Great Deluge”, to the unpardonable bungling that actually occurred: these officials couldn’t find the bus keys.  Impoverished Cuban and Mexican authorities routinely execute bused based evacuation of their populations whenever a dangerous hurricane approaches.  But in the city of New Orleans, the needs of those who fall outside of the able-bodied middle class remained invisible.”

Nolan did evacuate New Orleans three days after the storm, in a bootlegged school bus.

On a last Christmas meal with his mother:

“She wouldn’t be here long, so I’d hung spruce garlands and put on her beloved, scratchy LP of Handle’s Messiah that skipped.  We sang along to the Hallelujah Chorus, which I conducted with a wooden spoon from the kitchen.  As usual, her eyes watered at the solo “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth” as I was bringing in the caramelized yams.  “That’s my favorite part,” she said.  The next week she turned seventy-nine, and two weeks later was gone.”

I’ve heard “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth” in my childhood home many, many times.

Let’s start off with some excellent and funky music from one of Stevie Wonder’s masterpieces, “Talking Book”:

Some beautiful guitar from the very underrated Snowy White:

And finally, the reason that the “Chickie Wah Wah” music club has its name:

Coexist peacefully, with kindness and patience for all!