Dear Atlanta,
Running a-fowl
While engaged in conversation recently about disappointing foods, your name came up.
Lest you think I intend to offend, I should add that the aforementioned mention did not come in the context of a particular delicacy of yours. As far as I know, you have none of those (peach anything respectfully excluded).
Rather, it was in reaction to a bill recently proposed in the Georgia Legislature to declare lemon-pepper the state’s official variety of chicken wing.
I will be the first to admit that I am in no position to polemicize on the ludicrousness of adopting an “official” chicken wing flavor. I come from a state with an official meat pie (Nachitoches), doughnut (beignet) and jelly (Mayhaw, apparently). So, at least where such things are concerned, I do not have a chicken leg to stand on.
That said, we in Louisiana do have undeniable chops when it comes to bird preparation. We have given the world Dooky’s and Willie Mae’s, Popeyes and Cane’s, Coop’s and McHardy’s and Brother’s. We invented turducken and fried turkey.
Not to crow, but we in the Bayou State are poultry professionals. Cocks of the walk, one might say.
So it is not out of ignorance when we say, with all due heart blessings, that even exceptional lemon-pepper chicken resides closer to the Costco-food-court end of the culinary spectrum than that occupied by fare from any of those namechecked above.
“Ugh,” a Georgia resident eloquently told me when the wing bill came up. “You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you? Given the rivalry between Atlanta and New Orleans?
My reaction to that statement was one of twofold incredulity.
First: Moi? Insufferable? In matters of mastication? You wound.
But also, and more to the point: What rivalry?
True, our football teams and their fan bases do not care for one another a great deal. But away from the gridiron, I am not aware of a rivalry between Atlanta and New Orleans, heated or otherwise.
To be fair, I understand it might look that way from your perspective. Atlanta has a lot to be envious of.
You have a bigger airport, true. A person can land, walk what feels like the approximate distance separating Bunkie and Boutte, and then – after a surprise gate reassignment – hop a tram to eventually arrive at their gate having aged only slightly.
Our Louis Armstrong International Airport is smaller by comparison. However, it is superior in terms of both aesthetics and user-friendliness. It is a facility that so understands proportion, it should be renamed the Armstrong-Goldilocks International Airport.
You claim, Atlanta, to be a cultural mecca. I believe you. I am sure you have restaurants that serve things other than lemon-pepper wings. I am equally sure you have museums other than that Coca-Cola shrine and attractions other than that Ferris wheel and its unparalleled views of parking garages – and that Coca-Cola shrine.
But here in New Orleans, culture happens on a more granular, more organic level. It spills carelessly out of second-lines and off of front porches. It thrums in brass bands practicing in back rooms and choirs warming up on Sunday mornings. It simmers in gumbo pots and crawfish pots with equal energy, eventually boiling over during Carnival and at Jazz Fest.
We are preservationists of joy, and we take that charge seriously.
But for a rivalry to exist, it needs to work both ways. And, the truth of the matter, Atlanta, is this: Football aside, we just do not spend much time thinking about you at all.
This is not indifference born of arrogance. It is indifference born of abundance.
That is not to say we do not appreciate you. The ATL is a fine place to change planes. It is a solid city in which to hold a convention. But the idea that we are locked in some kind of competition for cultural supremacy feels a bit like challenging someone to a duel who did not realize they were holding a sword.
So please accept this letter in the spirit in which it is intended. Cordial. Neighborly. Slightly amused. We wish you well, cher. We truly do.
And if you ever find yourself in New Orleans – not for a game, not for a conference, but just to see what all the fuss is about – you can rest assured we will welcome you warmly.
Then we will politely go back to not thinking about you at all.
Insincerely yours,
New Orleans
P.S. – 28-3.
Ask Mike
Have a question or a thought to share about New Orleans etiquette or tradition? I’d love to hear it. Email it to mike@myneworleans.com.
