insert lyrics to "Food" by Reggie and the Full Effect

Whirlwind of the last few days. 

Day before yesterday I was hired at The Melting Pot on St. Charles. I’ve never been to a Melting Pot but I hear it’s a great date place. Also, the average sales per gust pretty much dictates that I’ll be making some serious tips. Not to mention I will be at the table preparing fondue and demonstrating my mad wine skills. And being politely chatty. 

Last night while I was out with Melinda (who is such a great cheerleader!) she introduced me to a chef that might want to enlist me as a server/ Southwest food advisor. Going to speak to them this afternoon. Today I received an e-mail from a manager at Copeland’s Cheesecake Bistro. He wants to interview me tomorrow. 

So, within a few days of looking for a job in New Orleans I HAVE a job, still getting call backs from other applications that I put in and still networking for more opportunities. Suck it Las Cruces. Cher and I went out for celebration drinks, hence the lack of bloggy.

Yesterday was my adventure into local foods and cooperatives. 

Found the Crescent City Farmer’s Market on Broadway. Taking the St. Charles street car I discovered lots of places. I knew that Touro Synagogue was on the route, but also Temple Sinai, the Jewish Community Center, Loyola, the Library, and the zoo. St. Charles street car pretty much rocks my socks. 

The farmer’s market is lush. LUSH! I was blown away by how much was available. Chard, carrots, beets the size of your fist, cauliflower (!), sweet potatoes, strawberries, citrus of all shapes and sizes—more produce that I’m used to seeing at market. Then there was goat milk products, chicken, seafood, beef, bread, pies, juices, PALETAS! 

One of the vendors had plant starters. I was excited to see many mints- chocolate, orange, and PINEAPPLE MINT which is my very favorite. Pineapple mint likes to try to die. This happened to me every single time I tried to raise them. I was happy (but dismayed) to see the yellowing leaves of the mint the vendor had. It’s not just me! I’m not a pineapple mint killer. Pineapple mint is just depressed. 

I wanted to purchase something from every vendor, but decided to pace myself. If I bought everything this week I wouldn’t have a reason to go back next week. 

I bought carrots from one vendor purely because the vendor had really good looking arms. Like, on the cover of a romance novel titled, “Naomi and The Farmer’s Son” arms. Next time I’m going to take a picture. Naomi= Shameless

I bought chard, garlic chevre, some beet lemonade (it sounds interesting; I still haven’t mustered the courage to drink it) and two pints of strawberries for my gracious friend Cher. 

Then it was off to the New Orleans Food Cooperative. This coop isn’t as large as the one in Las Cruces, but to be fair this is only a baby coop. They started up in October of last year. 

 

That said, they already have more of their shit together than Mountain View Market. 

Transparency and accountability for one. The member comment cards are replied to and posted on a public board. MVM management has a really bad habit of letting member comments, complaints and commendations go on ignored. Board minutes for the previous meetings are also posted publicly and from what I can tell in a timely fashion. They also provide you with a copy of the coop’s bylaws when you sign up. I don’t think many people who work at MVM know where a copy of the bylaws (just the one) is kept in the store. 

Then there’s joining. The cashier didn’t treat my joining as a chore. She didn’t send me off to another desk to finalize my membership. She didn’t apologize to the next person in line about “taking so long.” No, Brooke called a coworker over help other guests while she spent time with me to fill out my application and explain a few things. 

Once the transaction was done… she rang a cow bell over her head and shouted, “WE HAVE A NEW OWNER.” This announcement was prompted by smiles all around and a chorus of “WOO!” coming from various parts of the store. One guy came jogging from an isle—just to say, “Welcome.” 

New Orleans Food Coop has a Hands-on Owner program. I get to volunteer for MY coop and then I get a discount for the month. 12 hours gets me 15%. This kind of incentive invites the members to participate in the store and its financial health. Also- it builds a sense of community. Members aren’t anonymous folks who merely consume what the coop has to offer, they are the people IN the store helping out. 

My share in this new cooperative is $100. Membership is half of that at MVM. And if $100 is still too steep? They have a $25 low-income share. I think this is utterly brilliant. Members who are on food stamps have already admitted to being in a financial situation in which they have difficulty providing nutrition for their households. Why charge them $100? How does that benefit the health of our community? 

A cooperative should be about building up communities. Not building up barriers. Of any kind. If that attitude makes me spicy granola.... then so be it.

In other news, New Orleans Food Coop… still carries JOLLYBEANS. 

Word.

Why is it cold? I thought I moved to the South... OMG BBQ!

Yesterday was chilly. I am missing my warm cats and warm Centro Santa Catalina blanket. They go a little something like this.

I should be enjoying the chill while it lasts. I’m told in a matter of months I’m going to be utterly miserable because of the humidity. I say bring it on. It’ll be like living in a sauna. One long sweat lodge detox sort of situation. I’ll drop a few pounds in time for my birthday. 

 

Pablo did take me to The Green Project. Part of their mission? 

“The Green Project conducts regular environmental workshops focusing on the R's of sustainability: reduce, reuse, reclaim, repair, recycle, repurpose, restore, rehabilitate.”

Gosh, folks, remember back when we only had 3 R’s? Reduce, reuse and recycle. And that was big news, remember? We’d come home from school, all indoctrinated by Captain Planet PSA coloring books and tell our parents that they were destroying our future because they didn’t turn the water off when they brushed their teeth. Of course most of our parents would look at us like we were being little fuckin’ snot-faced-ingrates. 

Green has come a long way baby. 

The place was awesome. Think of an item in your home that needs to be replaced or repaired. (Have you ever seen the prefix “re-“ so well used?) You’ve been putting it off for ages, because you can’t find a part that fits or matches at an affordable price. Door. Window. Window screen. Door knob. Hinges. Cupboard. Shelf. Loose tile.... anything.

They had mantles. GORGEOUS MANTLES. I wanted to buy one and install it against a wall… just because they were that beautiful and important looking. Who needs a fireplace?

They freakin’ have it all at The Green Project. And if they don’t have something that fits just right they have something that’ll fit for now or fit after you make adjustments. If they don’t have something that matches it won’t really bother you that much because you’ll be getting a great deal on something that is going to look gitchy and hip. 

I’m looking forward to getting some extra cash. I plan on going back to look for parts to build some bookshelves. Nothing can replace the bookshelves my grand-dad made me for my high school graduation. But for now some spray painted cinder blocks and stained wood planks will make a good abode for my poor paper darlings. The few that I have with me in any case. 

We also went to The Joint. My first taste of New Orleans BBQ.

It was "shut the fuck up and eat" good.

Now I knew walking into The Joint that the food would be good-- for a few reasons.
One- it wasn't on a major street.
Two- I could SMELL slow cooked practices at work. From outside the building you can smell the smoke and succulence. I nearly drowned in my own spit. My mouth watered that hard.
Three- Pablo told me it was the best. He doesn't seem to be wrong about a lot of things. 

I've been living in New Mexico long enough to know.... they don't do Q right. I'm from Texas so I am genetically predisposed to know about these sort of things. So for the past few years I've been eating briskets and roasts... in BBQ clothing.

Fact- you aren't supposed to cut off all the yummy fatty bits. That is where the flavor is. I bit into several flavor burstin' bites of soft gristle (because if you've done your BBQ correctly gristle is going to be soft and buttery... not chewy or tough).

Fact- you don't serve a proper plate of BBQ brisket or ribs or sausage already covered in BBQ sauce. If just down right offensive. You, sir or madame, do now know the depths of another persons sauce consumption. In Las Cruces all the BBQ comes with a calculated portion of sauce on the meat. It's never enough for me. And when I ask for more they bring out tiny ramekins of thick sauce that can't be distributed evenly. It's like BBQ jelly (not that I'm against BBQ jelly... I bet it's just fine with Texas Toast ).

Fact- it's not BBQ unless you can drown your own meat in runny sauce from a self serve squeeze container that is left at the table.  Sauce should flow like an ocean of spices and reduced vinegar over the meat. It should soak up in to your bread and make it fall apart around your fingers. It is supposed to run down your chin and dribble onto your shirt, staining the fabric forever as a red flag of flavorful aggression. The stain says, "I done walloped this human's taste buds but good."

BBQ doesn't speak English correctly. It speaks in double negatives with a smokey southern accent.

As an English major... I've come to terms with this. All is forgiven.

Honey

I am currently drinking the very last of my very special Amaro Wine. Megan was so kind as to give me a bottle of Refrosco. The wine is simply divine. It does make me homesick for Las Cruces—where I was always near a good glass of wine for any emotional occasion. 

I’m not as sad as I thought I would be. Mostly I get weepy when I Skype with the kids or when I’m in bed. The new room that I’m in…well I shared it at first. Now that it is all mine I have a complicated nostalgia for a time span that only lasted a few days. I have to view this as a motivation to get my own place. Not that I don’t adore Cher and Pabs and their house and hospitality (because I totally do). I just, can’t roll over in bed without thinking about the absence of warmth. Not a great feeling. Hence… wine time. 

To answer the great Honey Question of 2012! Will Louisiana honey be as tasty as New Mexico honey?! 

 

So far I have only found Bernard’s Acadiana Honey. It is very light, more yellow than amber. The honey is sweet, with no flavor. It’s just… sweet. When I macked down on a spoonful it made my throat sugar-itchy, rather than the smooth and soothing effect honey ought to have.  The label doesn’t indicate that is it 100% honey, which makes me question if it has syrup in it because, again, it is really sweet. I found a “raw” version at the co-op—it was comb in positively transparent honey. No crystallization at all. I take this as an indication that it has been heat treated.  Labeling like this can occur because comb is raw, but to make a great "display" you have to sell it in treated honey to people can see the comb. 

The bottles and all of the website information I’ve found doesn’t describe which type of flora the bees might be nibbling in to create the honey, so the honey must be mass batched-- taken from a large area (Acadiana) and mixed together (also heat treated?) to maintain consistency, which might explain the lack of definable flavor. Bernard’s Honey also claims to be kosher but if it’s not raw and labeled as 100% honey (which the bottle I have is not labeled as) then it’s not kosher.  Not that I'm planning on keeping kosher... just sayin'.

I’m not a fan. But I have more research to do with other honey providers. 

I could be wrong. Maybe the raw honey has a different crystallization rate that I’m used to. Perhaps the labeling standards aren’t as strict or informative as I’m expecting them to be.  It could be that the flora here just doesn’t help the bees make a thick, juicy, amber, flavorful, throat soothing… delicious… 

The honey doesn’t have the complexities of what I’ve had from Sun Mountain but thankfully I still have half a 3 pound bottle of Valley Blend to tide me over until I get a care package (which reminds me… ahem… I could use care packages that include NM honey… and red and/or green chile, Truck Farm pre-made mixes of any type, cajeta, and generally anything from Pros Ranch Market.) 

No. Seriously. I’m out of wine. A week without Southwest yummies. And I have only 1.5ish pounds of NM honey. 

My taste buds could very well be on the verge of self-destruct. You don’t know.

hi-5 and free shit

You probably think that now that I’m in New Orleans my life has been one long Southern Comfort fueled adventure because, you know, GO CUP!  Or that I’ve picked up smoking again because you can smoke in bars here. Or that I sleep in until three in the afternoon and nurse hangovers until six in the evening only to end the throbbing skull pain with the hair of the dogs that bit me.
 

And while I have consumed much Southern Comfort (and PBR with lime—a habit that seems to disgust my new friend Pablo) and I have had a few drags of cigarettes (and regretted it--coughing) I have surprisingly been in bed before midnight most nights, and waking up around eight or nine.

This is to say-- if I had bought into the many stereotypes about New Orleans I’d feel really stupid right now. 

Thankfully I didn’t and now I feel really right about being here. The town is friendly. On Sunday Jon and I went out for lunch. When I told our waiter that I’d just move here he smiled broadly and high fived me. For the most part everyone who has learned that I’m new has been really excited for me. The lady at the pizza place, everyone at the Mardi Gras party I attended, Cher and Pablo’s friends, Cher’s boss and coworkers, and general strangers who have found out. 

Of course my newbie-ness, I think, also tries the patience of my new friends. I have a habit of wanting to leave the house at five to meet a parade that won’t be near our intersection of the city for another hour and half. The light, “Oh Nomi, you’re so green.” Attitude is to be expected from those who live here. It would be like someone from the east coming to New Mexico and pronouncing “chile” as “chili.” I’d pull rank and authority on those people just as much as my new friends are educating me.
 

I’m glad we left early for the parade just the same. There was an armoire sitting around the corner. A few drawers to be repaired, but then my clothes will have a place to live (instead of in space bags). I took the free furniture as a sign—a welcoming high five from the city itself.   

Now if only the city could welcome me with a free bicycle and a great job! 

Thankfully I am prepared for the walking around town. Though I do need some drinking and walking conditioning—Mardi Gras stroll from the Garden District to Frenchman street while drinking PBR and High Life (without lime L ) and Southern Comfort, under the weight of 5 pounds of beads…. That was a little rough. Not the normal circumstances for strolling about. I live near Magazine Street, which is essentially a foodie slash fashionistas wet dream. Shops and cafes galore. The synagogue I will be joining is just a short stroll down St. Charles. A grocery store, Walgreens, Ace Hardware are all a hop skip and a jump away.

With a bicycle all things are possible in this town. There are bikes everywhere… EVERYWHERE! I can’t wait until I can abbreviate my traveling with a quick and breezy bike ride. I’ve actually threatened to get a job as a pedi-cab driver. I have a feeling I would making bangin’ bucks in tips if people have to stare at my flexing buttocks in bike shorts. 

Joking aside, finding a job here will be significantly easier than in Las Cruces. Mainly because there are jobs to be had of every shape, size and shift. A new friend says he might be able to help me get a job in a Daiquiri shop in the Quarter. Not exactly the type of community oriented position I’ve been hoping for—but for now something like that can help me earn a lot of money in a very short amount of time. I have an apartment to save up for, and about a dozen restaurants down Magazine that I’m itching to try. Not to mention many many many adorable shops full of very very adorable red shoes and dresses with roosters on them.

….

We all know that I moved here for so many reasons. Inspired reasons. Heartbreaking reasons. Reasons that have been really good reasons for a really long time. And reasons that are brand new and twice as convincing. 

When you make a move like this… expectation can build. It can be really easy to regret your decision to abandon all you know, to run away from problems that couldn’t have be solved anyway, to take on something so bewilderingly new and risk the chance at it being a huge mistake that will only further burn and bother bridges that were about to come down.

This city will not disappoint my expectations. In these first few shaking days I’ve come to discover that New Orleans is happy to have me. And I’m happy to be here. Happy to explore. Happy to feel welcomed. Happy for opportunities that should have been mine a long time ago. 

And yes, happy for go cups too.