a night in new orleans

Hello.

After a night in Cajun Country, celebrating the wedding of two very special people, the remaining reunited college friends set off for a little New Orleans magic. This city doesn't disappoint...it just doesn't.  With my dearest friends Katie, Emily, and Louise (missing a K and a J, but with a couple of men in tow), I hit the streets and the kitchens I love and wanted to get to know.

We started at Domenica, that John Besh spot that so reminds me of the food from that other restaurant but with a slightly different sensibility. That I love.  The chicken liver pate (above) surprised...super smooth, with tangy caperberries and hard-boiled eggs, and finger-lickin' good.

Then the octopus carpaccio, which never surprises.

Because it's always so dang good.  A few more appetizers, like this burrata with tomatoes and pesto (no way on earth that could be bad), and we hit the road to pursue slightly less *guaranteed* results.

What does that mean? That means Sylvain, a newbie, a darling of the French Quarter and of the city's chefs.  We called ahead. They told us not to come. We came anyway.

To be fair, it was the night of the Final Four.  There were a lot of drunk, hungry people stumbling around. But we were more hungry and less drunk, which is perhaps why they ended up letting us sit down with the stipulation that only one plate could be ordered (among 5 people).

We chose the pork roulades, on the recommendation of our waitress, which were served over polenta and deliciously rich collards. The serving was huge, the pork and veggies divine. And we were also allowed to pay $90 for a bottle of champagne and a plate heaped with French fries. And if that comes off sarcastic, well, it's not.

A night in the French Quarter, in a courtyard, listening to fireworks and drinking champagne, is priceless. 

ramos gin fizz + the basque country blue ribbon

 Evangelize. I've been feeling awfully nostalgic/nationalistic of late, which has led to a shameless promotion of all things Southern. Why? Maybe because twenty something of the thirty-one days in July were RAINY and COLD. Maybe I'm bitter that everything I've ever known about summer is being turned upside down.

Yes, my old compatriots, it can be 50 degrees in July.

There's a very special thing in San Sebastián called Musika Parkean, created by some very special people. It's music in the park, along with the exotic concept of picnic-ing, and done in style. This month's theme? #indenait +jazz. This month's contest? Drinks.

Ahem. Cue: Old New Orleans.

Cue, specifically, the Ramos Gin Fizz. One of the most refreshing, delicious alcoholic drinks around. Also fun to watch people balk  at the ingredient list: raw eggs? cream? I'm not going to like that.

Ahem. Yes, you are.

Why? The orange flower water, the acidity from the citrus fruit....it is truly magical. Add the San Sebastián views of hilly green islands and clear water from atop the lawn of the queen's summer home, Miramar, and it's even more so.

The only catch? You have to shake this thing for a long, long time. Like five or ten minutes. It helps if, like the Ramos' bar in turn-of-the-19th-centry New Orleans, you have dozens of 'shaker boys' at hand hired specifically for the purpose.  It also helps if you have muscles that were once trained by the meanest, most relentless trainer ever (happy birthday, Frank!). Or a kind British chap to relieve you every now and then.

Turns out the shaking was worth it....this drink, one that I'd only ever enjoyed in my own home or in New Orleans, Louisiana, was declared the winner of July 2011 Musika Parkean's Cocktail Contest. First place!

Well, if that don't just beat all....

ramos gin fizz

• 1 tablespoon confectioner's sugar
• 4 drops orange flower water
• 1/2 lemon, juiced
• 1/2 lime, juiced
• 1 1/2 ounces gin
• 1 egg white
• 2 tablespoons cream
• seltzer

Combine everything but the seltzer in a cocktail shaker with a handful of ice (crushed if possible). Shake. For a long time.  Until you feel it thicken in the shaker. Pour a bit of seltzer in a tall glass, then strain the mixture into the glass.

the New Yorker food issue-mosca's: new orleans, louisiana

This week's New Yorker features a piece on Mosca's, a family-style family-owned Italian American restaurant in a small white house off the Mississippi River, in the part of New Orleans you've never been to or heard about.

This place is a must see, if just for the chance to step back in time, not to mention the cultural caché you'll get for visiting. It's so cool that even Gwyneth Paltrow claims to go there.  I fell under its spell when I covered the back of the house for a piece in Edible New Orleans. Mary Jo Mosca is in the back, cooking up Chicken a la Grande to serve on huge platters. Vivianne is dressing salads. And daughter Lisa is hanging around while she looks for something to do with her Master's degree from Tulane.

Aupa for some big city recognition of this local gem.