The first dinner I had with J Gold, I was so nervous that I tried to use a knife to cut my soup. The second, a long tasting menu, I asked if he ever took notes during meals. He looked at me and said, "That would be like taking notes during sex." A giant. RIP.
Ella Brennan, Fats Domino, Paul Prudhomme, Leah Chase, Dr. John—a generation that presented New Orleans to the world, and invented it in the process—all gone in the space of a few years.
What makes this more than a snit (I think) is this: It’s what happens when, A) The relationship between diner and restaurant is presumed from the outset to be antagonistic. And, B) A wall of tech is erected between them that eliminates the possibility of human contact.
A tremendous amount left on the cutting-room floor for this one, but this extraordinary David Allan Coe story, from the inimitable
@pennjillette
, simply could not be left behind—or told in any words but his.
To commemorate tomorrow's most important event—the unofficial opening of crawfish season—reposting my two cents on the Crawfish Culture Wars. Get you some!
I wouldn't wish the kind of secular sainthood Leah Chase bore in this city on anybody. From a distance, I sometimes worried it was unfair. But it's hard to imagine anybody wearing it with more strength or grace.
With respect, giving the biggest journalism awards to a publication that pays ~.25/wd. seems like a good way to ensure that eventually there will be no journalism left to reward.
Grateful for this, and to be in such company. Will celebrate with Drago's oysters, a Mawi Tortillas pupusa, a Radosta's po-boy, sisig from Cebu, and catfish from Chicken's Kitchen (if I can get in). MFK Fisher would have loved Metaire.
My friend Bradley moved to Salt Lake City, but he missed Mardi Gras so much that he made a costume and wore it around town, including to work at a PT clinic.
Tonight I am packing the family onto the City of New Orleans for the overnight trip to Chicago—hopefully with fireworks in the Delta. It will either be an all-time dad debacle or a mild dad victory.
If I had a podium I'd thank Tunde, the JBF,
@willwelch
&
@danielvriley
, bow to
@tejalrao
&
@zoehtennant
, & also toast Jim Nelson whose last assignment to me this was & who (I believe) sent more writers to collect JBF medals than anyone. Most were named Alan Richman, but still....
On Monday, I tried (under a different name) to make a (work) reservation at a NYC restaurant. (Llama San.) In my haste, I accidentally clicked on a four-top for that day instead of *next* Mon. I canceled 15 seconds later. Because it was within 24 hours, it triggered a $100 fee.
Restaurant kitchens are full of unsung heroes, obscurity toilers, invisible workers like Douglas Oliver, who died last month. For over three decades, Douglas worked as a pitmaster at Sweatman's Bar-B-Que in Holly Hill, SC. He called himself a "worker ant."
Here's the thing: The difference between the prospect of quarantining with small children and without is so great that, to those of us with, the rest of you might as well already be water-skiing. So the idea that you'd still feel the need to risk going to a bar is just boggling.
I thought this message which went out to chefs across New Orleans last week would be a scandal, but apparently the website is just as bald. I wonder who bought
#1
?
Easy to see why the Advocate hired so few of these people. Wishing the new regime the best, but if this week you're not mourning all the talent leaving the city and/or the business—and all the stories that will go untold—you're doing it wrong.