Nawlins

The heat and humidity rolled down the aisles towards and then over me, it had surged into the plane as soon as they opened the cabin door. I was standing in my row nervous and excited. As I walked out of the airplane the sounds of good music was the next thing to engulf me—good music in a public space seemed strange. As the golf cart bar rolled by a sense of being somewhere different certainly filled me, and yet I felt like I had come home. It was my first trip to New Orleans and although I had never been there before, in this life, the sense of New Orleans as my spiritual home remains to this day some twenty seven years later.

The first concert I ever went to had been some six years before that—the Meters (from New Orleans) opening for the Stones at Madison Square Garden. When I went to New Orleans for my college interview at Tulane, I didn’t know that New Orleans music would become the sound track to my life. I certainly did not even have the glimmer of the idea that New Orleans food would become a central part of my career.

I’m a very different person, fortunately, than I was at Eighteen and went for that first visit. Different than I was a year and half later when I started Tulane. Yet the house mate I moved off campus with in the fall of ’82 I’m honored to still consider my best friend. We’ve had our ups and downs but I’m glad she still puts up with me, especially since my cooking put 15 pounds on her that first year we lived together. I don’t use butter and cream as my two main ingredients any more, although I think pure pasture raised organic dairy is a key to true health.

After becoming a Sous Chef in New Orleans I moved away to chase my culinary dreams. Yet no matter how far I wandered or how far my cooking evolved, I still do know what it means to miss New Orleans. And right now I hope I won’t miss her forever. I haven’t been able to visit this year, and as with an old relative the fear that you won’t get to say that last goodbye is with me now.

Perhaps it is crazy to build a city that averages six feet below sea level. It certainly is crazy to not do everything in our collective power to save the most unique culture in America. It is crazy to have our most famous river upon which New Orleans sits so dysfunctional that pre-Katrina Louisiana was losing 18 square miles of land annually.

When I go to bed I will say a prayer for my darlin’ New Orleans. The place that has led to more of my dearest friendships than anywhere else; the place that has led to more of my biggest smiles than anywhere else; and the place that has led to more of my greatest culinary creations than anywhere else. I’ve changed a lot since even Katrina three years ago, yet New Orleans will always be one of my homes!

Boxed In

The NY Times recently had an article about drinking outside the box. The article touted how higher quality wines, especially in Italy, were being released in boxes. The writer, Tyler Colman, saw this as “going green” and I hear that green is the new black.

Yet I don’t wear a lot of black. I like the cacophony of multiple colors. Black as a wardrobe color gained prominence because it was easy, no need to figure out the mood just slip on the black outfit. With me the mood it creates is somber and I can already wake up feeling somber I want to throw on a color that energizes me—something which cheers me up, makes me feel joyous about leaving the warm, comfortable confines of my beloved bed.

But I digress—something I also like to do and which I intend to do frequently in my blog. I try to teach a non-linear understanding of the world, but often I’m forced in a class or a piece of writing to express the curvilinear and circular understanding in a formal linear manner—not today! Going green is complex. It is a process and not a destination. THERE CANNOT BE ONE THING THAT IS GREEN. The numerous responses posted to the Times article indicates some of the complexity. Yes putting wine in a lighter weight box will require less energy to transport it long distances. But how is the plastic made? What health effects are there from putting an acidic liquid in a plastic lining? And the list goes on. This is an issue I see all the time. As a chef, gardener, ecologist and educator frequently people ask me what is the most green thing to eat. Still trapped in the box of looking for “the” answer, and there are many answers. It is a complex matrix with different variables at different times.

I favor local over “certified organic”. I think relationships are more important and more reliable than any stamp being issues by the government. Being able to go to a Farmers Market and have a conversation with the person who grew my food is important to me. I do eat some items that have been shipped from far away, but I try to do so consciously and in moderation. I’m about to go down to San Francisco and pick up a case of 2005 Chateau Beaucastle, one of my favorite CDPs. There would have been less energy used to ship it to me in a box rather than in glass but I’m planning on waiting several years to drink it. In fact I’ll derive pleasure, and a certain amount of discomfort since patience is not my virtue, from the waiting. Anticipating and fantasying about how it will taste when it’s ready. Likewise I only eat local strawberries. So in the spring I get excited when I start seeing the plants in my gardens start to flower, knowing they will eventually bear fruit. It becomes tempting to buy a pint of local organic strawberries when they show up in the store before mine are ready, but I wait. And nothing tastes as good as the first one; it’s like a first kiss. Later ones are often better but the first holds a special place—as St Pauli used to proclaim you never forget your first girl---mmmm, short, brown hair with blue eyes, freckles, kissed her on a stoop in the 60’s on the Upper East Side. Can’t for the life of me remember her name but I remember the kiss!

Back to the box. In America most wine is consumed the day it is bought. I once read in less than an hour after it was bought. We do live in a land of immediate gratification. (Post your thoughts to a blog before you’ve even finished thinking them out.) As you can read, I think there is a time and place for that. There might be a place for wines in a box, even if not a place left in my frig. There is certainly a place for thinking outside of the box. But drawing the box in the first place defines what is inside and what is outside. We also need to question if we need a box at all. I have lots of friends who have decided they don’t need wine at all, and some who have painfully realized they cannot have wine at all. So I try to remain grateful that I can partake of a glass of wine, and I’ve also drunk wine out of a plastic Mardi Gras cup. I’d rather have my glass say “Riedel” in small letters on it then “Bacchus” in large purple and gold lettering, but I’m glad both exist.