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…

Day 102 – Table For Two, Sort Of…

Author – Grant
Based In – New Orleans

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613837908174/

Despite a visit to the dentist for Kate just a few days ago, today was unfortunately going to be a another sore tooth induced migraine day for Kate which was to leave her good for absolutely nothing. Unfortunately it coincided with Valentines Day which clearly means absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things (the CEO of Hallmark should be publicly flogged for encouraging such sentimental nonsense in my eyes…and whoever thought of such drivel as Grandparents Day, I say roast them in their own juices) but Miles had offered us first dibs on his parents booking at Mila (the restaurant he works in) because they could no longer use it. As such, the only action Kate saw that day was sat opposite me as I devoured both my dinner and hers which I figured was the chivalrous thing to do.

I’m getting ahead of myself. Rewind 12 hours and the day starts with a call to the vet to get Molly an appointment for a bunch of x-rays on her ever-worsening limping leg. Five x-rays and $350 later we have nothing conclusive so they go off to a radiologist on the other side of town who…can’t find anything either. It’s good news that she has nothing disfiguring wrong with her bones but it’s annoying that we still don’t know what’s wrong with her. More worryingly was that there was another dog in there who had similar symptoms that required two surgeries (one involving 6 months recovery with NO moving) and they STILL hadn’t figured out what was wrong. So the next step is to see a orthopedic specialist as early as we can next week who will pull her around like pizza dough and hopefully come up with a magic cure without having to slice her. Rewind three years and I knew we should have got the little black fluffy one in the next cage along at the SPCA…

I found out that “my” entry for the Great North Run (the half marathon in Newcastle in September) had been successful so that encouraged me to go for a run today despite Kate obviously not going thanks to the migraine and there being a mountain of chocolate to plough through being Valentines Day. I put “my” in quotations because Kate made the application on my behalf as part of the ongoing Make Grant Thin campaign. We’re back for another wedding in September (come on people, either stop getting married or have one mass joint wedding…think of the economies of scale) and Kate thought it convenient to tag on a half marathon 400 miles north of the wedding venue and one week later. I am still yet to be convinced exactly what is convenient about it but it’s a god opportunity to visit family who we won’t have seen for an age by then unless they come out to join us somewhere on this trip. So today I bashed out a really dull 5.5 mile run involving three laps of the same park in mid-70 degree heat and upper 90% humidity. On the last lap I was being overtaken by Valentines Day couples strolling hand in hand and I could swear I was lapped by a guy in a motorized wheelchair.

Why do I tell you all this nonsense in such detail? Because I am trying to convey that by the time we got to dinner, I felt that my physically and emotionally draining day fully justified me having two dinners. Perhaps the two desserts were a bit excessive but they’re in me now so that’s that.

Cue Mila, so named because the married co-owners and lead chefs are from Mississippi and Louisiana. The place is really interestingly decorated as ion one hand it seems ultra modern but it manages to retain a hip 70’s feel thanks to a few natural prints on the walls and the abundance of booths. I’m not explaining it very well but it’s a really nice dining room that made for some spectacular people watching. Speaking of which, why do old people insist on snogging in public? In fact, why does anyone? As it was Valentines Day I let it slide without bloodshed just this once. I must explain Kate’s demeanor at this point. For the duration of the meal she either had her head in her hands or, as for the entire duration of the main course, in the bathroom. Throughout the meal I had various members of staff asking me if everything was alright as I basically dining alone and I cannot describe the incredulous look on the face of the lady dining opposite our table who witnessed me leaning across to scoff my partner’s food and chug her champagne (courtesy of Miles, thanks Buddy) whilst she wasn’t there.

Anyway, on to the food. They were offering a four course tasting menu with two options for each course so, as there were two of us (in body if not in stomach), that allowed me to fulfill a mini-ambition of ordering “The Lot”. And what a fine feast it turned out to be. Miles later told us that they threw the menu together in a few minutes the previous day which just makes them a bunch of smarty pants as there wasn’t a bad dish on the menu…and I can say this with the authority of someone that ate the entire menu. First up was either Virginia Oysters on the half shell dressed with a Blood Orange Mignonette and Dill (oooh so good) and a Pistachio Crusted Goat’s Cheese Salad dressed with Pomegranate Molasses (fantastic and the sickly sweet dressing worked really well but perhaps the goat’s cheese could have been seared to give a bit of hot/cold contrast to the dish?). Next were a couple of pasta dishes with a Lobster and Farm Greens Cannelloni in Bechamel (the pasta was super-light, almost like a crepe and the greens were crunchy adding some nice texture) and, my favourite dish of the night, Veal Cheek Ravioli, Caramelised Carrots and Reduced Madeira Sauce (apparently sweetbreads were added to the pork cheek to give it an almost sticky centre…I’m going to be dreaming of these for a while). Four dishes into the meal, four thumbs up from me, four bathroom visits for Kate. The main courses were a choice of beef or salmon. The beef dish was Grilled Kobe Flat Iron with Broccoli Rabe, Shitakes all in a rich soy reduction. (beautifully cooked, melt-in-the-mouth beef although the powerful reduction slightly masked the flavour of the beef so there was no way I could have told you it was Kobe…but then again I have a palate that still enjoys the occasional Pot Noodle) and the salmon dish was herb-crusted on a bed of Melted Leeks and a Beet Dijon Jus (this was a really interesting and well executed dish as the salmon was perfectly cooked, the leeks were indeed melted the blood red jus had a real subtlety that complimented the entire dish). I’m looking forward to making that salmon dish soon, hopefully when my partner is eating again.

At this point, I thought the torture should end for Kate so after a quick word with Chef Miles we got desserts to go, walked away from the parade agonizingly taking place just one block away and headed back to Chez Dump where my wife could puke at her free will and I could watch the remainder of the annual Slam Dunk Competition whilst eating two desserts. Whilst the frozen part of the desserts (cherry sorbet and banana ice cream) had al but melted away by the time we got home, the rest had remained in tact. The Chocolate Ganache Tart was seriously indulgent and a really hearty portion (but I suppose you weren’t supposed to have eaten six courses by this point) but the staring dessert was the thick pineapple ring roasted with rum and ginger, a flavour combo I adore which both satiates the sweet craving and leaves the palate relatively fresh.

My only gripe is that the menu said that the meal cost “$65 per head” and I only have one head so how did the food cost come to $130? For legal reasons they should more accurately declare the cost as “$65 per stomach”. It’s not every day you discover you have the digestive system of a ruminating cow. Bravo Miles and Mila for a truly outstanding meal. I would love to go back when they are offering the full menu but, quite frankly, I’m too embarrassed.

It’s Barkus tomorrow. I’ll explain later…

Day 101 - Holy Property Flipping

Author – Grant
Based In – New Orleans

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613767017405/

I’m writing this on the morning of Day 102 and the very effort involved in typing is making me consider hiring a personal assistant for the day. Primarily my knees hurt from 8 hours spent resting my considerable bulk on them whilst tiling a floor in what is now not-so-jokingly referred to as The Asbestos Room. But take away the knee pain and it’s a toss up between my back, arms and legs for the runner-up spot in the Sore Olympics. We’re supposed to be running 6 miles in a few hours but I’m not sure I could drive 6 miles at the moment and Kate hasn’t stirred yet today. Laugh all you want at the two office workers who haven’t done a proper days work in their lives (I don’t remember my heart beat increasing once during 12 years of banking except when those two new secretaries were hired) but two days of manual labour has completely floored us. So by the end of the day, for the first time in over 100 days of this trip, we were both blissfully aware that it was the weekend and that means a two day break from the hard graft.

So rather than work on a specific New Orleans resident’s Katrina damaged house, we continued to work on the apartments next to the church today which doesn’t quite have the same feel good factor. I decided to dig a little deeper today and it turns out that if residents haven’t come back to claim their properties within a certain time period after the storm then ownership passes onto the city who then flog them off cheaply to any willing buyers. In stepped the church about a year ago who, presumably, bought all ten apartments for a pittance and now have a gaggle of free labour to help fix them up. This is causing me to ride an emotional roller coaster and I still haven’t decided if I get off particularly happy or not. Let me explain…

Good Thing = The apartments aren’t left to rot.
Bad Thing = Their original owners have lost their apartments for ever.
Good Thing = Once renovated, they will house more volunteers (many of whom are currently sleeping in the church or a makeshift shed across the road from it) which means better workers to renovate more houses for real New Orleans tenants who will, one day, live in their homes once more.
Bad Thing = Once the volunteering is over (i.e. when New Orleans is ‘fixed’) then presumably the church will sell them and profit from flipping apartments picked up cheaply through adversity and worked on by volunteers (it’s a bad thing in my eyes because I don’t like the thought of further bulging the coffers of the church who already seem hyper-rich in comparison with the average wealth level of the people they preach to)
Good Thing = But they may use these funds to invest in other community projects.

So you can see that I’m a confused fella and whilst working on the apartments isn’t as fulfilling as directly working on real people’s houses, I should console myself that it isn’t as bad as being assigned to the crew that is cleaning the church which is, presumably, being funded by the money raised in the name of the First Street Restoration Project. Personally I’d be a bit miffed at the thought that my charitable donation was being used to buff the reverend’s pews rather than build Mrs Ida a new kitchen because her old one is scattered across Louisiana and Mississippi. Still, all this ranting is just venting because, come Monday morning, we’ll be there at 8am and will do whatever they tell us to because we’re wimps. Writing all this also means that I can’t pass on the blog to any of the other volunteers as they would probably be appalled at what an unchristian asshole I am. And, of course, they would be right.

Here endeth today’s lecture. Molly needs to go back to the vet for a bunch of x-rays to finally figure out why she limps like a prominent Nazi leader as her rest and anti-inflammatory experiment was clearly a flop. Oh, and it’s Valentines Day so I need to write Kate’s card before she wakes up. If she hasn’t got me anything after the anniversary debacle then please address all future correspondence solely to Grant.