Despite tremendous winds -- so strong that nearly all the booths at the Lafayette Square concert were NOT set up, for fear of blowing away, so strong that every gust brought handfuls of dust and grit from all over into your face and eyes and mouth -- the Wednesday at the Square Concert went on as scheduled. Big Man and I met up with my sister D and we three found a good spot in front of what would have been the sound booth but was this week just a sound table. I do believe the crowd was dampened a bit by the extreme wind, so it wasn't as packed as one might have expected. But that just means it as easier to find a good spot to sit, and there were no lines for food (which also was just tables, and not booths, due to the wind).
Irvin Mayfield needed no warm-up group, and just took over the whole two hours. A big band, with Kid Chocolate Brown as the second trumpet, Shannon Powell on drums, David Torkanowsky on the piano, a sax player, and a bassist. Big surprise: Creole jazz banjoist Don Vappie -- nice! They started with some classics, and frankly, I've never seen Irvin so relaxed and comfortable onstage. His playing was smooth and sharp at the same time, and he gave lots of encouragement to his bandmates.
Sitting in the back of the stage were three young women dressed in burlesque-type outfits, and we could not figure out why they were there (though they did seem to be enjoying themselves to the music). Big Man commented, "I think Irvin's been on Bourbon Street too long!" But it became clear in the second half of the show.
The second set began with a tune by some kids that Irvin's is teaching music to, what he called his "Saddy students." (Didja ever notice that working class New Orleanians try to drop and compress syllables, and upper crust New Orleanians stretch them out?) These kids were absolutely terrific, especially this tiny trumpeter, who couldn't have been any more than 8 years old, if he was that, who totally blew us all away with his skillful jazz solo. Irvin said into the mike, "Y'all give him a big hand, this boy tryin' to steal my gig!" We screamed and hollered. I wish I had caught his name, 'cause I feel like years from now, we will want to say, "Oh yeah, I first saw him when he was just a little kid, one of Irvin's students, playing at a Wednesday at the Square concert, back in the day."
After the students left, Irvin led the band through some local favorite tunes, and then called up his next guest -- who was none other than "Trombone Shorty" Troy Andrews!! Wow! Irvin handed Troy his horn, and Troy blew a great version of "Do What You Wanna." With no horn to blow, Irvin was left to vocalize, and to our amazement, he began exhorting the crowd to "shake what yo' mama gave ya" and "c'mon, mama, shake yo' ass." He doesn't sound like THAT when he plays up North!
Irvin himself seemed to emphasize his at-homeness, telling the crowd, "You don't find THIS in Houston, you don't find this in Los Angeles, you don't find this in New York, you don't find this in Chicago" and so on, the crowd appropriately hollering, "NO!" to each iteration of another city.
After Shorty left -- with the crowds screams and applause in his ears, no doubt -- leaving the fancy matte Monette horn to Irvin, Irvin called up another guest, this time Sasha Masakowski. Little Sasha, daughter of jazz guitarist Steve Masakowski, who I last saw opening for Aaron Neville at the House of Blues last December, has really grown into her voice and persona -- she was hot as fire, doing an incredible smoky version of "St. James Infirmary." Whew.
And then when SHE left, Irvin called up Miss Trixie Minx, of the burlesque troupe that appears every Friday night at midnight at Irvin's Bourbon Street club, and one of the three burly-Q ladies that had been adorning the stage all during the first set. Trixie preened and pranced and flirted with giant white feather fans to Vappie's rendition of Blue Lu Barker's steamy classic "Don't You Feel My Leg." It was pretty hot, though, as such things go, it was pretty tame. I mean, you can see more skin on most beaches. It's not like she was actually stripping and showing body parts or anything. Still and all, it's hard to believe this would be public-park, family-friendly fare anywhere but New Orleans. (And indeed, Irvin started up again with his, "They're not doing THAT in Houston, etc." You bet they're not.)
The party was still going on, with Irvin threatening to hold a second line from Lafayette Square to his club on Bourbon as Big Man and I left to see if we had gotten a parking ticket. (Our luck held -- we hadn't.) As we walked, we tried to decide why Irvin seemed so different tonight than the ways we had seen him in Philadelphia and Cape May and Wilmington when we lived up North. Part of it might be just the passage of years -- Irvin has matured as a man and as a player, and that surely contributes to it. But it was not just maturity and confidence that we noticed -- it was also the looseness, the sense of playfulness that Irvin brought to this show. (And all those shout-outs to the crowd.) It has to be his feeling so at home in this special place -- it was New Orleans helping him to be that way. A wonderful thing. Probably the best Wednesday at the Square we've ever attended.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Maundy Thursday at Dooky Chase -- But Without RJH
Another Holy Thursday rolls around, and again it is time to go to Dooky Chase restaurant in Treme and eat the superb gumbo dez'herbes. This is a traditional Creole Lenten dish, especially for this particular day, made up of 7 different greens and 7 different meats, to fortify good Catholics for the fast that follows on Good Friday. Mrs. Leah Chase's version is probably definitive, and I've been enjoying this dish on this day with a select group in Dooky's Gold Room gathered by my dear friend, the late RJH, with only the hiatus of my years of living in exile from the city. (Although RJH used to include me every year in the email invitation, whether I was going to be in town or not, whether out of habit or as a goad to get to me, I'll never know now.)
RJH died this past January, and at his funeral repast at Dooky's, his family and close friends all agreed that we would continue the tradition he started. So that very evening, Jacques Morial, son of the late mayor (another good friend of RJH, and the reason he and I first met) booked the Gold Room for Maundy Thursday with Mrs. Leah, who teared up at the gesture.
So there we all were, once more passing by the enormous line at the door to enter the Gold Room to greet each other, and where it seemed strange indeed not to see RJH standing there to welcome us. One member of the group had brought a small framed photo of RJH, and we all took turns posing with it and having it on our table -- because, don't you know, RJH loved to work a room and could never stay at his own table for long. (The rest of you outside our group who have to wait in the line -- believe me, it's well worth it!)
Two of RJH's three sons were there (one lives in town, one is a professor in San Francisco, and the middle son lives in Switzerland), and at the prodding of RJH's long-time companion D, stood and addressed the crowd warmly, thanking everyone for coming, and reminding us all that RJH's work for social justice and equality for New Orleans and Louisiana remained unfinished. We cheered. Talk at the tables was the usual -- politics and gossip, and our memories of RJH. A local lawyer, long a friend and ally of RJH, but with whom RJH often disagreed, confessed that he was still having arguments with RJH in his mind, and that no matter what, apparently they still disagreed. I admitted to dreaming about RJH last night, and getting scolded by him, that I wasn't doing enough, or doing it "right."
Well, we ate the wonderful green gumbo, and fried chicken, and the sweet corn bread that's almost like dessert, and drank iced tea and Dooky's strong hot coffee. We laughed and we talked and we remembered -- and when Mrs. Leah stepped into the room to greet us, we all applauded loud and long.
Miss you, RJH, always will. But we're keepin' the faith, and keepin' up with the sacred rituals and traditions that were important to you.
RJH died this past January, and at his funeral repast at Dooky's, his family and close friends all agreed that we would continue the tradition he started. So that very evening, Jacques Morial, son of the late mayor (another good friend of RJH, and the reason he and I first met) booked the Gold Room for Maundy Thursday with Mrs. Leah, who teared up at the gesture.
So there we all were, once more passing by the enormous line at the door to enter the Gold Room to greet each other, and where it seemed strange indeed not to see RJH standing there to welcome us. One member of the group had brought a small framed photo of RJH, and we all took turns posing with it and having it on our table -- because, don't you know, RJH loved to work a room and could never stay at his own table for long. (The rest of you outside our group who have to wait in the line -- believe me, it's well worth it!)
Two of RJH's three sons were there (one lives in town, one is a professor in San Francisco, and the middle son lives in Switzerland), and at the prodding of RJH's long-time companion D, stood and addressed the crowd warmly, thanking everyone for coming, and reminding us all that RJH's work for social justice and equality for New Orleans and Louisiana remained unfinished. We cheered. Talk at the tables was the usual -- politics and gossip, and our memories of RJH. A local lawyer, long a friend and ally of RJH, but with whom RJH often disagreed, confessed that he was still having arguments with RJH in his mind, and that no matter what, apparently they still disagreed. I admitted to dreaming about RJH last night, and getting scolded by him, that I wasn't doing enough, or doing it "right."
Well, we ate the wonderful green gumbo, and fried chicken, and the sweet corn bread that's almost like dessert, and drank iced tea and Dooky's strong hot coffee. We laughed and we talked and we remembered -- and when Mrs. Leah stepped into the room to greet us, we all applauded loud and long.
Miss you, RJH, always will. But we're keepin' the faith, and keepin' up with the sacred rituals and traditions that were important to you.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Perino's Boiling Pot
We were in the midst of Saturday chores, me writing away for Sunday on the laptop, and jumping up to do laundry, and Big Man diligently practicing trumpet when late day hunger pangs rolled around. "What do you want to do for lunch?" Big Man asked me. I think he was thinking something quick and cheap and close-by, like Please You or something, but instead I replied, "I feel like a big ol' mess of boiled seafood."
We consulted on where to go and I held out for Perino's Boiling Pot, a local favorite in Marrero on the West Bank. I had heard great things about it, about how it was almost like West End in the old days, with spicy fresh boiled seafood served hot from the pot at family-style tables (only air conditioned and inside, instead of hot and outside like out at the Lake back in the day). And I had heard they were inexpensive.
Today was another beautiful day, clear blue sky, warm mild temperatures, and we enjoyed our little drive across the River and over the West Bank Expressway to Barataria. We exited, crossed over, and found Perino's, a large brick hall with ample parking in front and behind. Being as we woke late and were now having a late lunch, it was not very crowded.
Inside, it was the typical old-fashioned arrangement with a bar as you come in, gaming area to your right, and the dining room with the long tables (to be shared if things get crowded) to the left, seat yourself. It's telling that there is a big sign over the bar marking where folks who've phoned in their orders can pick up their big sacks of "berled" seafood to eat at home or take on a picnic.
As I say, it was not crowded -- there an older white lady sitting by herself, an African-American couple, a white dad with lots of tattoos and his two teenage children, and a Latino couple. Every single person there was scarfing down big round trays of crawfish, crabs, shrimp, and oysters. We took our seats at the end of a long table and told the waitress what we wanted. (There are menus to be looked at, but there's also signs posted up on the walls.)
We got three pounds of boiled crawfish (to give you an idea, they advertise 5 pounds of crawfish for $19.99, but we knew we didn't need that much), 1 pound boiled shrimp, an order of boiled new potatoes, 2 ears of corn boiled with the seafood, and one large hot sausage ditto. We also got 2 diet Barq's in bottles (but if you order fountain drinks or iced tea, there's unlimited refills). They have these cool metal thingys on the tables, sort of like in a pizza joint, so that they can layer the tray for the shells and waste under the tray with the seafood on it -- very convenient.
Everything was beautifully spiced -- after a while, my lips got that tingly, almost swollen feeling that is desired by all true New Orleanians when eating boiled seafood. The new potatoes were tiny, almost one-bite sized, and had soaked the perfect amount of the pot spice. The corn was sweet and spicy at the same time, and the sausage was long enough to split evenly and generously for two. The shrimp were large and perfectly cooked, and very easy to peel. Perino's makes its own delicious shrimp cocktail sauce, available on every table (along with three different bottles of hot sauce for the discerning diner). We ate and ate, sucking heads, squeezing tails, and getting delight and satisfaction form every single bite. Big Man said, "Where's this place been all my life?"
We'll even give a positive review to the restrooms, which have deep stainless steel sinks and those neat Dyson hand dryers that take like 10 seconds to dry your hands completely. (That guy is amazing! What will he think of next?) I noticed that every woman on her way into the Ladies Room held her messy hands up stiffly and awkwardly, like surgeons on their way into the OR.
We were fully satisfied and perfectly happy on leaving, paying a mere grand total of $40. You can be assured that we've added the Boiling Pot to our list of "return often" local restaurants. We recommend you go too.
We consulted on where to go and I held out for Perino's Boiling Pot, a local favorite in Marrero on the West Bank. I had heard great things about it, about how it was almost like West End in the old days, with spicy fresh boiled seafood served hot from the pot at family-style tables (only air conditioned and inside, instead of hot and outside like out at the Lake back in the day). And I had heard they were inexpensive.
Today was another beautiful day, clear blue sky, warm mild temperatures, and we enjoyed our little drive across the River and over the West Bank Expressway to Barataria. We exited, crossed over, and found Perino's, a large brick hall with ample parking in front and behind. Being as we woke late and were now having a late lunch, it was not very crowded.
Inside, it was the typical old-fashioned arrangement with a bar as you come in, gaming area to your right, and the dining room with the long tables (to be shared if things get crowded) to the left, seat yourself. It's telling that there is a big sign over the bar marking where folks who've phoned in their orders can pick up their big sacks of "berled" seafood to eat at home or take on a picnic.
As I say, it was not crowded -- there an older white lady sitting by herself, an African-American couple, a white dad with lots of tattoos and his two teenage children, and a Latino couple. Every single person there was scarfing down big round trays of crawfish, crabs, shrimp, and oysters. We took our seats at the end of a long table and told the waitress what we wanted. (There are menus to be looked at, but there's also signs posted up on the walls.)
We got three pounds of boiled crawfish (to give you an idea, they advertise 5 pounds of crawfish for $19.99, but we knew we didn't need that much), 1 pound boiled shrimp, an order of boiled new potatoes, 2 ears of corn boiled with the seafood, and one large hot sausage ditto. We also got 2 diet Barq's in bottles (but if you order fountain drinks or iced tea, there's unlimited refills). They have these cool metal thingys on the tables, sort of like in a pizza joint, so that they can layer the tray for the shells and waste under the tray with the seafood on it -- very convenient.
Everything was beautifully spiced -- after a while, my lips got that tingly, almost swollen feeling that is desired by all true New Orleanians when eating boiled seafood. The new potatoes were tiny, almost one-bite sized, and had soaked the perfect amount of the pot spice. The corn was sweet and spicy at the same time, and the sausage was long enough to split evenly and generously for two. The shrimp were large and perfectly cooked, and very easy to peel. Perino's makes its own delicious shrimp cocktail sauce, available on every table (along with three different bottles of hot sauce for the discerning diner). We ate and ate, sucking heads, squeezing tails, and getting delight and satisfaction form every single bite. Big Man said, "Where's this place been all my life?"
We'll even give a positive review to the restrooms, which have deep stainless steel sinks and those neat Dyson hand dryers that take like 10 seconds to dry your hands completely. (That guy is amazing! What will he think of next?) I noticed that every woman on her way into the Ladies Room held her messy hands up stiffly and awkwardly, like surgeons on their way into the OR.
We were fully satisfied and perfectly happy on leaving, paying a mere grand total of $40. You can be assured that we've added the Boiling Pot to our list of "return often" local restaurants. We recommend you go too.
Friday, April 15, 2011
The Old Coffeepot
Last night, Big Man was asked by Gypsy Elise to join her and her husband at a little gig they had at The Old Coffeepot Cafe on St. Peter Street in the Quarter, just past Preservation Hall and Pat O's. Way way back in the day, this used to be called Macxy's Coffeepot, and was renowned for its grillades and grits traditional Creole breakfast, but is now just The Coffeepot and does bigger business for lunch and late dinner. It consists of a small indoor dining room with a bar, and a side and back courtyard, where one assumes the original carriageway was, which has lovely local murals painted on the walls.
I have taken folks from out of town here before, and I was not aware that live music had been added. But with Big Man getting the invite to blow with them, and having a ministerial colleague in from out of town, we decided to combine it all for one fun evening.
After finding a lucky legal space to park on Canal, Street, we walked my friend down Bourbon, both so Big Man could check on possible progress on getting his nightclub open (no dice), and so our out-of-towner could get the full effect of the street. Arriving at The Coffeepot (we were unable to short-cut through Pat O'Brien's Courtyard, as it was host to a private party -- too bad!), we found a table available in the courtyard near the musicians, and we sat there as Big Man and his horn were called on stage.
We sat there and we sat there. After we were seated by the hostess, who assured us she was getting our waiter right away, we got nothing. No water, no menus, no drink orders, no nothing. We did see a waiter and a waitress, but they completely ignored us in serving other tables. (Admittedly, all the other tables around us were full, but we weren't even acknowledged.) Good thing the music was so good.
After like 10 minutes, I went back to the hostess and told her, "Look, I'm local, and I understand how things get sometimes, but i've got a friend with me from out of town, and this is ridiculous. We need our waiter." She apologized and said she was going to go get him. I went back to the table and we sat and we sat and we sat. The hostess finally came by and dropped off menus. We waited some more, and after a while, the hostess came back with our three ice waters. She kept saying the waiter was coming.
Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime but was more like 20 minutes, our waiter showed up, apologized, and said (unconvincingly) that he hadn't known we were there, and/or that he hadn't known he was responsible for us. He took our drink orders and left. Then he came back and told me they were all out of fresh mint for the Louisiana mojito I ordered, and said he'd make me a "great hurricane, the best I ever drank." I'm sorry, I had to grab his shirt sleeve. "I'm a native," I said to him clearly, "I haven't had a hurricane in over 40 years and I'm not gonna start up again now. I hate the things -- DO NOT bring me a hurricane." He apologized again and took my order for a classic martini. (I mean, REALLY, I haven't had a hurricane since I was 17 years old and as far as I'm concerned, that's who they're designed for -- for people too young and inexperienced to drink real drinks.)
He finally brought the drinks, and I ordered food for myself and Big Man, and then he walked off, *without* getting the order for my friend from out of town! I had to chase him down and bring him back! Imagine! And then when the food came, he got it all wrong and we had to switch plates round and round on the table.
Luckily, all the food was very very good -- the two different gumbos were dark and smoky and chock full of chicken and andouille and seafood, respectively; the crawfish and crab balls were well-fried, golden brown and yummy; the nice-size barbeque shrimp in its unusual thick and spicy sauce; the really wonderful parmesan crusted redfish over creamy risotto topped with steamed asparagus (NOT grilled, as the menu had said, but still, good). So we were happy with all the food, and of course, the music was terrific. But really, the service!
Since I've raved about restaurants on this blog before, it seems only fair to be honest and forthright when something goes wrong. If you go to The Old Coffeepot, be ready for good food and the occasional great music but bad service. And look out for the brassy and entertaining Gypsy Elise, you might get lucky and hear Big Man singing and blowing trumpet with her!
I have taken folks from out of town here before, and I was not aware that live music had been added. But with Big Man getting the invite to blow with them, and having a ministerial colleague in from out of town, we decided to combine it all for one fun evening.
After finding a lucky legal space to park on Canal, Street, we walked my friend down Bourbon, both so Big Man could check on possible progress on getting his nightclub open (no dice), and so our out-of-towner could get the full effect of the street. Arriving at The Coffeepot (we were unable to short-cut through Pat O'Brien's Courtyard, as it was host to a private party -- too bad!), we found a table available in the courtyard near the musicians, and we sat there as Big Man and his horn were called on stage.
We sat there and we sat there. After we were seated by the hostess, who assured us she was getting our waiter right away, we got nothing. No water, no menus, no drink orders, no nothing. We did see a waiter and a waitress, but they completely ignored us in serving other tables. (Admittedly, all the other tables around us were full, but we weren't even acknowledged.) Good thing the music was so good.
After like 10 minutes, I went back to the hostess and told her, "Look, I'm local, and I understand how things get sometimes, but i've got a friend with me from out of town, and this is ridiculous. We need our waiter." She apologized and said she was going to go get him. I went back to the table and we sat and we sat and we sat. The hostess finally came by and dropped off menus. We waited some more, and after a while, the hostess came back with our three ice waters. She kept saying the waiter was coming.
Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime but was more like 20 minutes, our waiter showed up, apologized, and said (unconvincingly) that he hadn't known we were there, and/or that he hadn't known he was responsible for us. He took our drink orders and left. Then he came back and told me they were all out of fresh mint for the Louisiana mojito I ordered, and said he'd make me a "great hurricane, the best I ever drank." I'm sorry, I had to grab his shirt sleeve. "I'm a native," I said to him clearly, "I haven't had a hurricane in over 40 years and I'm not gonna start up again now. I hate the things -- DO NOT bring me a hurricane." He apologized again and took my order for a classic martini. (I mean, REALLY, I haven't had a hurricane since I was 17 years old and as far as I'm concerned, that's who they're designed for -- for people too young and inexperienced to drink real drinks.)
He finally brought the drinks, and I ordered food for myself and Big Man, and then he walked off, *without* getting the order for my friend from out of town! I had to chase him down and bring him back! Imagine! And then when the food came, he got it all wrong and we had to switch plates round and round on the table.
Luckily, all the food was very very good -- the two different gumbos were dark and smoky and chock full of chicken and andouille and seafood, respectively; the crawfish and crab balls were well-fried, golden brown and yummy; the nice-size barbeque shrimp in its unusual thick and spicy sauce; the really wonderful parmesan crusted redfish over creamy risotto topped with steamed asparagus (NOT grilled, as the menu had said, but still, good). So we were happy with all the food, and of course, the music was terrific. But really, the service!
Since I've raved about restaurants on this blog before, it seems only fair to be honest and forthright when something goes wrong. If you go to The Old Coffeepot, be ready for good food and the occasional great music but bad service. And look out for the brassy and entertaining Gypsy Elise, you might get lucky and hear Big Man singing and blowing trumpet with her!
Kermit at the Square
Who doesn't love Kermit Ruffins? The Wednesday at the Square Concert on April 13 featured the hugely popular trumpet player/vocalist/entertainer as the headliner, and the Square was nearly as full as it had been the week before for Trombone Shorty. The YLC was prepared for this, and had arranged for all the food booths to move off the square to the street to make more room. (However, interestingly, the video screen we had noticed last week for the overflow crowd seemed to be gone this week.)
At my suggestion, some volunteers from a church in Nevada cancelled their dinner at our church's Volunteer Center in order to enjoy the food and fun at Lafayette Square. I got lots of kudos on that score!
We tried some new dishes we'd like to recommend: the excellent and tender and perfectly spiced chicken confit po-boy with spicy cole slaw on a fresh pistolet roll from the Brennan's Cafe Adelaide (Orlando, the sous chef was there, touting his wares in friendly fashion), and the *wonderful* fresh mixed seafood ceviche in mango and pineapple salsa. And we'd like to give a shout-out to the new addition of Luzianne iced tea at the Square, including the several flavors of diet iced tea on hand. Way better than having to choose between plain water and sodium-laced diet sodas for those not wanting alcohol.
A big intergenerational and interracial crowd gathered in the square to hear Kermit regale us with his version of jazz standards ("Ain't Misbehavin' "), cult hits ("if You're a Viper"), New Orleans classics ("Hey Pocky Way"), and older pop tunes done Kermit style ("More Than Yesterday"). Kermit was nattily dressed, in white shirt (untucked) over white pants, debonair navy blazer, white kerchief topped with a Meyer the Hatter white straw fedora. (At one point during his show, the brisk wind blew his hat off and Tambourine Green had to chase it across the stage. Kermit didn't miss a note and just kept blowing.)
As always, Kermit put on a great show. He is such a gifted entertainer. He is not by any means the best trumpeter player in town, but he doesn't need to be -- his show is all about giving the "music lovers" (Kermit's favorite way to address his fans a great show, and he does that, every time. Late in his set, he called up James Witfield "The Sleeping Giant" onstage for some killer vocals and great stage presence, but he didn't need to. We were all psyched up for Kermit, and he didn't disappoint.
At my suggestion, some volunteers from a church in Nevada cancelled their dinner at our church's Volunteer Center in order to enjoy the food and fun at Lafayette Square. I got lots of kudos on that score!
We tried some new dishes we'd like to recommend: the excellent and tender and perfectly spiced chicken confit po-boy with spicy cole slaw on a fresh pistolet roll from the Brennan's Cafe Adelaide (Orlando, the sous chef was there, touting his wares in friendly fashion), and the *wonderful* fresh mixed seafood ceviche in mango and pineapple salsa. And we'd like to give a shout-out to the new addition of Luzianne iced tea at the Square, including the several flavors of diet iced tea on hand. Way better than having to choose between plain water and sodium-laced diet sodas for those not wanting alcohol.
A big intergenerational and interracial crowd gathered in the square to hear Kermit regale us with his version of jazz standards ("Ain't Misbehavin' "), cult hits ("if You're a Viper"), New Orleans classics ("Hey Pocky Way"), and older pop tunes done Kermit style ("More Than Yesterday"). Kermit was nattily dressed, in white shirt (untucked) over white pants, debonair navy blazer, white kerchief topped with a Meyer the Hatter white straw fedora. (At one point during his show, the brisk wind blew his hat off and Tambourine Green had to chase it across the stage. Kermit didn't miss a note and just kept blowing.)
As always, Kermit put on a great show. He is such a gifted entertainer. He is not by any means the best trumpeter player in town, but he doesn't need to be -- his show is all about giving the "music lovers" (Kermit's favorite way to address his fans a great show, and he does that, every time. Late in his set, he called up James Witfield "The Sleeping Giant" onstage for some killer vocals and great stage presence, but he didn't need to. We were all psyched up for Kermit, and he didn't disappoint.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Coming soon -- Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
Latest in a long series of movies being filmed in belle NOLA is the crazy mash-up "Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter,", based on a recent best-selling book. Two blocks of Julia Street downtown, with elegant 19th century buildings and storefronts, have been transformed into a movie set, complete with extras in historic costume, period advertisements and signs, and lovely old wagons and carriages parked curbside -- and wind machines blowing picturesque dust all around. We have not yet spotted any of the principal actors, including a villain vampire who looks seriously sexy in publicity shots, but we're keeping our eyes out.
The Wednesday crowds for the Concert at the Square (see next posting) were really enjoying rubber-necking the movie production on their way to Lafayette Square. We will enjoy checking out the movie once it's released, as we can never resist a movie filmed in our beloved city. (We even saw that awful action movie, just 'cause it was filmed in our neighborhood!)
Interesting shot: two women extras sitting on a bench newly placed on Julia for the shoot, dressed in 19th century garb, but apparently not in the take being filmed. Their legs were crossed anachronistically (look it up -- women didn't cross their legs while sitting until the 20th century), and they had hiked up their skirts above their knees to catch the breeze in the heat. Kind of amusing.
The Wednesday crowds for the Concert at the Square (see next posting) were really enjoying rubber-necking the movie production on their way to Lafayette Square. We will enjoy checking out the movie once it's released, as we can never resist a movie filmed in our beloved city. (We even saw that awful action movie, just 'cause it was filmed in our neighborhood!)
Interesting shot: two women extras sitting on a bench newly placed on Julia for the shoot, dressed in 19th century garb, but apparently not in the take being filmed. Their legs were crossed anachronistically (look it up -- women didn't cross their legs while sitting until the 20th century), and they had hiked up their skirts above their knees to catch the breeze in the heat. Kind of amusing.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
A Wedding, a Funeral, & French Quarter Festival
What a busy weekend! My sister H was in town briefly from Minneapolis; I performed an informal wedding ceremony in a beautiful courtyard at a guesthouse in Treme on the edge of the Quarter; I did a funeral for a friend's mother on Saturday; it was the French Quarter festival; and our monthly family dinner, instead of being a cooking competition, was held at the Star Steak & Lobster Restaurant on Decatur. On top of everything else, Sunday was the big celebration worship service at our sister church to dedicate their brand-new post-Katrina building. Oh my! It was just run from one to thing to another. I was sure glad when Monday rolled around.
Thursday night we took my sister H out to Frenchman Street, and it was quite the smorgasbord of musical selections -- a great combo with horns playing the Spotted Cat, Shamarr Allen and his Big Dawgs at DBA, a street band of what Big Man calls "waifs," the Boom-Boom Room hosting the HBO "Treme" filming, and the Balcony Club with the Mardi Gras Indian Rhythm group and a Big Chief. Big Man played with them and it was the bomb! H was totally blown away by the amount and quality of live music on Frenchman on a Thursday (of course, it was FQF, but still and all ...)
The weekend's weather was, once again, Tourist commission perfect. If you wanted to quibble, I guess you could have said it was a little too hot for the season, but it was mild and sunny, with blue skies, a few fluffy clouds, and a wonderful, cooling breeze off the River. Just wonderful. I made a big mistake by not wearing sunblock to the little wedding ceremony on Friday, and I ended up with mild sunburn on my shoulders. I learned my lesson and was lathered up for the funeral on Saturday afternoon, prepatory to hitting the festival right after.
Of course we enjoyed the people-watching, and there were lots of people to watch. It does seem that the FQF gets more and more popular every single year. The crowds were huge! But still, it was always possible to find a good place to stand or sit and enjoy the music, sometimes even with shade, and we never had to stand in a line once, for food or drink, or for Portalets. So while there were lots and lots of people there -- of all kinds, of all ages, of every ethnicity -- it was not a problem.
Music we enjoyed: Swingaroux, Gal Holiday, Bone Tone, Irene Sage, Coco Robichaux, the Pinettes, Walter "Wolfman" Washington, Joe Krown, Russell Batiste, and so many more! Plus there were the delights that were off the FQF schedule -- Big Man pulling out his horn and blowing along with a drummer and guitarist in front of the Cathedral, to the great appreciation of both crowd and musicians; and the unknown young black soprano who stood on an iron lace balcony on Chartres and regaled a stunned audience below on the sidewalk in front of the W Hotel with aria after aria. It was like a dream.
Food was great also, as always. Loved the smoked turkey legs, the char-grilled oysters, and a special shout-out to the Praline Connection festival plate of grilled marinated chicken livers with hot pepper jelly, grilled zucchini and onions, and traditional mess of greens served over rice. Yum!
Another fantastic FQF and now it's on to the countdown for Jazz Fest!
Thursday night we took my sister H out to Frenchman Street, and it was quite the smorgasbord of musical selections -- a great combo with horns playing the Spotted Cat, Shamarr Allen and his Big Dawgs at DBA, a street band of what Big Man calls "waifs," the Boom-Boom Room hosting the HBO "Treme" filming, and the Balcony Club with the Mardi Gras Indian Rhythm group and a Big Chief. Big Man played with them and it was the bomb! H was totally blown away by the amount and quality of live music on Frenchman on a Thursday (of course, it was FQF, but still and all ...)
The weekend's weather was, once again, Tourist commission perfect. If you wanted to quibble, I guess you could have said it was a little too hot for the season, but it was mild and sunny, with blue skies, a few fluffy clouds, and a wonderful, cooling breeze off the River. Just wonderful. I made a big mistake by not wearing sunblock to the little wedding ceremony on Friday, and I ended up with mild sunburn on my shoulders. I learned my lesson and was lathered up for the funeral on Saturday afternoon, prepatory to hitting the festival right after.
Of course we enjoyed the people-watching, and there were lots of people to watch. It does seem that the FQF gets more and more popular every single year. The crowds were huge! But still, it was always possible to find a good place to stand or sit and enjoy the music, sometimes even with shade, and we never had to stand in a line once, for food or drink, or for Portalets. So while there were lots and lots of people there -- of all kinds, of all ages, of every ethnicity -- it was not a problem.
Music we enjoyed: Swingaroux, Gal Holiday, Bone Tone, Irene Sage, Coco Robichaux, the Pinettes, Walter "Wolfman" Washington, Joe Krown, Russell Batiste, and so many more! Plus there were the delights that were off the FQF schedule -- Big Man pulling out his horn and blowing along with a drummer and guitarist in front of the Cathedral, to the great appreciation of both crowd and musicians; and the unknown young black soprano who stood on an iron lace balcony on Chartres and regaled a stunned audience below on the sidewalk in front of the W Hotel with aria after aria. It was like a dream.
Food was great also, as always. Loved the smoked turkey legs, the char-grilled oysters, and a special shout-out to the Praline Connection festival plate of grilled marinated chicken livers with hot pepper jelly, grilled zucchini and onions, and traditional mess of greens served over rice. Yum!
Another fantastic FQF and now it's on to the countdown for Jazz Fest!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Wednesday at the Square
Unfortunately, I was down with very very bad cold and allergy symptoms last week (just awful! I actually stayed home sick from the church), so I had to miss the first of the weekly Lafayette Square concerts, which featured The Rads in yet another of their farewell appearances. But really, I'd've had to have been hospitalized to miss this week, with Trombone Shorty.
Yesterday was a gorgeous day, just what the Tourist Commission orders up for April -- blue skies, mild temperatures, sunshine, and low humidity -- and so Big Man and I decided to walk to the Square from our house in the lower Lower Garden District, a distance of a little over a mile each way. This is not something I would advise in, say, August, but it's perfectly feasible and even pleasant to do it in April. We carried our folding chairs and took our time about it, and arrived just the warm-up group, the Soul Rebels, were setting up.
We found a good spot near the middle and set up chairs up and then walked away to enjoy the people and the dogs, to check out whatever differences there were with the arrangements of the Square this year, and to decide on something to eat. It was still early yet, and so things hadn't gotten as crowded as they would get later, as the downtown offices shut down and more folks arrived. Everyone was in good spirits, and there was all the usual visiting and mingling and strangers passing the time of day with each other. Big Man and a black man in a sharp hat exchanged compliments with each other on their choices of headgear and on the high merits of the famous Meyer the Hatter store on St. Charles, and I got a nice word from a friend who hadn't seen me since my haircut.
We settled on chaurice on a stick from the New Orleans Sausage Company for Big Man -- however, when somebody came by and snapped a picture, it was ME taking a bite off of it. I'm sure *that* will be a very flattering photo! And I couldn't resist the duck po boy with spicy cole slaw at the Atchafalaya booth. Yummy!
The Soul Rebels were fun and very good. The crowd seemed to especially like the "504" song, celebrating, of course, the familiar and beloved NOLA area code. By the time the Rebels broke around 6-ish, the crowd had increased considerably, and it took patience, ingenuity, and courtesy to navigate one's way around and through. Still, everyone was in a jovial mood, filled with pleasant expectation.
Well, I've blogged about Shorty/Troy Andrews before, and if I gush too much, readers will think I have a crush on him. Let's just say his set was amazing, his band tight and talented, the tunes coming fast and furious and sometimes smoothly seguéing from one to another (to another). It seems there's nothing Shorty can't do -- he's great on trombone, amazing on his gorgeous Monette trumpet, serious on the keyboards, great on vocals. His stage presence just knocks you out, and -- let's face it -- he is one good-looking young man.
What a concert! It was amazing. Everyone staggering away when it was over, the last notes fading out form the surrounding buildings, was talking about how far Troy has come as a musician and as a performer, and each person tried to outdo all the others in using superlatives in describing what we all had just heard and seen. We were blessed to have been there,
Yesterday was a gorgeous day, just what the Tourist Commission orders up for April -- blue skies, mild temperatures, sunshine, and low humidity -- and so Big Man and I decided to walk to the Square from our house in the lower Lower Garden District, a distance of a little over a mile each way. This is not something I would advise in, say, August, but it's perfectly feasible and even pleasant to do it in April. We carried our folding chairs and took our time about it, and arrived just the warm-up group, the Soul Rebels, were setting up.
We found a good spot near the middle and set up chairs up and then walked away to enjoy the people and the dogs, to check out whatever differences there were with the arrangements of the Square this year, and to decide on something to eat. It was still early yet, and so things hadn't gotten as crowded as they would get later, as the downtown offices shut down and more folks arrived. Everyone was in good spirits, and there was all the usual visiting and mingling and strangers passing the time of day with each other. Big Man and a black man in a sharp hat exchanged compliments with each other on their choices of headgear and on the high merits of the famous Meyer the Hatter store on St. Charles, and I got a nice word from a friend who hadn't seen me since my haircut.
We settled on chaurice on a stick from the New Orleans Sausage Company for Big Man -- however, when somebody came by and snapped a picture, it was ME taking a bite off of it. I'm sure *that* will be a very flattering photo! And I couldn't resist the duck po boy with spicy cole slaw at the Atchafalaya booth. Yummy!
The Soul Rebels were fun and very good. The crowd seemed to especially like the "504" song, celebrating, of course, the familiar and beloved NOLA area code. By the time the Rebels broke around 6-ish, the crowd had increased considerably, and it took patience, ingenuity, and courtesy to navigate one's way around and through. Still, everyone was in a jovial mood, filled with pleasant expectation.
Well, I've blogged about Shorty/Troy Andrews before, and if I gush too much, readers will think I have a crush on him. Let's just say his set was amazing, his band tight and talented, the tunes coming fast and furious and sometimes smoothly seguéing from one to another (to another). It seems there's nothing Shorty can't do -- he's great on trombone, amazing on his gorgeous Monette trumpet, serious on the keyboards, great on vocals. His stage presence just knocks you out, and -- let's face it -- he is one good-looking young man.
What a concert! It was amazing. Everyone staggering away when it was over, the last notes fading out form the surrounding buildings, was talking about how far Troy has come as a musician and as a performer, and each person tried to outdo all the others in using superlatives in describing what we all had just heard and seen. We were blessed to have been there,
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