Fine Wine, To Go.

I asked my friends, many of whom live in New Orleans and the surrounding areas, what to write about.  Several of them messaged me, asking to write about the rampant violence in the city.  Although it is an excellent topic, I can’t throw my heart into it.  Violence in this city has been an ongoing problem for decades.  I love this city; it is a living thing to me.  I would much rather focus on the aspects I adore, and leave the rest to the NOPD.  So, please know, it is still a wonderful place to visit and is still my home, but be aware of your surroundings if you visit here.  Now, onto the lighter side…

                I was driving around the city with my Best Friend, Chell, running errands yesterday.  We decided to stop for a quick lunch.  Being the food snobs that we are, traditional “fast” food is out of the question.  So, we stopped at a local wine merchant because they have a spectacular deli.  And, we found out something delightful:  You can get fine wine in a go-cup.

                The concept of a “go-cup” may be alien to some of you.  (And, to be honest, when I left NOLA, I was shocked to see that this concept was not implemented outside of the state.)  A go-cup is exactly what it sounds like.  If you go to any fast food joint and buy a drink, it is given to you in a “go-cup”, get the idea?  

                Fortunately, in this Fairyland of my home, go-cups are so much more.  See, our bars don’t close and the liquor laws here are a little different.  It is perfectly legal to walk down the street drinking a frosty alcoholic beverage.  If the NOPD enforced a real public drunkenness law, central lockup would be full of housewives.  Also, “open container” laws here for vehicles are a little sketchy.  See, we also have drive-through bars.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Feeling the need for a jello shot at three in the afternoon on the way to carpool?  Just run through the drive-through.   Want a daiquiri on your way home?  Hit the drive-through.  Technically, the way the law works, it isn’t an open container if the straw isn’t in it.  Yes, IT ISN’T AN OPEN CONTAINER IF THERE IS NO STRAW.  Damn, I love this place.

                Say you’re in the bar at 4 a.m.  You and your buddies want to check out the bar down the street.  You don’t want to chug your drink, but you don’t want to waste it.  No problem; ask the bartender for a go-cup, pour it in, and sip as you walk down the street. Delightful.  Or, in my case, you can stop for a deli sandwich, sipping Cabernet Sauvignon while you wait.  The sandwich is done quickly, but I’m a freaking lady.  I don’t chug wine.  No problem: here is a go-cup.  Spectacular.  

                There is a saying here, “We aren’t alcoholics, we’re from Louisiana.”  I know, I know, start the spiteful comments now; alcoholism isn’t a joke.  I grew up with one as a parent; it sucks.  However, we really don’t see alcohol the same way here as other people do.  Cocktails after work, wine with dinner, cocktails before bed.  Some people roll that way.  You can’t walk a block in this town without running into a bar.  It’s just the way it is, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.  

                When I was in high school, the law changed and the drinking age was changed from 18 to 21.  There was uproar.  I remember it well.  It didn’t stop us, though; it just made us more creative.  I grew up with Bourbon Street.  You can’t keep teenagers out of the Quarter.  Besides, the most common cure for teething babies around here is a bit of whiskey on the gums.  Works like a charm and lasts quite a while longer than Orajel.  My parents did it for me, and most of my friends did it for their children.  Louisianans don’t view alcohol in the same way.    It isn’t taboo here.  

                So if you find yourself in a drinking dilemma here in the city, don’t fret.   Please, don’t be an animal and chug.  A good cocktail is to be sipped and savored.  Just ask for a go-cup.  We like a little trash with our class.  

Cheers, Y’all.

P.S.  Chell is an amazing photographer and she and I will be collaborating on some projects soon.  Stay tuned for TWO Princesses!

The New Orleans Social Dynamic

So you may be a bit confused about the New Orleans social dynamic.  Today, I am going to attempt to explain a bit how people here interact with one another.  Try and keep up.

New Orleans is a small town disguised as a big city.  The population in the metropolitan area is about 1.2 million people.  That doesn’t include suburban areas, mind you.  However, I can’t go to the grocery store, post office, or bank without running into someone I know, or who knows OF me because I went to high school with their cousin.  Keep in mind, this is before the days of Facebook.  

Everyone knows everyone else’s business.  Helpful, sometimes, but annoying a lot of the time.  I can be innocently buying a loaf of bread at the Rouses.  Perhaps the latest issue of Vogue as well, if I’m feeling couture and some Tylenol because I have a headache.  *Tap on shoulder*…  “Aren’t you so-and-so’s little girl?”  Sigh.  I’m in my thirties.  “Yes, Ma’am, I am.”  Then it begins.  “How’s your Mama, darling?  I haven’t seen her in ages!  Is your Maw-Maw (Grandmother, in any other part of the world) still volunteering at the hospital?  Is your Daddy still constipated?....”  And so it goes.  I smile, make conversation, even if I have pressing issues otherwise.  Why, you may ask?  Because, you see, that precious little lady with the helmet-hair will call my Mama as soon as she gets home if I’m rude, and then I have to purchase new pants because the butt has been chewed off of my old ones.  That’s how it goes.  I don’t really mind most of the time.  I laugh as I’m walking back to my car, simultaneously shaking my head.  And I still get the call from my Mama later.  “I heard you saw so-and-so at the Rouses.  She said you look tired, and you were buying Tylenol.  Are you sick?”  Sigh.

And this is how it goes, in every part of the city, day in and day out.  It amazes me that anyone pays a parking ticket in this town.  Everybody knows somebody whose mother’s cousin is a police officer, or a senator.  And, when planning any type of event, you better check with your Mama, Daddy, Father-in-Law, Mother-in-Law and the rest of your family tree because that cousin of yours (or theirs) is a florist, baker, tailor or crawfish boil master, and they will be offended if you don’t ask for their help.  And, just pray for sanity if there are TWO crawfish boil masters in the family.

In a world where people put their private lives on display, then complain they have no privacy, us Louisianans laugh.  We’ve never had privacy.  That boil you had in the third grade?  Yeah, everybody knows.  Why?  Because your Mama called everybody and asked what the best remedy would be.  And, don’t be surprised when it comes up in civilized conversation at a dinner party.  “That boil you had once, did it ever come back?  Did it leave a scar?  Can I see, because, you know, my sister has a boil?”  And now YOU have dinner conversation.  “Did you hear about Amy’s sister’s boil?”

However, with our c’est la vie attitude that I mentioned before, we let it roll off.  Laugh about it sometimes, cringe at others.  It is futile to argue.  Let me explain why.  Follow this conversation:

Me:  Hi, Mom!  I called to see if Daddy is feeling ok today.

Mom:  He’s ok, I suppose.  Nothing we can’t handle.  Oh, I heard you’re planning to go on   vacation!  Where ya goiiinnnn??

Me:  Who said that?

Mom:  Well, your Nanny’s (Godmother, anywhere else) hairdresser saw you at the mall buying a swimsuit in January.  I assume that means you are going somewhere tropical.  Why else would you buy a swimsuit in January?  Are you going to Grand Isle?  She also said your roots needed a touch-up.

Sheesh.

And we laugh.  Because, why not laugh?  It’s the way of life here.  And it’s not just the city itself.  It’s all over this glorious state.  I can be in Baton Rouge.  *Tap on shoulder* “Aren’t you so-and-so’s little girl?”  Sigh.

As I have said before, tourist or native.  You will not meet a stranger in this city.  Because, for every person that’s rude to you here (they probably weren’t born in Louisiana, we won’t claim them), you will find a dozen that will go out of their way to help you out, and while they are doing so subtly (or not-so-subtly) grill you about who you are and where you’re from.  Why do we do that?  I guess we all see ourselves as an extended family.  Your happiness is ours, so is your pain, joy and shame.  We live it with you, sympathize or empathize, depending on the situation.  We love to talk and connect with other people.  You would think there is a prize for the most talkative New Orleanian.  There isn’t.  

That’s why our politics are so fabulous (That’s a whole different topic, though).

Well, my dears, I have a million and one ideas to write about.  If you have suggestions, comments, feedback, let me know.  The comments are open to everyone, not just Google users.  And the response to this has been overwhelming, and I thank you.  And to my UK, French and Italian readers, Hey, y’all welcome to our particular brand of crazy!

Love to all, and say hey if you see me at the Rouses.

 

A couple of pictures.

       Sugarcane fields in Napoleonville, cut down and ready to burn for the winter.
                 This is actually right out of a family member's back door!

One of UL's baby gators left to roam the campus' swamp freely.  I ain't petting him!

Acadiana

Well, here it is Monday morning after a devastating Saints loss.  I would go on about how disappointed we all are, but I’m sure the regular media is well taking care of that.  The only thing I will say is that I’m damn proud about the turnout at Armstrong Airport at close to two in the morning Sunday to welcome our boys home.  We might have lost in an incredible emotional rollercoaster of a game, but we still love them.

Today, I am going to learn you something.  I’m actually not sure if that’s a national thing, or a Louisiana thing, but it basically means I am going to educate you a little bit.  I’ve heard the term since I was a little girl.  I’ll try not to be too dry.

As much as I love New Orleans, as if you couldn’t tell, this state is a mish-mash of different cultures.  Recently I had the privilege of spending a few months in Lafayette, Louisiana, also known as the heart of Acadiana.  

You may have heard the term before, Acadiana, Acadian, and Acadians.  It refers to a region of Louisiana and the people that live there.  You may also be familiar with their other unofficial title, Cajuns.

If you didn’t know (and some people don’t), Louisiana is the only state in the nation that does not have counties.  We have Parishes.  It’s kind of a Catholic thing.  I won’t get into it now.  However, if I say parish, think county.  We won’t hold it against you.  Acadiana usually refers to 22 parishes that stretch from just west of New Orleans to the Texas border.  Just to name a few, Lafayette, Acadia, Evangeline, Iberia, Saint Charles, Saint John the Baptist, Saint Mary, Saint Landry and Saint Martin (you feeling the Catholic love yet??).  Some of the largest metropolitan areas are the cities of Lafayette, Houma, Thibodaux and Lake Charles.  It’s also where the majority of Louisiana’s oil is produced.  Didn’t know we had a bunch of oil?  Well, we do.  Also, there are miles and miles of sugarcane fields.  Miles of them.  Everywhere.  

If New Orleans is the Hollywood of the south, Acadiana is the Napa Valley.  The region of Acadiana was named such because of the heavy French influence in the area, dubbed in Cajun French L’Acadiane.  It is one of the most breathtakingly beautiful areas of the state.  What will you see there?  Well darlin’, let me tell ya.  Swamps, all over, bayous and cypress trees dripping with moss.  Live oak trees with branches dipping and touching the ground, begging to be climbed on.  Acres of sugarcane and rice fields.  If you’re lucky, your Daddy has a pocket knife, and the farmer isn’t around, and he’ll cut you a fresh piece of sugarcane off the side of the road that you can chew on all day.  Old homes lifted off the ground by bricks with rusted tin roofs and cypress siding right next to brand-new mansions built to resemble them.  Plantation-style homes with big white columns and wavy glass that is older than your great-great grandma.  And from the dilapidated to the decadent, every house has a wide front porch with a couple of rocking chairs or a big swing, built to catch the summer breeze off the bayou, where the kids can play in the front yard and you can catch up with your neighbors.  Everywhere you turn, there is a family owned business, a fruit and vegetable stand with prices listed and a bucket where you can pay and nobody is around.  You don’t see a lot of McDonalds, Wal-Marts or other chain stores.  Those Cajuns are fiercely loyal to their home and don’t take kindly to strangers moving in on their territory.  

Lafayette, where I was staying, was dubbed by the love of my life as “New Orleans Lite”.  It has everything you want from a small city; shopping, restaurants, culture, with not a lot of the fuss.  It is also home to another hidden gem, The University of Louisiana at Lafayette.  He acquired his BA and MA there, and then proceeded to teach there for a decade.  Compared to the relative insanity of LSU where the focus is usually football, UL is quiet, almost serene.  Old red brick buildings and walking paths welcome you as soon as you walk on campus.  Hell, it’s the only University anywhere that has a swamp with real live alligators on campus.  I’m not kidding.  The middle of campus.  If you are brave, you could try and pet one, although, I wouldn’t recommend that.  If you are interested in going to a Louisiana college just for academic purposes, UL is where you want to be.

Lafayette has two industries, College and Oil.  On any given day, you can see sleek black Limousines creeping through the “Oil Center” part of town, chauffeuring unknown oil tycoons to secret meetings god-knows-where to deal in millions of dollars.  The food is unbelievable.  Not only do you have the Cajuns there, but a large Greek population, Spanish and even Japanese.    You can get a delicate croissant and walk next door and have the most unbelievable hummus of your life, then pick up twenty pounds of boiled crawfish to eat for supper, later.  It is a town of contradictions.  

Acadiana is special to me for many reasons.  As a child, sitting on my grandmother’s houseboat on the river, listening to my grandfather call the gators right up to the porch, was the first time I ever felt like I was home, and then, I lost her.  The second time was in a small apartment in the heart of the Westbank, where I found unconditional love and acceptance for the first time in my life, and then it was ripped away.  The third time, the time that stuck, was in an old house, right off the main drag near UL, where all of my dreams came true and my fairy tale came to life.  But that, Cher, is a story for another day.

Everyone in Louisiana has a “country” set of relatives down in Acadiana.  No matter if it’s in Lafayette, Opelousas, Napoleonville, Houma or Crowley.  We can all trace our Boudreaux, Prejean, Thibodaux, Richard, and Allemand heritage back there, somehow.  If you are going to visit Louisiana, or have just moved here, take the day.  Take the drive down Highway 90.  Watch the beautiful white cranes float majestically over the swamp.  Play count the gator and the nutria rat.  Taste the food, and talk to the people that call this beautiful place their home.  You won’t regret it.

MS vs. LA, The Showdown

I have never really said where I lived before.  I lived for a while in Mississippi.  Yeah, I know.  I am pretty well covered in tattoos, with bleached blonde hair and a bad attitude.  I BELONG in NOLA.  At first, it was an adventure.  I bought cowboy boots, I lived in a trailer.  I tried to change who I was, to fit in where I was.  I did this for years.  I lived out in the country for a long time.  I lived on the coast for a while.  I died a little every day.

I never fit in.  My accent never changed.  Even after 10 years of living there, people still asked me if I was "from up north".  I found myself smothering in the small-town mindset.  And I did the opposite of what I thought I would do.  At first, like I said, I tried desperately to fit in, then all pretense washed away.  You can take the girl out of NOLA (finish cliche' here).  The friends I did manage to make there always presented me with a disclaimer when meeting their other friends "Don't mind what she says, she's from New Orleans".

So what did I do?  Every chance I had I found myself running back home.  I missed the feel of the city, everything it had to offer.  There wasn't even a MOVIE THEATER where I lived, because the town couldn't sustain one.  I was living in a cultural cesspool.

I found that when I returned home for visits, I came alive again.  I went to concerts, roamed the Quarter and Downtown.  I gorged myself on food.  I smiled, a lot.

So, I packed it in, stopped pretending, and moved.  I found myself in the place where I belonged.  No more did I have to hide my ink, apologize for my accent or the fact that I seemed to think differently than everyone else.

What frustrated me most about living in southern MS was the fact that they claimed to embrace everything NOLA, but with their second face, would exclaim what a "dirty, corrupt" place it was and how MS was SO very much better.  Well, which is it, you can't have your king cake and eat it, too.  That drives me crazy about people, you can't claim to love something with exceptions, you either love it in totality, or you don't love it at all.  Because, simply, love requires totality.

I love my friends that live in MS, they are a spirited bunch.  I tell them all the time that I don't hold where they live against them, if they don't hold NOLA against me.  But, they come down here often, to escape the small town suffocation.  However, when I have to go to MS, I get in and get out as quickly as possible.

Hey, where you live is your choice.  If you are happy where you are, congrats, and I am happy for you.  But one thing I have noticed, and this applies more often than not, people leave NOLA, BUT, no matter how hard you scrub in the shower, you can't wash the city off of you.  I see over and over again, friends that I have known since childhood and that have moved away, lamenting and even mourning the parts of this city that make it different than anywhere else in the world.

I'm glad I'm home y'all.

C'est La Vie

C'est La Vie is a French phrase meaning "such is life".  In and around Louisiana, with its massive French influence, you will hear this phrase being used on a regular basis.  It pretty well sums up our attitude toward things that go wrong or things we cannot control.  I'm seeing it a lot today.

Last night, damn near every television in Louisiana was tuned into ESPN for the championship game against Alabama.  Humorous rivalry and ribbing on both sides blew the game into epic proportions.  As we all sat and watched LSU tumble, I was right there with my friends on my Facebook feed, blasting Les Miles for all I was worth, while simultaneously screaming at the television words I will not repeat in mixed company.  The anger on social media last night was palpable.  Louisiana takes two things seriously above all, food and football.  I made one final joke in a status update last night, and went to sleep.

The amazing thing this morning, though, was when I woke up I kind of expected bitterness to still be pouring through my handheld, but instead what I saw, made me smile, then laugh, then realize why I love this place more than ever.

The same people I have known for most of my life were congratulating Bama on a game well played.  Commenting on how they really played their hearts out and how LSU didn't bring their A game.  Then the part that really made me smile.  Many of them commented "At least we still have the Saints!  Who Dat!"

This is a prime example of the "C'est La Vie" attitude that has carried this state for so very long.  We lost, can't control it, but we will still will find something to look forward to and celebrate.  Such is life.  We damn near lost this city to a horrific natural disaster, we cant control it, we will come back better than ever.  Such is life.  New Orlenians, hell Louisianians in general, always strive to find the silver lining.  You can't keep us down for long. 

So this week, I imagine that I will see a sudden change in the color of the City from purple and gold back to black and gold.  People will be over their heartbreak of the LSU loss by tomorrow, replaced by Saints Superbowl dreams. 

Outsiders don't seem to understand us very well.  And that's OK.  We really don't care if they do or don't.  We understand each other, and we will still wear that purple and gold with pride, because, hey, there is always next season. 

And this Saturday, because it isn't a Dome game, I will be at my Mother-in-Law's, in my number nine jersey, cheering those boys on with high-fives and Who Dats!  Because, simply, that's how we do.

C'est La Vie.

The Reasoning

I wrote "Louisiana Girl" on Facebook, as a response to someone who asked "What's the big deal about everyone jumping on the LSU bandwagon?" or something like that.  I didn't say anything original, nothing that hasn't been said about our beloved state before.  Several people messaged me, asked me to write more.  Its taken me a few days, but here I am.  If you choose to follow this blog, I'd be quite flattered.  I have so many things that fill my days, but I'm hoping this will be a catharsis of sorts, a way to share my love of where I live.

Many people say "what's the big deal about New Orleans, anyway?".  Well, NOLA natives, as a whole, are some of the strangest people you will ever meet.  We speak our own language, are fiercely loyal to our Home, party like rock stars even if it's Tuesday and we have five bucks until payday, work hard when we have to and support each other in good times and bad.  I'm not trying to glamorize this city.  It's crowded, dirty and we have rude people just like every other "major" city in the states.  However, I've been a few places, not many, a few, and lemme tell ya, nowhere else will you see things like you see here.  We may laugh at the tourists, but we usually won't be outright rude to them.  You don't usually meet a stranger in this city.  Spend ten minutes with a NOLA native, you'll see.  We aren't nosy, but we will ask you who your Daddy is and whatcha Mama's maiden name is, just to see if we may be related, or know someone in your family.  You don't find many natives haunting "The Quarter" but every now and again we "play tourist", just to feel the pulse of our city, and remind ourselves why we love it so.

No other place in the world embraces our eccentric nature like we do.  Just because the person in the elevator next to you has blue hair and ninety tattoos, don't be fooled.  They just might be a prominent local business owner, just like the guy on your other side in the Brook's Brothers suit.  We are indulgent to a fault when it comes to other locals.  I remember as a girl, there was a local "homeless" man who held a sign that stood at the on ramp to the GNO bridge.  (Crescent City Connection, my ass, it was the GNO and always will be.)  Never fails, that when you sat at that light at Terry Parkway, you would see several people give him change or dollar bills.  We all knew at the end of the day, he walked across the expressway and got in his new Caddy and drove home to god-knows-where.  But, people gave him their spare change, anyway.  Only in NOLA is begging an art.  People will preform on the street for your change.  Little boys with bottle caps on their shoes tap dancing, the lone sax player, the mimes and the card readers.  They all help make the heartbeat of this place.  

I could wax poetic about my home for hours.  And I probably will.  I hope I will give you some understanding and insight about my home, maybe bring a little New Orleans flavor into your life.  We are, after all, the European Nation here in the US.  If you have any questions about our life here please feel free to ask.  

Until later, I have things to do today, and a big LSU game to prepare for tonight.  Rock your purple and gold today and let the love flow.

Later Y'all.