 |
11/17/09
A day never passes in New Orleans without me shaking my head in amazement. Whether it’s the shock of seeing cars at frozen daiquiri drive-through windows or the hoopla surrounding Camellia Grill (no offense: It may be historic, but aside from its ambiance, it’s quite reminiscent of a Jersey diner), there’s no place like N’awlins.
Here’s another installment of “New Orleans surprises” from my Yankee purview:
1. 2009-10 Losing Season for the Hornets?
I hope that by the end of the season I’ll need to recant and eat my words. But it’s not looking too good for the New Orleans Hornets. Before the season, if someone had predicted that as of today the Saints would be 9-0 and the Hornets 3-8, it...
|
 |
11/10/09
Now that I’m a Louisianian, I get to explore my bizarre fascination with swamps. I don’t know how it spawned: a young Jersey girl intrigued by murky ecosystems and the movie Swamp Thing. Maybe it started with frequent elementary school trips to the New Jersey Meadowlands, where my class learned of bird-watching, salt marshes and wildlife refuges. Or perhaps it blossomed during college visits to the Great Dismal Swamp in Virginia. Or maybe it’s simply an incongruent cultural interest in bayous, swamps and marshland. Seriously, how many Jersey girls like swamps? Regardless, I never thought I’d have an opportunity to live near bayou country.
The fascination ran so deep that not even two weeks after my husband and I moved here, we set...
|
 |
11/03/09
It seems that days have whizzed by since Mardi Gras. February was a month of revelry and indulgence, and each successive month has brought various festivals, community functions, parties and feasts. And for some reason, this past Halloween weekend seemed like the climax of a nine-month celebration of sorts. Surely, libations will continue to pour forth as the Saints ascend toward the Super Bowl. But other than that, it seems the city has entered a hiatus in November. Other than the Fringe Festival and Crescent City Auction Gallery’s last auction of the year, is there anything else to look forward to?
I ask because my husband and I are hosting a much-anticipated family visit this coming Thanksgiving. It’s a visit we’ve looked forward to for months....
|
 |
10/27/09
Last week I had a chance to drop in on a symposium at Loyola University titled “What is New Orleans?” When the issue of how to revive public housing came up, a man from the audience stepped to the microphone and cautiously asked why the city should strive to welcome back “those people” who are displaced, those who once occupied the projects and other decaying parts of the city. Perhaps his query had another meaning, but he seemed to indicate that because “those people” were directly responsible for endemic issues of high crime and poverty, they shouldn’t be allowed to return home to hinder new growth and development. He seemed to indicate a line of thought that I fear resonates with many others, namely that, in essence, the city should forget...
|
 |
10/20/09
I was 12 the first time I saw the New York Giants play at the Meadowlands in New Jersey. I spent most of that game pondering why the Giants and the Jets played in Jersey instead of New York and the rest of it harassing my dad with questions after every play: “What’s a down?” “What’s forward progress?” My questions were really just a diversion from my indifference toward the game, a way to pass the time and subtly imply that I was a less-than-ideal sports companion. I guess it worked because my dad never took me to another pro game. And I never asked to go.
Until recently, football was the only sport I didn’t understand. But I always acted like I knew all the nuances of the game. It’s not hard to fake it. All that’s...
|
 |
10/13/09
Over the past few months, I’ve vacillated between my affinities for New Jersey and New Orleans. I’ve felt some sort of pressure to choose a side — I must either assume the character of a laid-back Big Easy “boo” or that of the nasty northerner who can’t slow down. Why did I feel such pressure, a pressure that has made me feel unmoored at times and emotionally displaced? It was starting to become really quite burdensome until my husband and I escaped this past weekend to our familiar Charlottesville, Va., where I was able to gain some perspective.
I went to school in Charlottesville, a town that has always been my sacred neutral ground. It was my original retreat from Jersey. Nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, it’s...
|
 |
10/06/09
I’ve always had an unusual love for garlic. It’s one of those few foods for which I understand no threshold of moderation. If the average person can stomach 2 tablespoons in any given dish, I need a quarter-cup’s worth. And for all of the horrid tales I can divulge about my garlic-hoarding ways, I have, perhaps for the first time, a more respectable story to share, thanks to a memorable dinner at Upperline Restaurant.
Last week my husband and I went to Upperline to celebrate our wedding anniversary. (Thanks so much for all of your suggestions, and kudos to Emerald!) As we walked through the first dining room to our table in the back room, we couldn’t help but notice the eclectic art consuming just about every possible inch of wall space. We took our...
|
 |
09/29/09
My husband and I are celebrating our anniversary this week. In keeping with tradition, we plan to wine and dine at a top-notch restaurant. Luckily for us, we’re in the best city for savory food, so we don’t have to worry about a lackluster dining experience. Even though I’m sure we can’t possibly err in our decision to find the right restaurant, we’re still a little nervous about choosing the perfect place for our special occasion.
Trust me — I’ve referred to New Orleans Magazine for ideas and have asked several local foodies for suggestions, but there are so many choices it’s a tad overwhelming. I considered asking our Haute Plates blogger for his expert...
|
 |
09/22/09
I almost died on Carrollton Avenue last Friday.
My first and hopefully last near-death experience in New Orleans happened when a woman ran a red light, nearly T-boning my car in the process. I’d been waiting first in a succession of cars, and, as I accelerated through the green light, the woman sped her clunker through the
intersection, missing me by an inch. In spite of the close call, I’d hoped that she’d lock eyes with me to summon telepathic remorse, give me a look that she was sincerely sorry for almost ending my life. But of course, I didn’t get any such gratification. She was steady on her cell phone, talking up a storm, oblivious to what had happened.
Sure, it’s possible the woman was engrossed in talk about...
|
 |
09/15/09
I hope you don’t take offense to this, but I still consider myself a Jersey girl. I’ve thought a good bit about this over the past few weeks. I’ve thought about what it really means to love home, what it means to cherish and appreciate the fertile ground on which you come into your own. For most reading this, your “ground” dips a dozen feet below sea level, reverberates with music and smells of sweet olive and smoked meats.
For me, home remains New Jersey: land of a million diners.
During my short time in New Orleans, I’ve been reminded that cultural pride is a redeeming quality, an element of one’s identity. My upbringing in New Jersey plays a crucial role in my identity. Jersey gets a lot of flak for its...
|
