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.