Hello hello . . . I'm at a place called . . .

JAZZ FEST!

Rumor has it that Jazz Fest 2006 has signed it's first big act and that gig would go to U2. Here's to more than a rumor!

Today marks 5-months post-Katrina

May I recommend a very neat blog regarding our state of affairs:

SOS Katrina - we are not ok

Happy Birthday to Me!

There are just some traditions you can't live without. Celebrating a birthday properly is one of them! My dear six year old was born on August 29. He had been in school only a week or so, when I decided to write a note excusing him from school that Monday -- so we could take the day off to visit his favorite place, the National D-Day Museum. His Chuck E. Cheeses party was scheduled for the Sunday before - but they called me late Saturday to cancel. I dutifully called all the party guests, and left messages when I could, that his birthday party would have to be postponed.

I am sure no one actually got those mesages!

Nevertheless, a birthday has got to be celebrated! And we did finally make it to the D-Day Museum, and got to spend some D-Day cash in the gift shop . . . just a week ago Thursday. We even mentioned to one of the volunteers that it was his "birthday" and the man smiled - August 29 turned out to be his birthday too! We exchanged "Happy Birthday" wishes.

A birthday observed even several months later is still a PARTY after all!

Which brings me to Galatoire's. Galatoire's is one of our local treasures, whom recently celebrated their 100th birthday! It's a one-of-a-kind old style New Orleans restaurant, where the locals know the ins-and-outs of where to sit (never upstairs), that a gentleman must wear a coat (they have one for you if you are uncivilized or forget), and where having a reputation is a good thing. A reputation with the maitre'd and a waiter that is - makes ALL the difference!


It's the place the want-to-be-seen go for lunch on Fridays, and then never leave until very late that night. It's a place where you nearly have to inherit a house account, and the account number itself has status - the lower (as in one of the very first) the better.

It's nearly impossible to get a table right away on a Friday . . . but we have a reputation, and a good one!

Galatoire's, like so many other restaurants, closed on August 29th. Many will not come back, and even the old Gal opened a remote location in Baton Rouge. SACRILEGE to us traditionalists! They opened up again, at long last, on January 1.

We had missed a few things. We go every year to celebrate various observances: our anniversary, father's day, my birthday . . . we had missed a few things! So naturally, when my husband decided rather spontaneously last night, that we had occaision (my missed birthday) to go to Galatoire's, without any thought at all we were off!

They didn't forget us either! Our waiter asked about the boys, and knew just what to bring us (even if he did bring me one too many Absolute tonics!) not even giving us a menu, he just knew to bring out the Oysters en Brochette app and Filet Bernaise - and remembered how we like them cooked » RARE . . . and he even recalled what we like for dessert: banana bread pudding with a Grand Marnier . . .

It was an elegant evening, and Naturally N'Awlins!

TAG You're It Next . . .

4 Jobs I Have Had in the Past
Babysitter in a Church Nursery
Picture "Cutter" in a HUGE Photo-Developing Lab/Factory - it was the lonliest and more boring job!
Cocktail Waitress on Bourbon Street (Very brief - I helped out a friend at his Jazz Club during Jazz Fest
Schnapps Girl (it's how I met my husband ;~)

4 Movies I Could Watch Over and Over
Breakfast at Tiffany's
The Sound of Music
Dirty Dancing
Grease

4 Places I Have Lived
Connecticut
Virginia
Texas
N'Awlins

4 Favorite Foods
Beignets with Cafe au Lait
Boiled Crawfish
Filet Bernaise @ Galatoire's
BEER (it's liquid BREAD after all - right?)

4 Albums I Can't Live Without
Changes ~ David Bowie
Fashion Nugget ~ CAKE
ABBA GOLD ~ Greatest Hits (go ahead and LYAO - but admit it - you're a Dancing Queen!)
Singles - 45's and Under ~ Squeeze

Oh and anything by the Beatles, U2, Marvin Gaye, Blondie, the Clash, the Ramones, toss in a load of Patsy Cline and some Johnny Cash . . . Never Mind the Bollocks . . .

(So I cheated - SUE me!)

4 Places I Would Rather Be
Anywhere My Kids Are!
Innsbruck, Austria
Skiing ~ Anywhere!
Killarney, Ireland

4 People Who Are Obligated to Do This on Their Blog
Planet Jules
Wheat Street
Surburbia
Best Story Book Ever

Aw What the HECK? I'll CHEAT here too and offer this challenge to all of the other COOL people on my LIST ;~)

CHOCOLATE Anyone?

THANKS ~ At least you let us know before the election . . .

Become an Honorary Citizen of New Orleans!

I plan to advertise this one everywhere I go! A columnist in our paper today (Sheila Stroup ~ Times Picayune) has taken off with an idea to show support for New Orleans and all victims of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita! Credit for the idea goes to Kerry Anzalone - who, on Twelfth Night sent an email to friends and family urging them:

"On Mardi Gras Day, February 28, 2006, show your true colors wherever you are. Wear , or display, something purple, green and gold - our city's Carnival colors."

Become an honorary citizen of New Orleans!

Have fun with it and "Raise a RUCKUS for us!"

Please pass this along!

Krewe De Bris

In the early spring, as it starts to heat up, the ice cream man begins his daily appearance on our culdesac. The kids hear the bells and whistles and all run outside, grasping their dollars, to chose their frozen treats. It's one of the many great impromptu gatherings of our little neighborhood!

We're a close-knit comunity, here on our short street, that ends on the mighty Mississpppi River. It's one of those "starter-home" neighborhoods, so most of us have younger children. We have neighborhood birthday parties, and get-togethers, and similar schedules - like when we all get out on Saturday mornings to trim our lawns, waving to one another as we push our mowers.

So it comes as no surprise that when we hear the clankity clanking motor of a big machinery we all venture out at about the same time to see what's going on. Out we came, pulling out chairs for the kids to sit upon, with snacks and drinks, as if to wait for a parade about to pass!

Out we came, all the "big" people - with armloads of fence posts and boards, roofing shingles and expended blue FEMA tarps. Out to the debris piles, excited at what was happening! Neighbors greeted one another on this occaision, making sure needs were being met, asking about relatives, comparing post-hurricane notes once again.

Debris pickup! HOORAY!~

Children cheered as the large tractors zoomed up and down the streets expertly, and without knocking over FEMA trailors or injuring lawns, scooped up piles of storm debris. "They're PROFESSIONALS!" shouted my neighbor's boy, as the kids waved at the workers, excited when they waved back at them. You'd have thought we were at a concert!

What a DAY!

It's Carnival Time!

The Phunny Phorty Phellows rode a modified route this year - but they passed a good time in costumes that reflect our post-Katrina lifestyle.

We started our weekend off with beignets and cafe au lait, picked up from Cafe du Monde since it was too chilly to take the boys down there to eat!

Nothing could be better for breakfast . . . except maybe my brioche-inspired King Cake!

Here's the recipe I use - it takes a bit of patience as the dough rises about 9 hours total! But the rich texture of the bread is SO worth it!

KING CAKE
1 Cup Milk ~ warmed in the microwave for about 20 seconds in which I proof
1 Package of Yeast
4 Tablespoons Butter softened to roof temperature
2 Eggs
6 Tablespoons Sugar
1 Teaspoon Cinnamon
1 Teaspoon Salt
3 to 3½ Cups Flour

Add ingredients in order to mixer with bread hook, or bread machine (dough cycle only), but add flour slowly and only add enough so that the dough starts to pull away from the sides of the bowl. The dough will be somewhat sticky and moist, but this will result in a light end product.

Place dough in a greased bowl and let rise, covered with a cloth for 2 hours. Refrigerate covered, for an additional 6 hours.

Punch dough out and roll on a floured surface to about 2-3 inches in diameter.

Optional Cream Cheese Filling
8 Ounces of Softened Cream Cheese
2 Teaspoons Flour
1 Teaspoon of Vanilla Extract
(I sometimes like to add a teaspoon of another flavoring - orange or almond extracts work really well!)

If you use a filling, roll dough flat and spread with filling, then roll up being sure to pinch all seams closed.

Form into an obling ring and let rise an additional 40 minutes to an hour. Brush with the mixture of One Beaten Egg and 1 Tablespoon of Sugar. Bake at 375° for 25 minutes.

Browned Butter Glaze
Melt 3 Tablespoons of Butter on medium low heat.
Slowly brown butter to a light caramel color.
Add 1 Cup of Powdered Sugar and 1 Teaspoon of Vanilla Extract
Mixture wil be very thick - add water a teaspoon at a time until it gets to a "drizzling" consistency. Drizzle over baked King Cake while it is still warm.

You can top the glaze with the traditional green, gold and purple sugar - or do as I and just surround the plate with Mardi Gras Beads.

Very tasty! Here's a picture!

Randazzo's Goodchildren Bakery

I look forward to a Randazzo's King Cakes every Mardi Gras Season. They are the BEST!

Another Katrina casualty. Sigh!

"To our valued customers,

Randazzo's Goodchildren Bakery is among the many businesses and personal residences that have been devasted by Hurrican Katrina. At this time, we have not been able to return to St. Bernard Parish to assess the damage. Please stay posted to our website for any additional information.

If you wish to contribute to the rebuilding of St. Bernard Parish, please consider a donation to the fund established by Senator Walter Boasso.

Monetary disaster relief donations by any and all companies and individuals interested in helping rebuild Senate District 1 can be sent to:

Senate District 1 Disaster Relief Fund

Attn: Senator Walter J. Boasso

P.O. Box 94183

Baton Rouge, LA 70804

Sincerely,
Joel Randazzo Forjet"

You can still order New Orleans King Cakes, and very good ones too, at Haydel Bakery

Twelfth Night

Today we celebrate the last day of Christmas, Twelfth Night, Epiphany. Here in New Orleans, that means the last day of Christmas decorations and KING CAKE! It's the official start of our Mardi Gras Carnival Season. It is said to be the day that the Three Kings visited Jesus after his Christmas birth, bearing gifts.

If you've never been to Mardi Gras - this will be a really neat year. A little awkward and different ~ but something really worthwhile and less crowded, much more community focussed and deeper, more meaningful. It will, perhaps, be the most important Mardi Gras we've ever celebrated!

So come on down and set a spell! Lemme take you to the Mardi Gras!

Takin bout hey now, hey now
Iko! Iko! an de'
Jackomo fe no nan e' , Jackomo fe nan e'

P.S. Buy locally and support your community ~ and if you can't find it in your neck of the woods, then buy it in NEW ORLEANS!

Happy Birthday MOM!

"Laissez les bons temps rouler!"

"Where Are You Christmas" (Faith Hill)

Where are you Christmas
Why can't I find you
Why have you gone away
Where is the laughter
You used to bring me
Why can't I hear music play

My world is changing
I'm rearranging
Does that mean Christmas changes too

Where are you Christmas
Do you remember
The one you used to know
I'm not the same one
See what the time's done
Is that why you have let me go

So we took the decorations and tree down today. Everything is already in the attic. We usually wait until Epiphany, Kings Night - January 6. January 6 is also the official kickoff of the New Orleans Mardi Gras Season. I imagine Mardi Gras this year will be every bit as awkward and wierd as Christmas seemed to be. But it's definitley time to break out the Mardi Gras Mambo, and Second Line, pass me some King Cake

Happy Holidays Past!

Throw me somethin' Mistah!

Cry me a New Year ~ Times Picayune

Whether you're looking back on 2005 or ahead to 2006, the advice is the same: Keep a tissue handy. And keep the faith.

Sunday, January 01, 2006
Chris Rose

When I look back on the year 2005, nothing comes to mind more than the opening line of Dickens' "A Tale of Two Cities."

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

Except for that "best of times" part, it describes New Orleans perfectly.

How did we get here? What happened to my tough-lovin', hard-luck, good-timin' town?

Mercy.

I have cowered in fear this year from the real and the imagined. The fear of injury, the fear of disease, the fear of death, the fear of abandonment, isolation and insanity.

I have had seared into my olfactory lockbox the smell of gasoline and dead people. And your leftovers.

I have feared the phantom notions of sharks swimming in our streets and bands of armed men coming for me in the night to steal my generator and water and then maybe rape me or cut my throat just for the hell of it.

I have wept, for hours on end, days on end.

The crying jags. I guess they're therapeutic, but give me a break.

The first time I went to the Winn-Dixie after it reopened, I had all my purchases on the conveyer belt, plus a bottle of mouthwash. During the Days of Horror following the decimation of this city, I had gone into the foul and darkened store and lifted a bottle.

I was operating under the "take only what you need" clause that the strays who remained behind in this godforsaken place invoked in the early days.

My thinking was that it was in everyone's best interest if I had a bottle of mouthwash.

When the cashier rang up my groceries all those weeks later, I tried, as subtly as possible, to hand her the bottle and ask her if she could see that it was put back on the shelf. She was confused by my action and offered to void the purchase if I didn't want the bottle.

I told her it's not that I didn't want it, but that I wished to pay for it and could she please see that it was put back on the shelf. More confusion ensued and the line behind me got longer and it felt very hot and crowded all of a sudden and I tried to tell her: "Look, when the store was closed . . . you know . . . after the thing . . . I took . . ."

The words wouldn't come. Only the tears.

The people in line behind me stood stoic and patient, public meltdowns being as common as discarded kitchen appliances in this town.

What's that over there? Oh, it's just some dude crying his butt off. Nothing new here. Show's over people, move along.

The cashier, an older woman, finally grasped my pathetic gesture, my lowly attempt to make amends, my fulfillment to a promise I made to myself to repay anyone I had stolen from.

"I get it, baby," she said, and she gently took the bottle from my hands and I gathered my groceries and walked sobbing from the store.

She was kind to me. I probably will never see her again, but I will never forget her. That bottle. That store. All the fury that prevailed. The fear.

A friend of mine, a photojournalist, recently went to a funeral to take pictures. There had been an elderly couple trapped in a house. He had a heart attack and slipped into the water. She held onto a gutter for two days before being rescued.

It was seven weeks before the man's body was found in the house, then another six weeks before the remains were released from the St. Gabriel morgue for burial.

"Tell me a story I haven't heard," I told my friend. Go ahead. Shock me.

When my father and I were trading dark humor one night and he was offering advice on how to begin my year in review, he cracked himself up, proposing: "It was a dark and stormy night."

That's close, but not quite it. "It was a dark and stormy morning" would be closer to the truth.

What a morning it was.

I was in Vicksburg. I had just left the miserable hotel crackhouse to which my family had evacuated -- it must have been the last vacant room in the South -- and was looking for breakfast for my kids.

But the streets and businesses were abandoned and a slight but stinging rain was falling, the wind surging and warm, and while my kids played on a little riverfront playground, I got through on my cell phone to The Times-Picayune newsroom, where scores of TP families had taken refuge, and I remember saying to the clerk who answered the phone:

"Man, that was a close one, huh? Looks like we dodged another bullet."

I suppose around a million people were saying exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. What I would have given to be right. Just that one time.

I was trying to get through to my editor to ask: "What's the plan?"

By late afternoon, that's what everyone in the Gulf region was asking.

Of course, it turns out there wasn't a plan. Anywhere. Who could have known?

The newspaper was just like everyone else at that point: As a legion of employees and their families piled into delivery trucks and fled the newspaper building as the waters rose around them, we shifted into the same operational mode as everyone else:

Survive. Wing it. Do good work. Save someone or something. And call your mother and tell her you're all right.

Unless, of course, your mother was in Lakeview or the Lower 9th or Chalmette or . . . well, I've had enough of those horror stories for now. I don't even want to visit that place today.

This was the year that defines our city, our lives, our destiny. Nothing comparable has ever happened in modern times in America, and there is no blueprint for how we do this.

We just wing it. Do good work. Save someone or something.

You'd have to be crazy to want to live here. You'd have to be plumb out of reasonable options elsewhere.

Then again, I have discovered that the only thing worse than being in New Orleans these days is not being in New Orleans.

It's a siren calling us home. It cannot be explained.

"They don't get us," is the common refrain you hear from frustrated residents who think the government and the nation have turned a blind eye to us in our time of need. Then again, if they did get us, if we were easily boxed and labeled, I suppose we'd be just Anyplace, USA.

And that won't do.

We have a job to do here, and that is to entertain the masses and I don't mean the tourists. They're part of it, of course, but what we do best down here -- have done for decades -- is create a lifestyle that others out there in the Great Elsewhere envy and emulate.

Our music, our food, yada, yada, yada. It's a tale so often told that it borders on platitude but it is also the searing truth: We are the music. We are the food. We are the dance. We are the tolerance. We are the spirit.

And one day, they'll get it.

As a woman named Judy Deck e-mailed to me, in a moment of inspiration: "If there was no New Orleans, America would just be a bunch of free people dying of boredom."

Yeah, you rite.

That, people, is the final word on 2005.

. . . . . . .


Columnist Chris Rose can be reached at chris.rose@timespicayune.com; or at (504) 352-2535 or (504) 826-3309.