Your mileage may vary, as the saying goes, but here's what Big Man and I were able to squeeze into last weekend:
Bouligny Blues Festival at the corner of Napoleon and Magazine (my old neighborhood, back when my son was little) -- great music (Joe Krown was on while we were there); some choice crafts, fun children's play area, and terrific food. (Special props to Nirvana, which brought the saag paneer, one of our all-time fave Indian dishes and to Boucherie, whose 12-hour roast beef with horseradish creme and pickled red onions po' boy with *perfect* French fries. Are you hungry yet?)
Attended one of 4, count'em 4, wedding receptions in City Park. Ours was at the Casino, on the second floor, where we witnessed a pink explosion of a sunset, like a Hollywood production. Envied the folks taking a last-minute paddle-boat ride through the park's lagoons (and my family of origin better be scheduling that promised paddle-boat race SOON!) while enjoying giant boiled shrimp, tiny tasty muffalettas, chunks of grilled fresh tuna, perfectly fried shrimp, and crawfish sardou (VERY nice take on a New Orleans breakfast favorite from Breakfast at Brennan's).
Two parades to celebrate Halloween, one of which, Krewe of Boo, is sponsored by Blaine Kern (the self-styled "Mr. Mardi Gras") and winds its way through downtown eventually to the new Kern Mardi Gras World a few blocks from my house. Gigantic floats with skulls and witches and ghouls and goblins and vampires, all in the signature big-figure Kern style, familiar from his carnival floats. Great stuff, could practically see it without leaving my block.
Coliseum Square Festival, in the afore-mentioned park, a small affair on Sunday with only a few food booths and the traveling gelato wagon, and a bunch of crafts, including Baba Blankets. Lots of dog owners and dogs -- our Keely had a grand time running and sniffing and being sniffed. (Keely is such a big hit with the ladies that I told Big Man he could have used our dog back when he was single. He allowed as how he hadn't actually needed a cute dog to meet women back in the day, so there.)
The Boo Carré in the French Market, also on Sunday. Really, really enjoyed Amanda Shaw and what seemed to be an abbreviated version of the Cute Guys. For Halloween, she was sporting little black feline ears and a long furry tail with her well-fitting jeans and black high heels. (I looked at Big Man, looking at her, and he said, "Just don't say it.") A very appreciative crowd was stationed in front and the sides of the stage. (The noise got to Keely a little, so we had to move away a bit. Have to get her more used to loud music.) The Boo Carré was a terrific, family-friendly event, with kids going form booth to booth, trick or treating, and there was face painting and pumpkin carving too. New French Market restaurant, Galvez (in honor of our Spanish governor) was selling a delicious refreshing sangria, which I enjoyed very much. (Funny thing: a new vendor in the Market advertised herself as a healthy, low-fat, alternative for New Orleans-traditional cooking, but the triple-chocolate brownies on her counter, she admitted, were NOT in that category. Too bad.)
)!( )!( )!(
Fall festival season is upon us, and every weekend from now on til cold weather will be an exercise in decision-making. Have fun, y'all!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Finally, Fall
Ever since I was a little girl growing up in the New Orleans suburb of Chalmette, I associated the turn of the weather to relatively cooler temperatures in the fall as my "birthday weather" (my birthday coming close to the end of September). This year, however, there was no birthday weather -- it was just as hot and humid through the month of September as it had been in August.
This unhappy trend continued into October. The air conditioners ran like crazy (oh, the Entergy bills!!) at our house straight up to Thursday, October 15th. Everyone in the city complained and moaned and kvetched about the heat, and why oh why couldn't fall come (or at least what passes for fall in the Crescent City).
Then the rains came on Thursday evening -- great booming thunderstorms, shimmering lightening, pouring sheets of rainwater, clogging drains and flooding some streets. And Friday morning came, and with it, bright blue skies and temperatures in the 60s. Oh my gosh! New Orleanians dug into the back of closets and the bottoms of drawers and in underbed storage boxes, and pulled out sweaters and jackets (in many case, far in excess of what the weather actually called for!), and went around that day reeking of mothballs.
It's finally fall! Folks around here were overjoyed. Late on Friday afternoon, wanting to give some out of town guests a good view of the river, I drove to The Fly and was surprised to see (although I really *shouldn't* have been surprised) the parking spaces packed, and the grassy areas crowded with young people from the uptown university campuses and young families with little kids. The Mississippi River was choppy with the brisk cool breeze ruffling the surface, and sparkling in the fall sunshine. The sky was perfectly dark blue, arching over us like a dome. It was gorgeous.
This weather made attendance at the Blues & Barbecue Festival at Lafayette Square on Saturday and Sunday swell even more, and once again, New Orleans folks were sporting their fall finery (leather jackets and wool sweaters and corduroy pants) even though it must've been uncomfortably hot for some of them. (By the way, the B&B Fest was our dog Keely's first experience of a New Orleans festival and she was very, very good. We rewarded her with just a smidgen of beef and the opportunity to lick the bowl from my creme brulee gelato. I think she was pretty happy with the overall experience, although the cold from the gelato gave her pause.)
The wonderful weather lasted until October 21, when it warmed up some, but not like it had been before. Fall has finally arrived in the Crescent City, and we love it.
This unhappy trend continued into October. The air conditioners ran like crazy (oh, the Entergy bills!!) at our house straight up to Thursday, October 15th. Everyone in the city complained and moaned and kvetched about the heat, and why oh why couldn't fall come (or at least what passes for fall in the Crescent City).
Then the rains came on Thursday evening -- great booming thunderstorms, shimmering lightening, pouring sheets of rainwater, clogging drains and flooding some streets. And Friday morning came, and with it, bright blue skies and temperatures in the 60s. Oh my gosh! New Orleanians dug into the back of closets and the bottoms of drawers and in underbed storage boxes, and pulled out sweaters and jackets (in many case, far in excess of what the weather actually called for!), and went around that day reeking of mothballs.
It's finally fall! Folks around here were overjoyed. Late on Friday afternoon, wanting to give some out of town guests a good view of the river, I drove to The Fly and was surprised to see (although I really *shouldn't* have been surprised) the parking spaces packed, and the grassy areas crowded with young people from the uptown university campuses and young families with little kids. The Mississippi River was choppy with the brisk cool breeze ruffling the surface, and sparkling in the fall sunshine. The sky was perfectly dark blue, arching over us like a dome. It was gorgeous.
This weather made attendance at the Blues & Barbecue Festival at Lafayette Square on Saturday and Sunday swell even more, and once again, New Orleans folks were sporting their fall finery (leather jackets and wool sweaters and corduroy pants) even though it must've been uncomfortably hot for some of them. (By the way, the B&B Fest was our dog Keely's first experience of a New Orleans festival and she was very, very good. We rewarded her with just a smidgen of beef and the opportunity to lick the bowl from my creme brulee gelato. I think she was pretty happy with the overall experience, although the cold from the gelato gave her pause.)
The wonderful weather lasted until October 21, when it warmed up some, but not like it had been before. Fall has finally arrived in the Crescent City, and we love it.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
J'Anita's on the Avenue
It had been some time since we ate at J'Anita's "new" location on St. Charles Avenue. ("New" is a relative term in New Orleans. It can take years for folks here to accept a new location. I myself am still calling Howlin' Wolf "the old Praline Connection." J'Anita's moved from their previous spot on Magazine Street to share space and customers with The Avenue Pub, 1732 St. Charles Avenue about 6-8 months ago.) Driving by the other day, I saw a sign out front that said, "New! Crunchy duck balls!" -- well, they had me at "duck." I knew we had to get over there and SOON.
So on Monday, Big Man and I drove over to have lunch and visit with Craig and Kimmie. We were surprised to see a completely new menu with some terrific new additions. (Note to self: don't let so much time go by between visits!) We were blown away by some of the additions: besides the aforementioned duck balls, there was an appetizer called "Buddha's Temptation" (check this: apricots stuffed with blue cheese, wrapped in bacon, and deep fried. OMG), and among several new sandwiches, one called "St. Chuck Duck." Of course, the Best Damn Fish Sammich was still there, and Big Man fell right into his favorite rut and ordered it and Kimmie's great guacamole -- along with Crunchy Duck Balls, of course. I got the St. Chuck Duck, which is slow roasted pulled duck with apples, blue cheese, pecans, and a berry chutney sauce on bread.
When Kimmie brought our food over, she confided that Craig had wanted to name his new appetizer "Panko-Crusted Duck Tenders" but that she wouldn't let him (good call!). Crunchy Duck Balls IS a better name, especially in a bar. But you could call 'em anything, even some disgusting name, and they would still be one of the best things to eat on the whole damn planet. Crunchy, tender, juicy, and very very ducky -- and that berry chutney! Wow!
When Kimmie came back with our respective sandwiches, we just raved about the duck balls. But then, we were soon caught up with 2 of the best non-po' boy sandwiches in the world. Big Man's fish sammich was everything it had always been -- overstuffed, juicy, tangy, fishy in a really good way. And the duck sandwich was *unbelievable* -- I was licking my fingers to get at every last drop.
Believe you me, that was the best $25 lunch we've ever eaten!! Kudos to Craig and Kimmie for cooking food for the public on a level WAY above expectations. See their Facebook page at:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/New-Orleans-LA/Janitas-The-Avenue/73525898209
So on Monday, Big Man and I drove over to have lunch and visit with Craig and Kimmie. We were surprised to see a completely new menu with some terrific new additions. (Note to self: don't let so much time go by between visits!) We were blown away by some of the additions: besides the aforementioned duck balls, there was an appetizer called "Buddha's Temptation" (check this: apricots stuffed with blue cheese, wrapped in bacon, and deep fried. OMG), and among several new sandwiches, one called "St. Chuck Duck." Of course, the Best Damn Fish Sammich was still there, and Big Man fell right into his favorite rut and ordered it and Kimmie's great guacamole -- along with Crunchy Duck Balls, of course. I got the St. Chuck Duck, which is slow roasted pulled duck with apples, blue cheese, pecans, and a berry chutney sauce on bread.
When Kimmie brought our food over, she confided that Craig had wanted to name his new appetizer "Panko-Crusted Duck Tenders" but that she wouldn't let him (good call!). Crunchy Duck Balls IS a better name, especially in a bar. But you could call 'em anything, even some disgusting name, and they would still be one of the best things to eat on the whole damn planet. Crunchy, tender, juicy, and very very ducky -- and that berry chutney! Wow!
When Kimmie came back with our respective sandwiches, we just raved about the duck balls. But then, we were soon caught up with 2 of the best non-po' boy sandwiches in the world. Big Man's fish sammich was everything it had always been -- overstuffed, juicy, tangy, fishy in a really good way. And the duck sandwich was *unbelievable* -- I was licking my fingers to get at every last drop.
Believe you me, that was the best $25 lunch we've ever eaten!! Kudos to Craig and Kimmie for cooking food for the public on a level WAY above expectations. See their Facebook page at:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/New-Orleans-LA/Janitas-The-Avenue/73525898209
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
We Got a Dog
Yes, you read that right. As some of my readers know, Big Man has been lobbying me pretty hard for some time now about getting a dog, and I've been promising to at least keep an open mind. On Friday of last week, we went to the Louisiana SPCA and checked out the dogs. I have to say I was pretty depressed, since it was clear that we were miles apart. Big Man was attracted to all the big dogs and the pit bulls -- imagine! And when I protested I didn't want a big dog, Big Man told me that a 55-pounder was NOT a big dog!! OMG
So we left on Friday without a dog, and without even agreeing on which dogs were cute or doable or anything.
The next day, Saturday, we decided we'd go over to the Art Museum in City Park to spend some time looking at the collections. And, wouldn't you know, when we got there, the SPCA were there doing an Adopt-a-Pet Day. We saw several of the smaller dogs we had seen the day before (yeah, because the SPCA was too smart to bring BIG dogs to the museum!) And then, while Eric was signing us in the museum's residents register, SPCA volunteers went by with a stocky black dog with brown eyebrows, who was looking around all interested and curious and everything, and had a perky walk with a bobbed tail, and for whatever reason, the thought just came to me, "That's Big Man's dog!"
When Big Man finished signing in, I said to him, "Did you see that cute little black guy go by?" and because he hadn't seen the dog, he actually thought I meant an African-American person! But I dragged him outside, and showed him the dog. The SPCA folks said she -- it's a she -- is a one-year-old Corgi-Rottweiler mix, that she's so shy and sweet that the SPCA staff had been keeping her in the office with them -- which of course is why we never saw her on Friday. They were calling her "Shirley" but they also said she didn't respond to the name at all, and that we should feel free to change it.
Within 5 minutes, Big Man and this dog were all over each other. At one point, Big Man looked at me and said seriously, "I *love* this dog." So we filled out all the papers, and the next thing we know, we're carrying her file (she's got a microchip implant!), the certificate for the free vet visit (she's already got all her shots and has been spayed), the free bag of food, her plush toy, and the dog on her leash out to the car and covering the backseat with a blanket. (We never did see anything else at the museum.) We tried out various names in the car (she was, by the way, a great passenger), and ended up with Keely Smith, Keely for short.
(Parenthetically: It's amazing to us, and more than a little sad, the number of people we have to explain who Keely Smith IS. This would be bad enough anywhere else, but since Louis Prima and Keely and their family lived in the New Orleans area for so long, and since both their music and their act have been SO influential in American pop culture, it really seems like a lack of knowledge. Maybe we're just over-devoted fans or something, but still, *everyone* ought to know who Keely Smith is. (And if you're reading this, and you live in New York City, you really should take advantage and go see her in person the next time she's appearing at a nightclub there, which she regularly does.) )
Keely Smith the dog and Smokey Robinson the cat are now sharing the same house but not yet really acquainted or anything. Possibly we made a mistake in not dragging them together right away, but we figure we'll have an iffy week getting them to co-exist. For the first few day, Smokey sulked upstairs, probably thinking what *I* thought when Mama and Daddy brought my baby sister L home from the hospital, "What do they need HER for -- they've got ME???"
We look forward to introducing everyone to sweet Keely.
So we left on Friday without a dog, and without even agreeing on which dogs were cute or doable or anything.
The next day, Saturday, we decided we'd go over to the Art Museum in City Park to spend some time looking at the collections. And, wouldn't you know, when we got there, the SPCA were there doing an Adopt-a-Pet Day. We saw several of the smaller dogs we had seen the day before (yeah, because the SPCA was too smart to bring BIG dogs to the museum!) And then, while Eric was signing us in the museum's residents register, SPCA volunteers went by with a stocky black dog with brown eyebrows, who was looking around all interested and curious and everything, and had a perky walk with a bobbed tail, and for whatever reason, the thought just came to me, "That's Big Man's dog!"
When Big Man finished signing in, I said to him, "Did you see that cute little black guy go by?" and because he hadn't seen the dog, he actually thought I meant an African-American person! But I dragged him outside, and showed him the dog. The SPCA folks said she -- it's a she -- is a one-year-old Corgi-Rottweiler mix, that she's so shy and sweet that the SPCA staff had been keeping her in the office with them -- which of course is why we never saw her on Friday. They were calling her "Shirley" but they also said she didn't respond to the name at all, and that we should feel free to change it.
Within 5 minutes, Big Man and this dog were all over each other. At one point, Big Man looked at me and said seriously, "I *love* this dog." So we filled out all the papers, and the next thing we know, we're carrying her file (she's got a microchip implant!), the certificate for the free vet visit (she's already got all her shots and has been spayed), the free bag of food, her plush toy, and the dog on her leash out to the car and covering the backseat with a blanket. (We never did see anything else at the museum.) We tried out various names in the car (she was, by the way, a great passenger), and ended up with Keely Smith, Keely for short.
(Parenthetically: It's amazing to us, and more than a little sad, the number of people we have to explain who Keely Smith IS. This would be bad enough anywhere else, but since Louis Prima and Keely and their family lived in the New Orleans area for so long, and since both their music and their act have been SO influential in American pop culture, it really seems like a lack of knowledge. Maybe we're just over-devoted fans or something, but still, *everyone* ought to know who Keely Smith is. (And if you're reading this, and you live in New York City, you really should take advantage and go see her in person the next time she's appearing at a nightclub there, which she regularly does.) )
Keely Smith the dog and Smokey Robinson the cat are now sharing the same house but not yet really acquainted or anything. Possibly we made a mistake in not dragging them together right away, but we figure we'll have an iffy week getting them to co-exist. For the first few day, Smokey sulked upstairs, probably thinking what *I* thought when Mama and Daddy brought my baby sister L home from the hospital, "What do they need HER for -- they've got ME???"
We look forward to introducing everyone to sweet Keely.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Lil Dizzy's in the Whitney
In one of the strangest adaptations and building-sharing arrangements in New Orleans, a hotel has been developed in the old classic Whitney Bank building on Poydras Street. The bank remains on the first floor, with an entrance on the corner; the entrance to the hotel is on the other side, near the Federal Building.
And since almost every hotel in the city has to have a restaurant, the Whitney has a branch of Lil Dizzy's, the Tremé Creole stalwart. The strange thing is how the space for the Whitney's Lil Dizzy's was carved out. The Whitney's original lobby, with its 2-story Corinthian faux-marbre columns topped with gold eagles, its tiled floors, and its art-deco brass fittings outlining the tellers' cages, was a hexagonal room that took up half the building's square footage on the first level. (I'm sure it was reassuring to people in those days that the bank's public face was so imposing and official-looking. Nowadays, banks look like swanky dentists' offices.)
About half of the bank's original lobby has been marked off with a half-wall about 5 1/2 or 6 feet tall (it's taller than Big Man, but feels short, given the height of the ornate coffered and dentilled ceiling). The dividing wall is painted with a full-color comic mural of the Whitney lobby circa 1930, featuring lots of silver screen stars of that era. Then the other half, complete with soaring columns and coffered ceiling and brass fittings, is now Lil Dizzy's restaurant and bar. The kitchen is situated over in the corner by one of the bank vaults (still visible); the other bank vault, a little down the hall, is now a private dining room. Since the wall only just barely separates the bank from the restaurant, delicious smells must permeate the bank when the kitchen is cooking. Must be VERY hard to work there and concentrate on what you're doing while your mouth is watering.
The bill of fare is about what it is at the other Lil Dizzy location -- traditional Creole entrées (red beans, jambalaya, fried chicken, etc.), po boys, and sides with bread pudding and sweet potato pie offered for dessert, all at reasonable prices. We were perusing the menu and getting ready to make our selections when the waiter came over and told us there was a special that evening -- Trout Bacquet. Oh well, there went the menus!
Trout Bacquet is one of the best dishes served at Jazz Fest, a practically perfect combination of fresh sautéed trout topped with lump crabmeat in a lemon butter sauce, with toasted rounds of good French bread to soak it up. No Jazz Fest is complete without eating Trout Bacquet at least once, and we usually have it 3 times or more -- it's that good. But we've NEVER had a full-sized portion before, so this was a no-brainer.
I have to say it was absolutely PERFECT. The fresh, sweet trout was golden brown and just a little crisp, a texture it never achieves at Jazz Fest, due to the challenges of cooking outdoors. The slathering of lump crabmeat was generous and was quite lumpy and not broken up. And the sauce was clear, lemony and buttery, nothing extra or superfluous. It was superb. Our plates were so clean afterwards that we looked like 2 kids angling to get dessert from a strict mom.
You have to go check out the Lil Dizzy's at the Whitney, to enjoy the atmosphere, the ambiance, the architecture, and the FABULOUS food.
And since almost every hotel in the city has to have a restaurant, the Whitney has a branch of Lil Dizzy's, the Tremé Creole stalwart. The strange thing is how the space for the Whitney's Lil Dizzy's was carved out. The Whitney's original lobby, with its 2-story Corinthian faux-marbre columns topped with gold eagles, its tiled floors, and its art-deco brass fittings outlining the tellers' cages, was a hexagonal room that took up half the building's square footage on the first level. (I'm sure it was reassuring to people in those days that the bank's public face was so imposing and official-looking. Nowadays, banks look like swanky dentists' offices.)
About half of the bank's original lobby has been marked off with a half-wall about 5 1/2 or 6 feet tall (it's taller than Big Man, but feels short, given the height of the ornate coffered and dentilled ceiling). The dividing wall is painted with a full-color comic mural of the Whitney lobby circa 1930, featuring lots of silver screen stars of that era. Then the other half, complete with soaring columns and coffered ceiling and brass fittings, is now Lil Dizzy's restaurant and bar. The kitchen is situated over in the corner by one of the bank vaults (still visible); the other bank vault, a little down the hall, is now a private dining room. Since the wall only just barely separates the bank from the restaurant, delicious smells must permeate the bank when the kitchen is cooking. Must be VERY hard to work there and concentrate on what you're doing while your mouth is watering.
The bill of fare is about what it is at the other Lil Dizzy location -- traditional Creole entrées (red beans, jambalaya, fried chicken, etc.), po boys, and sides with bread pudding and sweet potato pie offered for dessert, all at reasonable prices. We were perusing the menu and getting ready to make our selections when the waiter came over and told us there was a special that evening -- Trout Bacquet. Oh well, there went the menus!
Trout Bacquet is one of the best dishes served at Jazz Fest, a practically perfect combination of fresh sautéed trout topped with lump crabmeat in a lemon butter sauce, with toasted rounds of good French bread to soak it up. No Jazz Fest is complete without eating Trout Bacquet at least once, and we usually have it 3 times or more -- it's that good. But we've NEVER had a full-sized portion before, so this was a no-brainer.
I have to say it was absolutely PERFECT. The fresh, sweet trout was golden brown and just a little crisp, a texture it never achieves at Jazz Fest, due to the challenges of cooking outdoors. The slathering of lump crabmeat was generous and was quite lumpy and not broken up. And the sauce was clear, lemony and buttery, nothing extra or superfluous. It was superb. Our plates were so clean afterwards that we looked like 2 kids angling to get dessert from a strict mom.
You have to go check out the Lil Dizzy's at the Whitney, to enjoy the atmosphere, the ambiance, the architecture, and the FABULOUS food.
Surfeit of Festivals
September 25-27, 2009
It was an embarrassment of riches this past weekend. A well-rested and well-organized person might have been able to do a little of everything, but everyone else had to make hard choices. The New Orleans Seafood festival on Fulton Street? The opening weekend of the Oktoberfest at the (possibly doomed?) Deutsches Haus? The wonderful Alligator Festival under I-310 in Luling/Boutté (see my post from last year at this time)? If you were in the mood for a long drive, there was the "Calca-Chew" Food Festival in lake Charles (located in Calcasieu Parish -- get it?), or even the annual Seafood festival in Pensacola, Florida (a mere 3 hours away).
Next weekend, the Oktoberfest continues (every Friday and Saturday until the end of October), and the Gretna Heritage Fest rocks -- that's the one I can hear clearly through the dormer window on the second floor that faces the river, so I'm looking forward to being serenaded by Chicago!
Now that the fall festival season has started in earnest, it's time to get serious about planning ahead, and organizing your time!
It was an embarrassment of riches this past weekend. A well-rested and well-organized person might have been able to do a little of everything, but everyone else had to make hard choices. The New Orleans Seafood festival on Fulton Street? The opening weekend of the Oktoberfest at the (possibly doomed?) Deutsches Haus? The wonderful Alligator Festival under I-310 in Luling/Boutté (see my post from last year at this time)? If you were in the mood for a long drive, there was the "Calca-Chew" Food Festival in lake Charles (located in Calcasieu Parish -- get it?), or even the annual Seafood festival in Pensacola, Florida (a mere 3 hours away).
Next weekend, the Oktoberfest continues (every Friday and Saturday until the end of October), and the Gretna Heritage Fest rocks -- that's the one I can hear clearly through the dormer window on the second floor that faces the river, so I'm looking forward to being serenaded by Chicago!
Now that the fall festival season has started in earnest, it's time to get serious about planning ahead, and organizing your time!
Friday, September 25, 2009
Simply The Best: 50 Years of Irma Thomas
Second Concert of the Thursday Harvest the Music Series at Lafayette Square
Last night, several thousand of Miss Irma Thomas's most devoted fans gathered in Lafayette Square for the second of 7 Thursday night concerts in September and October. The occasion is part of the on-going celebration this year of Irma's (unbelievable) 50 years as a professional singer. Despite the sultry heat and oppressive humidity and the threat of rain (when, oh when, will the weather break?? when will it be fall??), folks were glad to come out and show Irma some love.
I was there with 2 of my sisters, L and D, and L's husband. (Big Man had to miss due to a meeting and getting to Bourbon Street on time). We had a good spot, a little to the left of the stage, not too far back. Of course, we ran into lots of people we know -- long-time old friends, a few people we went to grade school with, members of the crowd of friends around my sister L. I saw the local filmmaker who made the well-received, balanced documentary about the closing of local Catholic churches, and introduced him to my sisters. Anåis St. John went past us too quickly for me to grab her, her baby daughter Elle perched on her hip, heading for as close to the stage and her idol as she could get.
A new restaurant owner, dressed in a chef's outfit, was going through the crowd, handing out menus to promote his venture, and as he got close to us I realized that this was the man Big Man has been telling me about, the new owner of the new restaurant Tiramisu on Carondelet (and first runner-up in the Lou Costello look-alike contest). I introduced myself as the Trumpet Man's wife and he greeted me warmly. He said he was trying to work out a way for Big Man to come play at his place. L and D both took his sample menus and promised to check the place out.
The opening act was the talented Shamarr Allen and the Underdawgs, a new band for him, and it turns out, a different style of music from his band Frenchmen Street. The Underdawgs is Shamarr's foray into hip-hop, and while the music seemed popular with the younger members of the crowd, it is not really my thing. In a spirit of support and fair play, however, I gave them a big hand at the end of their set.
During the break between bands, L and D and I cruised the crafts/arts booths and either admired or critiqued the wares, depending on our collective inclination. We were tickled by the silk foulard ties in tiny NOLA-inspired prints, and were transported back to kitchen experiments of our childhood with the items made of melted Carnival beads. We deplored the Duke Ellington vinyl album made into a bowl. We fingered fleur de lis jewelry and exclaimed over ceramic replications of long-lost NOLA landmarks.
But we hurried back to our spot so as not to miss the start of Irma's set. Funny thing: it seemed as though both the emcee on the stage and the sound tech in the booth were unprepared for how an Irma Thomas set gets rolling. Following an old R&B convention as ritualized and unchangeable as the stylings of Kabuki, the headliner NEVER comes to the stage right off the bat. Instead, the band plays several tunes, showing off their own prowess and drawing out the suspense in the crowd for the main act, and then a band member enthusiastically introduces the Big Name.
Irma Thomas gigs, whether at Jazz Fest or her own club, have followed this set-in-stone pattern for as long as I have ever seen her in person (which is more like 40 years, and not the entire 50). But apparently it was something of a surprise to the folks in charge at Lafayette Square last night. The emcee screamed out that we should welcome to the stage "The Soul Queen of New Or-leeens!!" just as if he expected Miss Thomas to bound right up onto the stage, and as her faithful band, the Professionals, hit the first tune and began to sing, it was clear that the horn line's vocal mikes were not even on.
The Professionals did 3 tunes, ending with a more than respectable cover of Stevie Wonder's "Superstition," and then came the traditional intro, going through some of the awards and recognition Irma has received over the years, ending of course with her sobriquet, "Soul Queen of New Orleans!" The unmistakable voice, warm and rich and throaty and just a little smoky, came out of seeming nowhere in the opening lines of the first song. A few in the crowd wondered, "Where is she at?" but those of us knowledgeable with the show-biz conventions of R&B knew that Irma, using a cordless mike, had begun singing off-stage, and was being slowly and gently escorted up the stage steps by Emile, her husband and partner. As she came into view, the crowd greeted her with screams and waves and clapping. She looked great, and sounded better.
Irma led off with several songs from her latest album, the anniversary collection entitled -- naturally -- 50th Anniversary Celebration, and one or two from her Grammy-winning post-Katrina album "After the Rain." (Anyone who can hear Irma sing "Make Me a Pallet on Your Floor" from that album without crying is no New Orleanian.) It's amazing how wonderful her voice still is, and her styling is so wise and yet so cool.
At the end of the set, in traditional fashion, Irma ran through the hits that had made us all love her in the 1950s and the 1960s, and thousands of us New Orleanians sang along with her and swayed with our sweeties to these songs that meant so much to us. "Breakway," "Ruler of My Heart," "It's Raining," of course, "You Can Have My Husband (But Please Don't Mess With My Man"). "Hip-Shaking Mama" brought down the house, as it always does -- kind of wildly weird and wonderful to see seemingly respectable folks in their sixties, fifties and forties chanting along with such lines as, "My man has got something/he keeps it hid/But I've got something/I can find it with."
And you know she had to do her traditional medley of Mardi Gras Indian tunes, encouraging us to find something to wave in order to secondline. We all got our "backfields in motion" as she always says, waving handkerchiefs, paper napkins, scarves, picnic blankets, hats, whatever we had, in the air, grinning foolishly at each other, not caring how we might look.
What with Irma's singing and the Professionals playing and all that waving and dancing in the heat and the wet, we were all soaked and near exhausted as the set ended. We screamed and hollered and waved whatever we had been waving, til Irma returned to the stage. In an emotional voice, she thanked us for our 50 years of being her faithful fans, and told us we were "simply the best" and then of course she sang that to us as her finale.
But we all knew that it was Irma who was Simply the Best, Better Than All The Rest, Better Than Anyone.
Last night, several thousand of Miss Irma Thomas's most devoted fans gathered in Lafayette Square for the second of 7 Thursday night concerts in September and October. The occasion is part of the on-going celebration this year of Irma's (unbelievable) 50 years as a professional singer. Despite the sultry heat and oppressive humidity and the threat of rain (when, oh when, will the weather break?? when will it be fall??), folks were glad to come out and show Irma some love.
I was there with 2 of my sisters, L and D, and L's husband. (Big Man had to miss due to a meeting and getting to Bourbon Street on time). We had a good spot, a little to the left of the stage, not too far back. Of course, we ran into lots of people we know -- long-time old friends, a few people we went to grade school with, members of the crowd of friends around my sister L. I saw the local filmmaker who made the well-received, balanced documentary about the closing of local Catholic churches, and introduced him to my sisters. Anåis St. John went past us too quickly for me to grab her, her baby daughter Elle perched on her hip, heading for as close to the stage and her idol as she could get.
A new restaurant owner, dressed in a chef's outfit, was going through the crowd, handing out menus to promote his venture, and as he got close to us I realized that this was the man Big Man has been telling me about, the new owner of the new restaurant Tiramisu on Carondelet (and first runner-up in the Lou Costello look-alike contest). I introduced myself as the Trumpet Man's wife and he greeted me warmly. He said he was trying to work out a way for Big Man to come play at his place. L and D both took his sample menus and promised to check the place out.
The opening act was the talented Shamarr Allen and the Underdawgs, a new band for him, and it turns out, a different style of music from his band Frenchmen Street. The Underdawgs is Shamarr's foray into hip-hop, and while the music seemed popular with the younger members of the crowd, it is not really my thing. In a spirit of support and fair play, however, I gave them a big hand at the end of their set.
During the break between bands, L and D and I cruised the crafts/arts booths and either admired or critiqued the wares, depending on our collective inclination. We were tickled by the silk foulard ties in tiny NOLA-inspired prints, and were transported back to kitchen experiments of our childhood with the items made of melted Carnival beads. We deplored the Duke Ellington vinyl album made into a bowl. We fingered fleur de lis jewelry and exclaimed over ceramic replications of long-lost NOLA landmarks.
But we hurried back to our spot so as not to miss the start of Irma's set. Funny thing: it seemed as though both the emcee on the stage and the sound tech in the booth were unprepared for how an Irma Thomas set gets rolling. Following an old R&B convention as ritualized and unchangeable as the stylings of Kabuki, the headliner NEVER comes to the stage right off the bat. Instead, the band plays several tunes, showing off their own prowess and drawing out the suspense in the crowd for the main act, and then a band member enthusiastically introduces the Big Name.
Irma Thomas gigs, whether at Jazz Fest or her own club, have followed this set-in-stone pattern for as long as I have ever seen her in person (which is more like 40 years, and not the entire 50). But apparently it was something of a surprise to the folks in charge at Lafayette Square last night. The emcee screamed out that we should welcome to the stage "The Soul Queen of New Or-leeens!!" just as if he expected Miss Thomas to bound right up onto the stage, and as her faithful band, the Professionals, hit the first tune and began to sing, it was clear that the horn line's vocal mikes were not even on.
The Professionals did 3 tunes, ending with a more than respectable cover of Stevie Wonder's "Superstition," and then came the traditional intro, going through some of the awards and recognition Irma has received over the years, ending of course with her sobriquet, "Soul Queen of New Orleans!" The unmistakable voice, warm and rich and throaty and just a little smoky, came out of seeming nowhere in the opening lines of the first song. A few in the crowd wondered, "Where is she at?" but those of us knowledgeable with the show-biz conventions of R&B knew that Irma, using a cordless mike, had begun singing off-stage, and was being slowly and gently escorted up the stage steps by Emile, her husband and partner. As she came into view, the crowd greeted her with screams and waves and clapping. She looked great, and sounded better.
Irma led off with several songs from her latest album, the anniversary collection entitled -- naturally -- 50th Anniversary Celebration, and one or two from her Grammy-winning post-Katrina album "After the Rain." (Anyone who can hear Irma sing "Make Me a Pallet on Your Floor" from that album without crying is no New Orleanian.) It's amazing how wonderful her voice still is, and her styling is so wise and yet so cool.
At the end of the set, in traditional fashion, Irma ran through the hits that had made us all love her in the 1950s and the 1960s, and thousands of us New Orleanians sang along with her and swayed with our sweeties to these songs that meant so much to us. "Breakway," "Ruler of My Heart," "It's Raining," of course, "You Can Have My Husband (But Please Don't Mess With My Man"). "Hip-Shaking Mama" brought down the house, as it always does -- kind of wildly weird and wonderful to see seemingly respectable folks in their sixties, fifties and forties chanting along with such lines as, "My man has got something/he keeps it hid/But I've got something/I can find it with."
And you know she had to do her traditional medley of Mardi Gras Indian tunes, encouraging us to find something to wave in order to secondline. We all got our "backfields in motion" as she always says, waving handkerchiefs, paper napkins, scarves, picnic blankets, hats, whatever we had, in the air, grinning foolishly at each other, not caring how we might look.
What with Irma's singing and the Professionals playing and all that waving and dancing in the heat and the wet, we were all soaked and near exhausted as the set ended. We screamed and hollered and waved whatever we had been waving, til Irma returned to the stage. In an emotional voice, she thanked us for our 50 years of being her faithful fans, and told us we were "simply the best" and then of course she sang that to us as her finale.
But we all knew that it was Irma who was Simply the Best, Better Than All The Rest, Better Than Anyone.
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