Day 115 - What Could Have Been...

Author – Grant
Based In - Houston, Texas

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614489814081/

Today could have been perfect. All the ingredients were in place but the execution was appalling. Firstly, as it was the day before our 10k race, there was no need for any exercise and that’s always a nice feeling. Then comes the fact that the run is in Houston and, of course, we’re already here which means no driving, which also makes for a nice day. Next up, we had zero appointments or chores of any kind to do meaning we could literally do whatever we wanted. A quick glance out of the window revealed blue skies, glorious sunshine and 85 degree heat - perfect slow-cooked meat eating weather if you ask me. Well what do you know, The Wold Championship Bar-Be-Que Contest is taking place in the parking lot of Reliant Stadium and The Houston Astrodome…that must be one big event. A little research revealed that it lasts three days and contains over 600 competitors…seems worth a visit, especially with a bargain basement entry fee of just $7 per person.

So we arrive and the smell of burning wood and charred meat smacked us in the face as we got within half a kilometre of the entry gate. I hope you agree, this all looks like the perfect storm right? Well try to imagine my absolute horror when it became clear that each of the competition contestants were only cooking for the judges and their private parties (i.e. their mostly corporate sponsors). So despite being able to see, smell and hear some of the most perfect BBQ’d meats in the entire world, I couldn’t actually eat any. We even tried walking slowly past every one of the 600 huge cooking tents attempting to look dangerously emaciated but that just isn’t a look I’ve perfected quite yet. I can’t put my disappointment into words but it must be similar to being invited to the Playboy Mansion on the same night your genitals are at the dry cleaners. There is a big marquee they call the Chuck Wagon which gave out a free plate of food to paying visitors but unfortunately it was the BBQ equivalent of a Sloppy Joe, some tinned Bush’s beans and a packet of Lays crisps. Seriously, for a day that looked so promising, the majority of prisoners ate better than us that day. There were quite a few regular concession stands where you can pay as you eat but, inexplicably, only one of them was a BBQ place. As the ribs weren’t ready for another five minutes, I went for an appetiser of five types of sausages on a stick. I know, I’m all class. But this turned out to be a great move as it allowed me to watch them open a bag of frozen ribs and shove them into a convection oven. Cancel the ribs thanks – I’d rather try the pizza on a stick from the stall next door. Oh the shame of it.

Who cares what happened for the rest of the day – today will always be burned into my memory as the day I went to the worlds biggest and best BBQ and ate complete crap.

It’s the 10k race tomorrow morning and, being so soon after Mardi Gras, I’m understandably worried…

Day 114 - I Take It All Back About Mexican Food

Author – Grant
From – New Orleans, Louisiana
To – Houston, Texas
Miles Driven – 353

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614508258494/

Given that we drove 353 miles and taking into account that we have to stop every 45 minutes for toilet stops and every 30 minutes for snacks, there wasn’t much time for anything else other than travelling on Day 114. Well there’s always time for food of course and lunch was at a completely randomly chosen café in a completely randomly chosen town 225 miles from New Orleans just before the Louisiana / Texas border. Imagine our surprise and mild disappointment when the theme of the café was Bourbon Street, New Orleans – a place we have just spent 4 hours driving in the opposite direction of! Still, the po-boys were excellent and the service was super-friendly with everyone except the dishwasher asking about our heritage and making the same joke that the food was “better than your fish and chips, eh?!”. Hey, it was nice food but I swear I’ll cut the next person who declares that there is a food stuff on earth better than fish, chips and mushy peas…

Given that it was late afternoon before we arrived in the metropolis that is Houston, that meant that if today was going to contain anything more interesting than driving, we had to cram it into the latter half of the day. One quick run in the humid 80 degree Houston evening and it was time to find food. I’ve gone on a bit too much in the past about the homogenous, bland Mexican food available in most of the non-Mexican world but Houston prides itself on some particularly authentic fare which isn’t surprising given that the place is just a 350 mile drive away. Furthermore, Hope had passed on a particular recommendation to Kate which, incredibly, she remembered so off we set to the original Ninfa’s restaurant on Navigation “where Mama Ninfa first stuffed chargrilled sliced beef into a handmade flour tortilla and launched the national fajita craze”. Whilst dithering over what to order, a mountain of tortilla chips with two types of salsa arrived (a tomato based spicy little number and an avocado based milder one) were shortly followed by a mountain of fresh, creamy guacamole with raw diced peppers, onions and tomatoes on the side to mix in as you desired - a rather nice touch we thought as you could customise your own guacamole even when sharing a single portion.

Unsure of exactly what to order, we shared a platter for two which contained a mountainous hulk of pork carnitas (basically child’s fist size hunks of slow cooked pork), chicken and beef fajitas, grilled jumbo shrimp, a half rack of ribs and one cheese stuffed poblano pepper all served on a couple of pounds of seasoned onions. In addition (yes, there’s more), it came with yellow rice, refried beans, the regular fajita trimmings (sour cream, tomato salsa and yet more chunky guacamole) and half-a-dozen homemade tortillas. Literally every single thing that we ate was fantastic perhaps with the exception of the cheese stuffed poblano which was denser than the centre of a black hole. The carnitas and ribs were falling apart, the chicken was juicy, the beef was tender and the shrimp had an almost lobster-like texture. But the star of the show by a mile and a half were the homemade tortillas which had more in common with Indian paratha bread than the plastic pre-made supermarket jobbies. So, to be clear, we’re talking flour tortillas here, not corn tortillas. The ingredients are as simple as AP Flour, baking powder, salt, oil and milk…hand pressed and cooked on a cast iron griddle. Indeed it seemed to be one girl’s job just to press and cook these bad boys all night just to keep up with the rampant demand from the hoards of slavering customers but she deserves the freedom of the city for her work as I’ve never tasted a fajita like it. It was sublime and the resultant desire to continue eating long after my “full” sensors had started to sound ensured a fairly uncomfortable remainder of the day but I still claim it was well worth it. From now on I’ll be sure to exclude this particular restaurant from my “Mexican food is shit” rants.

Unable to converse or function in the real world after such a ridiculous meal, we headed to the theater district of Houston to take our places for The Man Who Came To Dinner. This supposedly “hilarious” comedy is set in the 1950s and is the story of a writer / radio broadcaster who falls on some ice outside the house of his dinner hosts and is subsequently house-bound there for several weeks and is generally a pain in the arse to everyone unless they can help him in some way. Kate enjoyed it but I was a bit to embarrassed about the loud digestive noises my stomach was making during the quieter, mood portions of the show to be able to fully relax and enjoy myself. As such, when the final curtain dropped, I was fairly relieved to get back into the street with its hum of background noise. Kate, however, was less pleased as she got crapped on by one of the thousands of large black grackle birds that live in the magnolia trees in this region. Supposedly it’s good luck but, judging by the expression on her face, it didn’t feel that way at the time…

Tomorrow is a fairly free day ahead of Saturday morning’s 10k but a quick check of Ticketmaster has unveiled that the World Championship of BBQ is being held in Houston tomorrow. Looks like we’ll be protein loading rather than carb loading for the race then...

Day 113 - Whoooooo!

Author – Grant
Based In – New Orleans

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614425372345/

Day 113 represents Ash Wednesday which means the annual failure to give something up for the 40 days of lent. This year Kate will not be giving up chocolate (broken just one day into lent with the consumption of a bowl of Special K containing huge chunks of chocolate) and I won’t be giving up needless appetisers (also broken 1 day into lent by absentmindedly ordering guacamole whilst trying to decide what to have at a Mexican restaurant in Houston). Ah well, hopefully my theory that access to heaven is solely based on not supporting Liverpool Football Club will prevail and we’ll be fine.

Whilst in New Orleans, we couldn’t resist the opportunity to dine at Emeril Lagasse’s modestly named flagship restaurant (Emeril’s) as part of our ongoing mission to further line the pockets of every Food Network chump. His place is in the Warehouse District and is decked out beautifully with a variety of seating choices including a bank of seats looking right into the kitchen. Dinner and a free show – lovely. Unfortunately this means that I struggled to make conversation throughout the meal as I was a bit transfixed by the food porn equivalent of an orgy but I think Kate was entertained as well. Today was probably the worst day of the year to have such a table as the kitchen was full of hungover, deeply unhappy souls and I’m afraid that came across in the food that was coming out. To start, we shared some lamb spare ribs with a barbecue sauce and mint oil which were very tasty but came out only luke warm, a trait that, unfortunately, ran throughout the meal. Whilst the starter tasted great, both our main courses were lacking in flavour, seasoning, size and heat. My grilled swordfish on rice with coleslaw was really disappointing and gone in about 4 fork-fulls and whilst Kate’s Shrimp pasta with a tomato sauce was slightly more substantial, it was still lacked any flavour or love. The desserts, however, were fantastic. My pecan pie had the crust of a leper (in a good way you understand) and a surprisingly light yet gooey pecan filling and Kate’s Banana Cream Pie was huge, beautiful and had a cream concoction surrounding the huge chunks of banana with a consistency that I can only describe as like ice-cream but without being cold. After such piddley portions for the main courses, it was thanks to the monster cream pie that we left satiated and felling a mild sense of value for money.

We’ve been in New Orleans for two weeks now without ever having visited the area worst hit by Katrina, the Lower Ninth Ward which sits just to the east of Downtown. We had heard that a lot of volunteer groups no longer operated in the Lower Ninth Ward as it continues to be a seriously dangerous place to be with muggings and shootings commonplace so with a certain amount of trepidation and four locked car doors we ventured over the rickety bridge that separates the area from the main downtown. The place is still largely uninhabited and the signs of the storm are all around you with either massive damage or writing on the sides of the houses to denote when the property was searched, how many people were found dead inside and extra information denoting if it contains TFW (Toxic Flood Water) or the whereabouts of dead animals (mostly dogs) that the initial rescue crews didn’t remove as the removal and identification of humans rightly took top priority. Obviously it’s all pretty disturbing stuff but there are signs that people are returning and the occasional property is awash with new timber and activity. There are also the new houses that Brad Pitt has sponsored but it’s clearly going to be a long time before this neighbourhood returns to anything resembling normality. Apparently there was talk of completely abandoning the place but that seems to have been ignored although it still took 9 months before the electricity grid was reconnected. Miles was telling us an interesting fact that work is underway to fortify the city’s levees so that, if another Category 5 hit the city, they could stand up to it. Unfortunately that work is still a couple of years away from completion and if the eye of another Cat 5 directly hit the city in the mean time then a repeat would be unavoidable. Frightening stuff.

In a complete emotional U-Turn, that night we headed to The New Orleans Arena (nicknamed The Bee Hive) to watch the local NBA basketball team The Hornets play the Detroit Pistons. Embarrassingly I bumped into a couple of ex-girlfriends who now work there and demanded that I have my picture taken with them whilst Kate stocked up in the souvenir shop. Whilst the stadium wasn’t full presumably due to people wanting a break from revelry after Mardi Gras, the atmosphere was still consistently better than anything I witnessed from the fickle crowds at the New York Knicks. There were, however, a few striking local differences between the games. First, the players were greeted with an impressive display of indoor fireworks. Secondly, the ubiquitous national anthem was preceded by a prayer by a local pastor. Thirdly there was a weather report on the big screen mid game. Fourthly the half time show was a roller skating dance crew from ABDC. Lastly, and most importantly, the game was seriously exciting with The Hornets sneaking a three point win in the dying seconds thanks to the magic of local hero Chris Paul all night (who is rewarded with a perfectly coordinated “Whoooooo” every time he scores…hence the blog title).

We’re finally leaving New Orleans tomorrow on a course for Texas, a state founded on BBQ and Rodeo. Yeah Ha.

Day 112 - The Ranga and I Survived Mardi Gras

Author – Grant
Based In – New Orleans

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614344630079/

Don’t be fooled by the glib title of today’s blog – it’s more of an achievement than you’ll ever know. Whilst first reading may lead you to guess that it was a figuratively impressive feat because of the amount of drinking and debauchery on offer (of which there was much, by the way), it is actually a more literal achievement given that there was a gunman spraying bullets just half a block from where we stood that put seven people in hospital, including the friend of friend (who was dressed as a cow, of course) who was talking to us just moments earlier but nipped a few hundred metres east to get a burger, took a ricocheted bullet in the side and got a night in hospital, a decent scar and a cool Mardi Gras story that he’ll be telling until he is too old to pull. The moral of the story? Fast Food is dangerous. Note for mum - I’m writing this in Houston which means we’re out of danger and whilst I have your attention, I have loads of clean pants and behind my ears are almost biblically clean.

That’s enough of the negative, headline grabbing part of the day though (although, just to conclude the story, we did see the shooter sprawled over the back of a cop car as he was being arrested later in the day) as the rest of it was a blast. The first parade on Fat Tuesday (Zulu – an all black parade celebrating it’s 100th outing this year) is an early start for even the most hardened drinker which leaves parade goers with three choices. 1) The Old Person’s Choice – Be there to see the parade but limit yourself to drink nothing harder than a root beer. 2) The Average Person’s Choice – Be there to see the parade and crack open your first alcoholic beverage not long after your mailman has delivered your post. 3) The Young Person’s Choice – Drink throughout the previous night, arrive hammered and don’t stop drinking until your mates spill you into a car many, many hours before sun goes down. Amongst our group of revellers, we had representatives from each of the three groups. Kate was the designated old person as she didn’t crack her first beer til almost midday but then she was the designated driver and we did have a lunch reservation 26 hours later that she wanted to make. The majority of the rest of the party sat in the average person’s group as we’d had a fairly low key evening prior to Fat Tuesday in anticipation of the impending Leo (that’s some rhyming slang for the American readers with “Leo Sayer” referring to an “All Dayer”…aren’t we a clever nation). As such, some beautifully strong Bloody Mary’s were mixed on site not much after 8:30am and the day spiralled alcoholically thereafter. And then there was Jeff, Miles’ younger brother who, in summary, arrived smashed from a monster night out on Monday, got more smashed, used various fast food stuffs as missiles (including a burger from the now infamous rapid fire burger van), had to be taken home but then more than redeemed himself by rejoining us later on and continuing to slam down beers like a real American trouper. He’s my hero. And he gave Kate a new nickname – Ranga, which is short for Orangutan, another genetically mutated animal missing nature’s most important gene that avoids red hair colouring.

I could clearly fill page upon page with descriptions of the various costumes and characters on display both on and off the floats but luckily we were both seriously snap happy so I’d suggest scrolling through the attached link to get your fill of semi-naked, satirical, comical, attention whores. Now I know what you’re all thinking – But where did you wee? Well don’t worry, we found a super-clean $1 a go bathroom run by four generations of locals with a Buy 3 Get 1 Free Offer.

The weirdest thing about the day is how early everything finishes. Pre-Katrina there used to be a late afternoon parade that ensured the party went well beyond sunset but these days the final truck parades are all done by about 3pm. Luckily for us it was a beautiful, sunny day that just begged to be drunk in so standing around the streets sipping a few cold ones whilst listening to the various eye-witness accounts of the shootings was no hardship whatsoever. Once 5pm rolled round it was decision time - head to Bourbon Street which would probably resemble a cross between a Frat House and Darfur, or don’t. We chose don’t in favour of another fine burger at Beach Corner with the now fully recovered Jeff who, remarkably, looked like he could have gone on for another 10 hours. Unfortunately, we couldn’t.

Massive thanks to Miles and his family for their extremely kind hospitality during our stay in New Orleans. We’re here for another day before leaving Wednesday but unfortunately we won’t get to catch up with the Landrums any more as New Orleans returns to normality and they all have to work. Luckily for us, however, the holiday continues indefinitely and tomorrow we get to dine at Emeril’s before taking in a Hornet’s game. Life continues to be hell for us…

Day 111 - The Calm Before The Storm

Author – Grant
Based In – New Orleans

Day 111’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614423229020/

The gods of Mardi Gras spared us from a proposed 30 mile bike ride on Day 111 by smiting Kate’s foot overnight. Whilst this means that it pains her to walk, it has saved me from an embarrassing two-wheeled death from liver and kidney failure somewhere between Mandeville and Slidell so, you know, every cloud…

Without a parade until early evening, this left us with a rare day with no commitments and, more importantly, no requirement to drink ourselves to death. Given this rare opportunity, it seemed a shame to squander it doing something mind-numbing like watching TV…so we went to the movies instead which is totally different and much more cultural, kind of. Given the recent accolades (8 Oscars, screw you Brad!) and being fiercely British, we chose to see Slumdog Millionaire which, in my humble opinion, is well worth the hype. Despite the fact that it is, at heart, a love story, it is so much more and I haven’t been blown away by a film for quite some time.

Lunch saw the resumption of the Great American Chain Restaurant Experiment with a visit to Olive Garden, an Italian restaurant that claims dishes inspired by their Tuscan based chefs. I have been a bit obsessed with the thought of going to Olive Garden since arriving in America two years ago as I see it as the US equivalent of Harvester’s, a British institution that I love, so today was a big day for me. Kate, on the other hand, has always dismissed the place as looking like crap. As always, Kate was right as the meal was pretty rubbish but it filled a hole and cost not much more than a couple of Happy Meals so I’m not moaning. Kate ordered a Shrimp Arabiatta Penne and I got a Classic Lasagna, both of which came with their famous unlimited salad and breadsticks. The salad would have been decent enough had it not come pre-dressed with the usual half pint of vinaigrette and both of the mains were just OK but, like I say, at less than $10 each it’s very fair value and it’s no surprise that the place was fairly full on a Monday lunch.

We’ve still got the kitchen and I’ve not cooked for a while so, inspired by a recent magazine purchase, I decided to do a redemption chili after the chili disaster a month ago. The magazine was the best recipes from a year’s worth of America’s Test Kitchen, a 2,500 square foot kitchen based in Boston that tests and refines recipes with no predefined theory or technique assumptions. As such, they question every step and the result is a real understanding of why cooking techniques and ingredients do what they do. It’s fascinating stuff (well, I think so) and their chili recipe had me licking the page so I happily began the 2 ½ hour process. Furthermore, picking such a time-consuming recipe enabled me to sack off any notions of going for a run. Our next stop it Texas which is the chili capital of the world but I think this smoky little number would stand up fairly well against their output…but I guess I’ll have a better idea of that in a week’s time. All I know is that I was shamelessly licking the plate and that the extras in the pan that was supposed to be a future lunch didn’t have chance to stop steaming before they were in my belly.

Faced with the choice of a trip downtown to catch some of the Lundi Gras parades or to catch a local one, we wimped out and chose the Metairie based parade. Whilst it was pretty uneventful and rubbish, it did mean that we were all tucked up well before midnight which was a very good thing given that the following day’s parades (and hence the drinking) starts at 8am. In a city renowned for partying, tomorrow is the biggest party day of the year. Laissez Le Bon Temps Roulez…

Who Does She Grow Up To Be?

Answers on a postcard to Eating America, America.

Days 109 & 110 - Kicked In The Ass By Mardi Gras

Author - Grant
Based In – New Orleans

Day 109 Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614258937513/

Day 110 Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614340466554/

Days 109 (Saturday) and 110 (Sunday) have been combined for the purpose of this blog but they couldn’t have been more diverse. Saturday involved copious amounts of drinking, laughing, partying, hilarity, eating, beads and a few stray boobs. As a result, Sunday consisted of serious hangover nursing. Let me try to help you understand exactly why…

Saturday started innocently enough with a trip to the seedier part of New Orleans (of which there are many to choose from) to watch Tucks, one of the daytime parades which one of Miles’ friends was due to be riding in. Contrary to my first instinct, it turns out that being one of the float riders is a super-cool thing to do which explains why people pay up to a couple of thousand dollars for the right to ride. Half of the money is for Krewe membership which is presumably spent to decorate the float and the other half is spent on the copious amounts of beads and goodies that they constantly fling for the four hours the parade is in motion. Anyway, the advantage of knowing one of the riders is that they give you loads of free stuff. The disadvantage is that the delivery system is particularly violent. Because the riders’ anonymity is usually protected by a mask, we missed his friend but luckily he saw us and I was nearly decapitated by the resultant barrage of goodies. Beads come in a variety of sizes and design ranging from tiny plastic ones that barely fit over your head to massive glass baubles which, I was assured, are well worth keeping hold of for the rest of the day as they have street value. Unfortunately that street is the vomit and pee sodden Bourbon Street (where doing the Stanky Leg is not optional) but fortunately the currency is boobs. There would be ten hours of drinking to do before this exchange occurred though.

Then it all started going downhill rapidly. A quick visit back to Miles’ mansion to check on the love progress of the smooching puppies (Molly and the ever-insistent Winston) started an unwise dip into the world of Vodka Red Bulls to keep up the energy levels. With the promise of a gaggle of “cute chicks from Florida”, we headed over to one of Miles’ old school friends. Whilst this debilitating marriage means that I am no longer able to take advantage of cute Floridian chicks, I was delighted to see that we had arrived just as two steaming vats of jambalaya and shrimp pasta were being served…now that’s a pleasure I can indulge in without ending up with only half of my original assets.

Armed with a pint of vodka and enough cold beers to keep a boat load of pirates tipsy for a month, we hit the road to find a good vantage spot to watch Endymion, the biggest of the parades with over 2000 people making up this SuperKrewe. The contrast with the previous evening’s parade couldn’t have been starker. Replace the frolicking kiddies with drunken hoards. Swap the eye-level view of the floats with 10 deep crowds lining every inch of the seven mile route. Exchange the tiny quaint home-made floats for three story floats the length of football fields. And substitute the 10 kid high school bands for 100 man monster bands flanked by majorettes, flag girls and cheerleaders. It was all quite a sight to behold but it was definitely harder to get beads and goodies. But beads and goodies aren’t the preoccupying thought of most revelers whilst watching parades…exactly where to unload your bladder legally is the number one concern. Access to bathrooms is more heavily guarded than access to the Queen’s pyjamas and the portapotties on the streets are either privately owned (that’s right, people actually bring their own portapotties on the back of pick-up trucks…that’s how much of an issue peeing is) or publicly available but that invariably involves a 45 minute wait in line followed by a nauseating experience that you don’t ever want to repeat…a bit like the average ride at Universal Studios but with more sanitary waste. Enter stage right our Guardian Angels...Mitchell and Hope. By design, I think, we ended up outside Mandina’s (the awesome seafood place visited after Barkus) where Mitchell and Hope, in an act that ensures them a season pass to heaven and it’s associated theme parks, slapped a couple of barely used wrist-bands on us that got us past the security guard on the door of the restaurant guaranteeing us clean bathroom breaks for the rest of the night. But it gets better…it also meant access to their free bar and buffet. Not one to pass up an opportunity for free stuff, within 10 minutes of having the band on my wrist, I was elbow deep in fried oysters and drowning in rum.

Once the parade had finished it was time to move on and we innocently ended up in a car captained by Aunt Patty, Hope and Miles. Little did I know this was going to turn out to be a life changing experience. Whilst I can’t go fully into details in fear of being posthumously arrested on thirteen different counts, I can divulge that the 15 minute ride packed in action from security guards, a minor collision with a thankfully stationary object, hiding from Aunt Patty’s more conservative sister and a suspicious amount of hilarity. The destination was The Columns Hotel for yet more beverages but I have little recollection of this part of the night, or the subsequent ill-advised trip to the skanky French Quarter which, I am assured by my infinitely more sober partner, was about as nasty as you can imagine by this late stage of the evening and a traumatic experience that her Ugg boots will never recover from. After trading in the beads for a particularly perky right one, the taxi drama began. Who would have thought getting a cab in the French Quarter at midnight on Mardi Gras Saturday (Samedi Gras?) would have been so tough? Everyone including the remote tribes of Papua New Guinea, that’s who. You’d have thought that would be the end of the night, but you’d be mistaken. Honorary fat boy Miles insisted on a late night burger at Beach Corner (“WITH BACON!”) accompanied by a few more beers. Perhaps this was what sent me over the edge but it seemed like a genius plan at the time. I remember the burgers being big, succulent, flavourful and served by a freak of a woman. Beyond that, I remember nothing. It’s probably best that way.

The downside about Mardi Gras is that it lasts for over two weeks and the really concentrated part of the partying is over four days. Disappointingly I woke up on the morning of the second day with a hangover I wouldn’t have given to Joseph Goebbels and it was to seriously impede the day. The first half I spent in bed sleeping whilst Kate took advantage of the hangover movie marathon including Turner & Hooch and Grease. 2pm came round all too quickly which signaled the time I had to start stirring if we were to watch the Bacchus parade to pay homage to, of all people, the god of wine. Despite nearly backing out on the journey to Miles’ house (thanks mainly to my wife’s decision to eat the smelliest sandwich know to man in the car…I think it was tripe, sprout and blue cheese on garlic bread…and if you are salivating at that then you have a problem) we made it to our destination and I have to say I was gutted to see our host looking and feeling so perky. Either I just can’t cut it with the kids today or he spiked my earlier vodkas…needless to say I’m going with the latter.

The rest of the day isn’t going to take long to explain as we headed over to the beautiful house of some of Miles’ parent’s friends where I went from non-communicative single-celled amoeba to slightly more chatty human trying out a beer or three in such a short period of time that it left Kate both in awe and slightly worried. It wasn’t to last very long as, after about an hour of watching the parade, it became clear that I just really wasn’t joining in with the evening’s conversation so, given that we had another two full days of parades to go, we happily headed home to fully recuperate for the impending Lundi and Mardi Gras festivities. Apparently someone fell off the top deck of one of the floats that night but he’s OK. It wouldn’t surprise me if some aggressive professional parade-goer caught him and put him in their swag bag before realizing what had happened.

Days 105, 106, 107 & 108 – In The Line Of Fire

Author – Grant
Based In – New Orleans

Day 105 Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614030417824/

Day 106 Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614240126652/

Day 107 Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614171512125/

Day 108 Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614171575699/

So I haven’t written anything for a few days which is 100% laziness. I justified it in my own mind by saying that Tuesday to Friday this week should take on a fairly regulated formula (get up, go to “work”, do some exercise, eat some food and fall asleep) but obviously it didn’t so now I have just left myself with loads to report before the weekend’s insanity begins.

First, a medical update. Molly had the earlier appointment on Tuesday and she is the ginger closest to my heart so let’s start with her. Having discovered that there’s nothing wrong with her bones, the hope was that this specialist could pull her around like pizza dough and work out what ligaments or muscles are causing her recurring limp. The result? Another expensive shrug of the shoulders followed by the suggestion that she is strictly confined for 6 weeks so that whatever is wrong can heal naturally. A pretty frustrating suggestion given that she already underwent a 2 week confinement which we can’t tag on to this sentence as she’s been running round like a loony-tunes in the mean-time. When asked what we should do if 6 weeks confinement doesn’t work, our ever-helpful vet suggested taking her to a university hospital for a bone scan (kind of like a CAT scan but for dogs, not that a cat scan is for cats but you know what I mean) to see what’s happening inside the bones. “Perhaps it’s cancer” he cheerily suggested. I think I’d rather not know to be honest but we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. Keep your due claws crossed we don’t.

Next up, Kate. She had 90 minutes of work done on teeth that have already had their canals thoroughly rooted and I got to witness it first hand as she is too scared to be left alone with the big fisted dentist. I took a book to read but I barely read a word of it as it was all pretty fascinating stuff. Kate was fairly oblivious to the whole affair as she was drugged up on a prescription relaxant called Zanax which must have a decent street value. Whilst her body was inactive, her mind was clearly in overdrive as it was still formulating cunning anti-dentist plans such as inducing a hiccup attack half-way through the procedure. Genius. The success of the procedure can only be measured in time but at the time of writing we are four days without migraine…a weekend of heavy drinking will give it a real test-drive though.

Whilst I’m not going to walk you through every morsel we have devoured in the last four days, two meals are worth special mention for very different reasons. Our dinner at Zea Rotisserie was memorable because I had a well deserved slab of St Louis ribs (easily my favourite cut) and, possibly for the first time in my life, it beat me. In fact, I only had half of the juicy pork on offer but the plate contained a whopping 12 ribs which individually resembled a small steak and the entire dish could have easily fed a Mormon family. Well worth a visit if you happen to find yourself in one of the local budget hotels which, for your own safety, I hope you never do. The other meal was at August, John Besh’s flagship restaurant but more of that later.

Wednesday signified Kate’s long awaited return to volunteering after a two business day absence. Her unannounced lack of attendance without any sign of remorse or apology proved that she has taken on the role of labourer with a level of authenticity that makes you tip your hat with respect. She can even do that “it’s gonna cost ya” noise by sucking through her teeth. There’s little to report of significance or interest about our building site exploits although in the week and a half we have been here, the apartments we have worked on have gone from asbestos caked shells to something that you could probably live in. And that is despite having to stop working and take cover for 30 minutes after a round of gunshots were heard in the street which, apparently, is a fairly common occurrence in this hardy neighbourhood. The “Thou Shalt Not Kill” street signs are a bit of a warning to people who visit which is worrying given that the Mardi Gras parades will pass very close to here over the weekend. Presumably they speed up at this point, much like the Marathon in the Commonwealth Games when it passed through the seedier suburbs of Manchester. At the moment the shots rang out I had a huge, loaded nail gun in my hand and a full tool belt containing various blunt and sharp weapons which I’m thinking of making my Mardi Gras costume as it’s the perfect combination of both quirky and practical.

On to the other noteworthy meal of the previous four days…and cue the involuntary mouthwatering induced solely through thinking and writing about food. I wonder if my exit from this mortal world will be through saliva induced lap-top electrocution? I wouldn’t have it any other way. Local boy John Besh is a bit of a legend around these here parts and no visit to the Big Easy (coincidentally Kate’s nickname at High School) would be complete without sampling his fair at one of his four restaurants. His flagship is based in the heart of the French Quarter and was our chosen destination, assuming we could navigate past the Muses parade crowd in time. Whatever romantic notions you have of the French Quarter’s history and architecture, bin them. The place is New Orleans Cheesy Party Central where you are fairly likely to be pissed or puked on so be prepared or don’t come. Still, there’s going to be a lot of parade chat over the next few days so I’ll keep this one to a minimum.

First thing to say about the restaurant is that it’s seriously old school with dark wood paneled walls and waiters in classic French black and white formal wear which, for me, just strays the wrong side of the casual / fine dining border but, thanks to the passing parade and it’s attached revelers, it was fairly noisy on the night we visited which we were thankful for as eating surrounded by hushed whispers isn’t physically possible for me. On to the food. The menu is inspired by local, seasonal produce and hence it regularly changes. It is also relatively small with only 3 or 4 choices per genre (meat, fish, appetizers etc) but on the night we visited, pretty much everything sounded exquisite. In addition to the a la carte menu, they do a five course tasting menu and an undisclosed 13 course degustion menu for which you must allow a minimum of three hours. Kate kindly agreed to join me for the five course tasting menu with wine pairing as she could see the longing in my eyes and as much as I would have loved to do the 13 course extravaganza, the truth is that it would probably contain too many entrail and offal based dishes that Kate wouldn’t enjoy. The idea of the night is supposed to be enjoyment for both of us, not just ecstasy for one and an episode of Fear Factor for the other.

Despite ordering five courses, nothing gets the juices flowing like an extra free course. Bring on the amuse bouche of Seafood Custard topped with Truffle Infused Sabayon and Louisiana Caviar served in a hollowed out egg shell complete with a tiny toast “soldier” which is a play on the famous Thomas Keller dish. Let’s lay down the rules for the rest of this review; unless I say otherwise it was either awesome or incredible. This was no exception with a really subtle hint of truffle that still allowed the delicate seafood taste to come through in the custard. Yum.

First course proper was a warm salad of Pieds De Veau (calves feet), veal sweetbreads, hearts of palm and black truffle. Whilst it was a bit decadent to have truffle twice in the first two courses (although drowning in truffle is probably just as cool a way to go as lap-top saliva electrocution), again it was super-subtle and paired beautifully with the rich calves feet and sweetbread pieces…and the cheeky glass of bubbly it came with.

Next up was a Yard Egg Ravioli with Brown Butter and Sage which was a great dish where just a slight contact with the ravioli resulted in a tidal wave of yolk that sat amid the herbed brown butter and just begged to be mopped up with the warm table bread. Probably not a dish recommended by your cardiologist though.

My favourite dish of the night came out next which was Lacquered Berkshire Pork Belly with Louisiana Crawfish, Olives and Blood Orange. Four bite-sized slivers of sweet, carmelized piggy goodness topped with pieces of lobster-like crawfish and tiny slivers of olive which did the job of cutting through the fat and probably rendered the blood orange unnecessary but it was just spectacular.

The final savoury dish was Slow Braised Kobe Beef Short Rib, Rapini, Baby Root Veg and Leeks. What can’t be good about this? The sauce was the only thing that could possibly bugger this up but it was impossibly light and did what a sauce should do; compliment, not overpower.

Dessert was a Napoleon of Nougatine with Valhrona Chocolate Bavarois, Salted Toffee Ice Cream and Coffee Sauce. In isolation, the ice cream was intensely salty but when tasted with everything else it just brought out the chocolatiness of the chocolate and provided the perfect finale to an outstanding meal.

Friday represented our final day at the volunteer place and also coincided with Gene’s last day, an incredibly eccentric older gentleman who clearly had Torrette’s but was from an era when people with Torrette’s were simply dismissed as nuts and forced to volunteer for church organizations. Whilst he gave a roller coaster ride of a leaving speech drifting almost seamlessly and paradoxically between inviting the younger boys to stay with him and warning of the dangers of meeting people on the internet, we brought a Bavarian Cream filled King Cake to win over the stomachs of our 30 fellow volunteers. I wouldn’t say it was sad to finish our stint here because, being frank, a few of the people are arseholes. Unfortunately this is a recurring problem with volunteer organizations, it draws in a weird mixture of people who genuinely want to help and society’s outcasts that aren’t fit for normal employment. I will, however, miss the work and I learned a fair amount about home improvements that will probably lead to a future obsession. I’ll also miss having that Friday feeling…at least for the rest of this trip.

To kick start our parade season, we fled from New Orleans to Mandeville on the other side of Lake Pontchartrain via a 27 mile bridge that doesn’t contain a single twist or turn and requires a surprising amount of concentration to drive across. After some Mexican sustenance (pork fajitas…obviously), we hit the streets to soak up the atmosphere of Orpheus, which I assume is Mandeville’s biggest event of the year. Each of the marching bands are from local high schools which clearly vary in both size and quality and are flanked by dance troupes who contain a mix of skilled dancers and people for whom wearing a leotard should be illegal. The guys throwing goodies from the floats were extremely generous, especially to the female members of the crowd but none more than the leader of the Phantom of The Opera float who managed throw goods in a manner that was somehow loaded with sexual intent. Many people have warned us to be careful at the parades, especially in regards to the threat of muggings but no one warned us of the physical threat from the floats themselves as Kate took a Frisbee to the head in a genius tag team move from two guys on a float (one to distract her with shiny beads, the other to take aim with the discus). For the rest of the night she was totally conflicted as she would scream for beads and then scream in fear as they flew towards her head.

Fours days of parades and drinking await us. Magnifico.

Day 104 - The Handyman & The Slacker

Author – Grant
Based In – New Orleans
Today's Biggest Talking Point in the Pre Volunteering Pep Talk - There was a shooting half a block away from the volunteer hut over the weekend. No one hurt…not even the person the shooter was aiming at.

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613985350384/

This particular blog entry wins the competition for being written in the strangest venue as I am sat opposite Kate who is having some extensive dental work done. I am present, theoretically, to calm her fears because she gets nervous but the reality is that the Zanax she took has turned her into a space cadet who uses phrases like "your twisting my mellon man" without a hint of irony. Anyway, that's happening today and you're supposed to be hearing about yesterday so let's rewind 30 hours. Cue Scooby Doo flashback scene...

In the middle of an era of Kate being ill, such as we are in now, my first job of the day is to attempt to establish whether her lack of desire to get up is due to ongoing illness or the usual laziness. There are a few tricks I can try to help work this out (offer her food, fart under the duvet etc) where any reaction beyond grunting is a sign that she's perfectly healthy and just procrastinating. The jury is still out on whether she was being lazy or was genuinely ill on the morning of Day 104 but the facts are that she persuaded me to go volunteering without her and by the time I got home, she was 100% recovered. Suspicious, no?

The United Saints Recovery Project continues to roll forward with all the momentum of a sticky bun covered in glue (i.e. painfully slowly). The problem is that no one has the foresight to plan what we need for the day so the first two hours are spent either waiting for someone to go to Home Depot to collect things like tiles (who would have thought tiling would need tiles?) or signing out tools from the recovering crack addict in charge of the tool shed. Despite such setbacks, today I managed to finish the tiling in the apartment Kate and I have been working on and the sense of achievement was truly immense so I wasted the next 10 minutes standing back and admiring my own good work. Just a bit of grouting and the place will be fit to live in...assuming you aren't adversely affected by asbestos.

So like I said, I got home to a fully recovered wife after my day at the building site. It seems a bit like we're living out a temporary alternate existence at the moment. Kate looked keen to continue the role play when I arrived home caked in plaster but clearly we have very different ideas about what our life would be like under this scenario as she looked shocked when I beat the living crap out of her for not having my dinner on the table when I walked through the door. Just kidding...I barely scratched her.

After a very successful mall visit (pants, computer speakers, knife sharpener, liquid smoke…obviously), dinner was a home cooked affair of thick pork chops (comically known as American Cut...not sure if it's the thick part or the fat part that makes the cut specifically American) with classic mashed potatoes, mixed sautéed veg and a smoky shallot, mustard and cream sauce. All very yum but far too large and the one major thing I learnt that evening was that Molly's digestive system can't cope with pork. I would imagine she has cramp in her hind legs from the amount of stooping she did between 10pm and midnight...

Just a half day volunteering tomorrow because my ginger ladies need some medical attention. The wife needs some dentistry work and the dog needs to stop limping. Odds being offered on Kate getting her ass out of bed to volunteer for the first time since last Friday…10-1.

Day 103 - It's Just For Me and My Dawg

Author – Grant
Based In - New Orleans


Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613985154154/


Day 103 is a day that is far better explained by photos than by text…and I can’t be bothered writing the usual daily essay today. The key facts you need to be aware of in order to add some sensibility as you navigate you through the pictorial are…


1) Kate was ill and spent the day in bed which is why she isn’t in any of he photos. It also explains why I’m not in any photos because I am too embarrassed to ask anyone to take a photo of me and this is a feisty city so I probably wouldn’t trust anyone with our camera.

2) I went with Miles, Winston (Miles’ dog), his personal-volume-unaware friend Wes and Molly to a couple of parades. The first was a traditional floats and marching bands parade whilst the second was Barkus, a dog parade which this year had the theme of “BatMutt: The Bark Night”, hence the outrageously dressed up dogs…although that doesn’t explain the attire of the flamboyant owners.

3) The day involved an awful lot of drinking.

4) We ate at Mandina’s which served up some delicious Turtle Soup (this isn’t a nickname…it’s a soup with turtle meat that is almost indistinguishable from any other red meat in this format) and an optical illusion fish platter that looks like an edible portion when it arrives but it actually contains half an ocean’s worth of various fried seafood (oysters, catfish, crab balls and shrimp…in order of my personal preference) on a bed of fries. Despite a day of drinking, very little food and arriving almost feint with hunger, not one of us finished our plates.


Enjoy…