Posted on 10/31/2002 11:16:35 PM PST by carlo3b
The voyage of the Mayflower in 1620 from Plymouth England, to Plymouth Rock started as a journey to find peace and justice in a new world. It began as a fervent prayer to give freedom a chance, and remains today as the promise each year for a new beginning. Thanksgiving Day is a celebration of hope, and remembrance.
Today, we bring our families and friends together to share our tables and our hearts, and give thanks for all that we have to be grateful for in our new and glorious country. From this grand experiment and it's courageous settlers, to the greatest nation of the world, we have a lot to be thankful for, indeed.My earliest memory of Thanksgiving was the fuss of preparation of the wonderful food being prepared in advance of our holiday feast. Being a traditional Italian American, midwestern home, a full cornucopia of cookies of every ethnicity was in abundance. Thanksgiving morning was a special treat with a home filled with the scent of baking bread, and roasted turkey which transformed our tiny cold water flat in "Little Italy" on the lower East side of Chicago into a 3 room palace. Everyone was involved, family and friends, young and old, with 4 generations of our own majestic women. An unspoken but respected hierarchy prevailed, with the eldest women in control, and a dance like rhythm appeared to take charge of this traditional and noble endeavor. It didn't take long before our small kitchen and dinning room filled, and every flat surface was covered. People scurried into the hallway, where neighbors shuffled pans and pots in and out of their homes to their own kitchens to make room for more, always more so everyone could share in the abundance. Remembering Thanksgiving
Preparation started days earlier, with the making of the pasta. I recall my great aunt bringing in the clothesline from our back porch, the one that strung across the small yard to the adjacent porch and back. She washed and bleached this cord to string across our living and dining rooms, from sconces to chandelier, and doorjambs to windowsills. It was strung as tight as possible to hold the pounds of lasagna noodle, and spaghetti needed to hang dry, to satisfy the hearty Italian appetites. I recall as if it were yesterday listening to our nightly radio programs with the shadows of stringing pasta on the faded floral wallpaper, lending an eerie overtone to the Green hornet, or Gangbusters. How could I ever forget opening my eyes in the morning with the sight of hanging pasta overhead, but then, why in the world would I want to forget that magical moment after all, and what it meant to a young boy that a wonderful and glorious holiday was just around the corner? The Preparations
Each family was represented in the choice of menu items. Every wonderful cook in each branch of the family offered to prepare their own special version of the chosen food. This made for a memorable feast indeed, there were at least 4 successful individual restaurant owners in our family. The competition was playful and fun filled, with chunks of bread, ladles, and spoons dipping into everything, testing, tasting, and teasing. The Family and Friends
It should not be construed that the food preparation was the exclusive provence of our family women, to do so would be to underestimate the culinary contributions of some of the finest cooks in the clan. A few of my uncles, cousins and grandpa were cooks in the Army, Navy, and Marines, as well as in their own restaurants. My great uncle served as a cook in the Italian army, then captured and recruited to cook in the prisoner-of-war camp, when upon his release, served 2 tours as a cook in the US Marines during The Korean War. However, whatever greatness the men may have achieved in the outside world, the kitchen was ruled by those formidable, yet diminutive, strikingly gorgeous, black clad matriarchs of the family. Great grandmothers from both sides of the lineage, grandmothers, great grandmother-in-laws, and great great aunts. Man I'll tell ya, it was a sight to behold at best, and an Italian culinary rivalry at least. Although sharing an Italian heritage, the 6 uncles married outside the Calabrian niche, creating a scrumptious provincial food fight. The Cooks
Children weren't immune from the holiday chores. Chairs were pulled up to the stove for short perpetual stirrers. The teens were given the sink, for the neverending pots and pans, and preteens were runners for last minute fetches and food deliveries. I was honored almost exclusively with the delivery of food for the church and hospital shut-ins because I had the bike with a giant basket. Trying to describe my cousins and most of the local kids wasn't hard, the first thing I recall was, hair, lots of black hair, big doe eyes, dozens of beautiful children with wide grins. At least one kid, sometimes more, was forced to bring his or her accordion, and at every holiday gathering some poor child was browbeaten into playing "Lady Of Spain"! The Kids
Serving 30-40 people, in a one bedroom apartment on the 3rd floor, rear, walkup, was a challenge, but doable. It took the coordination of most of our wonderful neighbors, and the cooperation of all of the residence, which were always invited anyway. Everyone brought pots, pans, dishes, and utensils, at least a chair, and some brought their kitchen tables. Everyone brought something eatable, most were prearranged as in bread, but some were heirloom dessert recipes, enough for at least a good spoonful, for everyone to get a taste. Older adults, always got a chair at the table, all adults got a seat, and kids sat at the card tables, on the stairs or on a carpet in front of the radio in one of the neighbors homes. The Holiday Table
All kids had to be within earshot of the saying of the formal Grace before dinner. Then everyone recited their own prayer in various languages of their native tongue. Our family and friends were of many faiths and nationalities, the overwhelming majority of coarse were Italian. Most remembered a loved one not present, and the names of every absent serviceman and woman were individually read aloud. With all heads bowed, everyone gave thanks for the wonderful gifts of food and health, and each and every person present, gave a special thanks and how grateful they were for being in the United States of America. The Prayer
Any good excuse to gather the clan in our family was and still is, paramount. Weddings, holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, births, baptisms and unfortunately funerals are used as good excuses to get together and, you guessed it.... eat. This is usually done at the familial home of eldest member of the family. The Italian family circle is close and tight, and many families still living within their hometown, even today, live within walking distance of one another. In our family, as in many, brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins grow as one family unit. The elders live within the homes of their offspring or siblings. The hierarchy is established by the ability of the surviving parents to have living arrangements central to the greatest number of kids and kin. Love of family is the reason, and love of food is the cement. Thanksgiving is one of the most popular days of the year, and has been since my earliest memory. Even today as I did with my parents in my youth, I talk to each of my 5 children and grandchildren, almost everyday, and have even when we lived thousands of miles away... I am truly blessed. The Family
Food for an Italian holiday is second to only to the family. Present at every holiday feast were several types of entree, lasagna, ham, veal, and one or more specialty pasta and of course the giant stuffed Turkeys. There were Kosher dishes aplenty for our many Jewish friends. Our next door neighbor kept a Kosher kitchen and always shared their wonderful food with us as we did in return. Not counted as entrees were homemade sausages, meatballs, and grilled peppers. A strange calzone, one I recall with nuts and octopus was always somewhere on the table as was braciole (Italian beef rolls, and great cannoli desserts were always compliments of our Sicilian side of the family). The Food
Salads and antipasto were a mainstay, with favorites cellentani con Insalata di Peperoni (cellentani with pepper salad), and the ever popular soups, usually a bean, as in minestrone. Breads, rolls, pizza and a mixed variety of biscotti, were always in abundance. Side dishes were a meal in themselves. A vast array of vegetables prepared as specialty items, like artichoke and bacon frittata rounded out every holiday meal. Even our popular lasagne, the recipe that created a chain of famous restaurants, has broccoli or spinach as a principle ingredient to the recipe. Desserts... oh my, great custards, and pastries, ice creams and cakes such as lemon berry tiramisu or frittelle di zucca (pumpkin fritters)
The Moment of Truth My grandfather sat at the head of the table, and next to him sat a gallon jug of his homemade Italian red wine. Almost everyone seated for dinner were given a glass of his wine, if only for the many toasts that were posed, to the cooks and a milieu of other celebrations. The moment of truth came when he would call the name of the boys that he felt were to be worthy of manhood, a scholarship know only to him, usually by some unknown merit method. If you attained that status in his trusted eye, he would invite you to accept a glass of wine and he would toast your new position and with everyone's applause you drank a glass and thanked him.When my moment came, I had just turned 10, and having worked with him on his paper stand in downtown Chicago for 3 years and to my surprise he felt I was ready! Proudly I swallowed a huge gulp, and felt the heat go down my throat and explode at the core of my stomach and began to rush back up. I forced a smiled and swallowed again and hugged him as tight as I could, until my uncle secretly handed me a chunk of bread, which I bit into and forced down before I let my pa loose, perhaps in the nick of time because he slapped me on the back and everything went back down... I never drank another drop of his wine, but accepted his offer to take a glass, each time he offered it until he passed a year later. How I loved that man.
The Carving At each end of the long tables were placed huge turkeys. The head of the households were given the honor of carving these beautifully prepared, golden trophies. It was a ritual and with surgical skills each bird was sliced and distributed to all in attendance until nothing remained but the bare bones. At the conclusion of this wonderful occasion, the men stood and with glasses raised toasted the blushing ladies as we sang... in our best voice, and in Italian, a song dedicated to our wonderful women, .. "Mamma"
Get yourself a five-gallon bucket. Line it with a plastic liner such as new Hefty trash bag. Only use kosher salt. Mix the salt in the proper amount of water, drop the bird in the bag, remove the air and stick it on the back porch overnight - just make sure it doesn't freeze. Cook the cluck like you normally would.
Enjoy...
The town is most noted for their Devotion to San Rocco and brought their Fest with them when many of the town's citizens migrated to Pennsylvania...where I was born.
Your descriptions of family holiday dinners are right on point, although every Sunday dinner was a banquet. Afterward, the men would enjoy a good cigar, a shot of Anisette and fall asleep on the sofa or big chair. The women would spend an hour cleaning the kitchen and dining room. "Pop" even made his own wine, using only the finest of California grapes.
Love your threads, Carlo!
sw
I want a boatload of that egg nog right now!
Working so hard on elections here in NY that the best I could muster up tonight was a quick grab at Cninese take-out. A quick read here is killing me.
Bookmarked for thorough read later.
PS your family memories are beautiful. Reminds me of the many hours I spent as a child at my Italian friend's house. Mine was Scottish/English and my interest in the Italian food prompted my mom to take cooking lessons from our neighbor.(I was a real skinny kid and any interest in food made my mom really happy). To this day I swear I was Italian in a previous life.
(((((carlo3b)))))
To: Angelique; carlo3b; jellybean
A little Thanksgiving ditty167 posted on 11/16/2001 3:17 PM CST by stanzThere was a Texas turkey
who worried day and night
He fretted in the barnyard
a sad and dismal sight
He pulled out all his feathers
refused to drink or eat
he looked so thin and scrawny
from his head down to his feet
his plan was to look sickly
Farmer Carlo sure would see
this frail and puny turkey on his table would not be
"We want no skinny birds here"
Farmer Carlo did proclaim
"I'll fatten you up somehow
for it's a rotten shame
to celebrate Thanksgiving
without a tasty squab
He'll ruin my reputation
he'll jeopardize my job
For I am Carlo3b
the Chef of all FR
My book's due any day now
How anxious we all are!
I'll find a way to trick him
How chubby he will be
I'll ply him with some tidbits from "The Clinton Legacy"
and then I'll stuff and roast him
and serve him up with spice
he'll compliment my table
with stuffing he'll taste nice."
But this turkey was no idiot
He saw right through the ruse
He did resist temptation
All food he did refuse
So Carlo, with frustration,
did what he had to do
He gave up on Tom Turkey
with that bird he was through
He turned to that great cookbook
and thumbed through every page
some recipes with parsley,
some with thyme,rosemary and sage
and then he did discover
Chapter four, page 103
a way to make Tofurky
that would please his family
so this has a happy ending
Everyone has been appeased
Tom the Turkey has a job now
He pickets in DC
He used to be lurker
But he gave it up you see
He was saved by Free Republic
and "The Clinton Legacy."
To: stanz; carlo3b; jellybean; TwoStep; piasa; christie; LadyX; Teacup; Grampa Dave; SierraWaspWHEN I WAS A YOUNG TURKEY, NEW TO THE COOP,177 posted on 11/18/2001 10:19 AM CST by Angelique
MY BIG BROTHER MIKE TOOK ME OUT ON THE STOOP,THEN HE SAT ME DOWN, AND HE SPOKE REAL SLOW,
AND HE TOLD ME THERE WAS SOMETHING THAT I HAD TO KNOW;HIS LOOK AND HIS TONE I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER,
WHEN HE TOLD ME OF THE HORRORS OF.... BLACK NOVEMBER;"COME ABOUT AUGUST, NOW LISTEN TO ME,
EACH DAY YOU'LL GET SIX MEALS INSTEAD OF JUST THREE "AND SOON YOU'LL BE THICK WHERE ONCE YOU WERE THIN,
AND YOU'LL GROW A BIG RUBBERY THING UNDER YOUR CHIN;"AND THEN ONE MORNING, WHEN YOU'RE WARM IN YOUR BED,
IN'LL BURST THE FARMER'S WIFE, AND HACK OFF YOUR HEAD;"THEN SHE'LL PLUCK OUT ALL YOUR FEATHERS SO YOU'RE BALD 'N PINK,
AND SCOOP OUT ALL YOUR INSIDES AND LEAVE YA LYIN' IN THE SINK;"AND THEN COMES THE WORST PART" HE SAID NOT BLUFFING,
"SHE'LL SPREAD YOUR CHEEKS AND PACK YOUR REAR WITH STUFFING"WELL, THE REST OF HIS WORDS WERE TOO GRIM TO REPEAT,
I SAT ON THE STOOP LIKE A WINGED PIECE OF MEAT,AND DECIDED ON THE SPOT THAT TO AVOID BEING COOKED,
I'D HAVE TO LAY LOW AND REMAIN OVERLOOKED;I BEGAN A NEW DIET OF NUTS AND GRANOLA,
HIGH-ROUGHAGE SALADS, JUICE AND DIET COLA;AND AS THEY ATE PASTRIES, CHOCOLATES AND CREPES,
I STAYED IN MY ROOM DOING JANE FONDA TAPES;I MAINTAINED MY WEIGHT OF TWO POUNDS AND A HALF,
AND TRIED NOT TO NOTICE WHEN THE BIGGER BIRDS LAUGHED;BUT 'TWAS I WHO WAS LAUGHING, UNDER MY BREATH,
AS THEY CHOMPED AND THEY CHEWED, EVER CLOSE TO DEATH;AND SURE ENOUGH WHEN BLACK NOVEMBER ROLLED AROUND,
I WAS THE LAST TURKEY LEFT IN THE ENTIRE COMPOUND;SO NOW I'M A PET IN THE FARMER'S WIFE'S LAP;
I HAVEN'T A WORRY SO I EAT AND I NAP;SHE HELD ME TODAY, WHILE SEWING AND HUMMING,
AND SMILED AT ME AND SAID: "CHRISTMAS IS COMING..."
--Author unknownP.S. Christie, do NOT let Blue Boy read this!
Makes 17 cups. ICE RING: Arrange orange slices in bottom of small ring mold. Fill with cold water. Freeze till firm. Unmold onto plate, slip ring gently into punch bowl.
I told my wife what you said about wanting some of Kenny's recipes; &. she points to her temple & wryly says, "They're right here."
Remember now, this is "Soul Food" the guy made us; things fit for eating during football games.
Kenny's foods really reminded me a lot of the food we used to call, "depression dishes" around my house.
(~well both parents lived during the depression & had to make a lot from a little in those day; hence, the name?)
Of course, now that I'm a little older -- & in hindsight -- I wished Kenny were still around today so he could cook the kind of dishes he'd have routinely prepared for the main dining rooms of the places he cooked for.
I seem to recall Kenny attended some French culinary school -- in Milwaukee I believe w/ a woman's name in it? -- I'm sure he was pretty good with sauces et al & high-brow dishes.
Having said that & interestingly enough?
The BBQ sauce he used to make used -- of all things -- ordinary ketchup.
Yea, you put a couple of cups of ketchup into a pan, add a splash of "Liquid Smoke" * Lea & Perrins "Worcester Sauce," a shake or two of Cayenne Pepper (~to taste), a few tablespoons of brown sugar & then -- the *really* important ingrediant -- a couple spoons of a good brown mustard.
Mix together over a low heat to combine everything.
30 minutes after the chicken, ribs, (chops require MUCH less time; say, *15* minutes for chops) have been roasted & preferrably smoked using mesquite, hickory, oak, or for pork, *apple wood*?
Slather the meat up good with this mixture & recover Weber to complete cooking; about, an additional 30 mins in most cases.
The brown sugar causes this sauce to carmalize wonderfully on the meat & is truly -- we think -- quite unique; not to mention, easy to make & *inexpensive* to throw together.
Now Kenny pre-prepared his chicken & ribs before they ever hit the grill, too.
He'd put a few tablespoons of butter into a pan along with a half cup of olive oil; &, heat on the stove or, as we do now, using the microwave.
This mixture is used to thoroghly coat the meat, either; *after* a "rub" has been applied or before something like P.Prudhomme's (or whatever you like) is added.
Place meat onto the grill using the indirect method of heating.
(btw; he'd coat *all* manner of STEAKS -- beef *or* pork -- with the same stuff; as, doing so adds that certain something extra we just love.)
Another thing he taught us was an exceptionally easy way to make a delicious Pork Roast on the ol' Weber.
(~the kind of Pork Roast which is in two pieces & tied with string?)
He'd pull the pork apart (while leaving the string intact), & it seemed like he'd place as many Bay Leaves as he could fit in between the pork haves...then, he'd just close 'er up.
Now he'd coat the outside with *just* olive oil, & then roll the thing, thoroghly, in coarse ground black pepper.
(The roast will be cooked using the "indirect" method, btw.)
Anyway, roast is now placed into a basket made out of aluminum foil -- actually "wrapped" with the "top" left open.
Now put LOTS of applewood on top of the coals that've been heating up for 15-20 minutes beforehand.
(we *love* using "apple wood" for pork, incidentally; something quite popular back in Wisconsin. I'm actually surprised more people aren't savvy to using the stuff on their BBQ'd PORK whatever. (~do ya remember Patrick Cudahy Bacon; smoked with, "Sweet Applewood?)
Overcook this roast at your own risk, BTW; what's worse than dry pork??
We cook a 1.5#er for around an hour; no more & have found meat therometers for this meat totally UNreliable!!
IF there's any pink in the meat when carve 'er up?
We'll simply give it a jolt in the microwave; &, that'll take care of any residule pinkness without ruining the wonderful flavors.
WARNING: I needn't tell you -- of all people -- overcook the pork roast & ya risk *dry* pork. Awful. So be on your game & watch this like a hawk.
Kenny would also do an entire head of cauliflower at the same time as this roast.
Using a butter knife he'd literally "butter the head" -- working the butter into the little crevaces -- & then season with whatever he used in those days...today, we use Paul Prudhomme "Vegetable Magic" & it's great.
Now making the same "basket" out of aluminum, place the head into the center & wrap similar to the roast; only twist, fold or otherwise seal the head so it'll *steam* cook.
Kenny's baked beans are about as simple as it gets, too.
He'd actually use regular canned beans -- we prefer Bush's regular (of course...) -- to which he'd add cayenne pepper, brown sugar, & a chopped cooking onion.
Mix everything up, & now cover the top of the beans with a layer of thin-sliced bacon. (~you can half-cook that bacon if you prefer, too).
Cover three-quarters of the handle-less frying pan with aluminum foil & place onto grill over *half* of the coals; with, hichory chunks to smoke it all real nice.
DON'T overcook this bean dish or it'll be like tar; in fact for us, usually, as soon as the beans start to boil? We consider 'em done & will take 'em off the grill and just let 'em sit until our other entres are ready.
~Delicious meals, all.
Funny thing, too.
I clearly recall the *odd* way Kenny had for checking a roast for doneness, too.
While I use a meat thermometer, usually, he'd squeeze a roast using his fingers.
Ever hear of that?
Anyway, you're an "Artist" and your recipes reflect as much, carlo.
These dishes are very basic; but, over the years we've tweeked 'em one way or the other & have got some great results.
...thanks for the recipes!!
Stop before I self destruct. I'm the one with the high numbers in everything that kills you. So it is celery sticks and iced tea for me this holiday season......(like heck!)
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Pretty Interesting...... Next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be... Here are some facts about the 1500s: |
He said, "Hey, how come you're not eating chicken, don't you like it anymore?"
She said "I love it but I have to stop eating it." "Why?" he asked.
She pointed to her lap and said "Cause I'm starting to grow little feathers down there!"
"Let me see" he said. "Okay" and she pulled up her skirt. He looked and said, "That's right. You are! Better not eat any more chicken."
He kept eating his chicken sandwiches until one day he brought peanut butter. He said to the little girl, "I have to stop eating chicken sandwiches, I'm starting to get feathers down there too!" She asked if she could look, so he pulled down his pants for her.
She said "Oh, my God, it's too late for you! You've already got the neck and the gizzards."
At an airport I overheard a father and daughter in their last moments together. They had announced her plane's departure and standing near the door she said, "Daddy, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Daddy."
They kissed good-bye and she left. He walked over toward the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, "Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?"
"Yes, I have," I replied. Saying that brought back memories I had of expressing my love and appreciation for all my Dad had done for me. Recognizing that his days were limited, I took the time to tell him face to face how much he meant to me. So I knew what this man was experiencing.
"Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?" I asked.
"I am old and she lives much too far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is, her next trip back will be for my funeral," he said.
"When you were saying good-bye I heard you say, 'I wish you enough'. May I ask what that means?"
He began to smile. "That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone."
He paused a moment and looking up as if trying to remember it in detail, he smiled even more.
"When we said 'I wish you enough', we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with enough good things to sustain them".
He continued and then, turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory: I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright. I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more. I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive. I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger. I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting. I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess. I wish enough 'Hellos' to get you through the final 'Good-bye'.
He then began to sob and walked away.
They say, "It takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but then an entire lifetime to forget them."
My friends and loved ones, I wish you ENOUGH!!!
| (Written by a former child) A message every adult should read, because children are watching you and doing as you do, not as you say.
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Eating your way through Louisiana!
Ever wonder where a Master Chef plans a vacation, or where he eats when on vacation? Well no matter your answer, I'm going to tell you anyway. We, my 14 year old son Matthew and I, follow our noses to the best places in the universe to find great food, and one of the best places on earth is Louisiana.
New Orleans is a great destination for anyone, but a real treat for a Chef and his family hoping for a culinary adventure. I have had the pleasure of visiting the bayou state many times, but with the array of food variations within the state, each time is a new culinary experience.
We planned our trip from Houston to New Orleans the most direct route, Hwy. I 10, 370 miles, and with our typical 5 stops for food about a 8 hour trip!!
First let me warn you that the only 3 directions you will ever get if you ask any Cajun where to find something, "Down da Bayou, Up da Bayou, and 'Cross da Bayou". Strangely, it always got us where we were going, and in the fastest time!
Let me give you a little history of Louisiana, similarly called, The Pelican State, The Bayou State, Sportsman's Paradise, The Sugar State, The Creole State, The Jazz Capital, and best of all, Cajun Country.
Louisiana is a southern state that lies on the Gulf of Mexico at the mouth of the Mississippi River. Robert Cavelier, Sieur de la Salle, an explorer, claimed the Mississippi Valley in 1682 and named it Louisiana in honor of Louis XIV of France. The early French and Spanish settlers became known as Creoles. Groups of Acadians settled in Louisiana after the late 1760s, after they were driven from their homes in Acadia (Nova Scotia Canada). Acadians are often called Cajuns. Baton Rouge is the capital, and New Orleans is the largest city. Many of the people have French ancestors; and French and variations of the French language is still spoken in many regions today.
Louisiana is also known as The Bayou State for it's hundreds of sluggish streams called bayous. They wind through the marshes and lowlands of the southern section. Tangled marsh grasses and cypress trees draped with spanish moss grown between the bayous and lakes. Large crops of cotton, rice, and sweet potatoes come from its plantations and farms. Louisiana won the nickname The Sugar State because it grows so much sugar cane. Lonely fur trappers of the swamps and woodlands gather more fur bearing animals than those of any other state or Canadian providence. Louisiana fishermen catch the nation's largest haul of shrimp. Vast supplies of petroleum formed the basis of a great industrial boom that began during WWII.
People from all parts of the US and the world travel to New Orleans for the city's great carnival, Mardi Gras, in February or March. Tourists enjoy listening to New Orleans style Jazz in cafes along Bourbon Street in the area that is often called the Cradle of Jazz. The stately plantation homes stand amid fields of cotton or sugar cane in several sections. Descendants of the Acadians still live in the bayou country.
Southern Louisiana has a well deserved and distinguished reputation for the finest of food. Favorite soups include bisque, a thick soup made with shellfish; gumbo, a soup thickened with okra; and a kind of fish soup called bouillabaisse. The people sometimes add chicory when preparing their strong black coffee.
Which leads me to begin our adventure with our first morning in New Orleans at a famous gathering spot for tourist and locals alike, Café Du Monde located in the heart of the French Quarter. They serve this unique coffee with Beignets, a wonderful puffed pasty, dusted with powdered sugar.
The French Quarter is the only intact French Colonial and Spanish settlement remaining in the United States. It has been a continuous residential neighborhood since 1718, and is the bedrock of Creole cuisine. Of all the wonderful choices for Lunch in "The Big Easy", we decided on The Court of Two Sisters, tucked into a vined courtyard, featuring a daily Jazz Brunch buffet. The outstanding food selections change according to season and time of day, including made-to-order omelets, Eggs Benedict, ceviche, Shrimp Creole, chicken and andouille gumbo, oysters Bienville, and Duck a l'Orange. I tasted a tiny bit of everything, ha, and settled on their own version of jambalaya, a triumph of Creole tradition. Finally, Crepes Suzette to die for. I almost did!
Walking through the Quarter is the order of day, and visiting the historical New Orleans landmarks is a must. Also it allows you to walk off lunch and leave room for a midday snack, seafood Gumbo and fresh Oysters on the half shell at a suggested local favorite, Ralph and Kacoo's on Toulouse St. The atmosphere was as casual as their attention to service, which is nothing to write home about, so I won't except to say, the Oysters, well... were more historical than memorable ..ugh! Moving along...
Strolling along Bourbon Street during the day is a special treat for the entire family as long as you keep the attention of the youngin's on the wonderfully unique architecture and calliope of sounds. The New Orleans style of Jazz is one of the truly original forms of musical tribute to an entire culture. Calling Bourbon Street, The Birthplace of Jazz, jazz historian Al Rose wrote a definition of New Orleans-style jazz which was eventually adopted by the city government. It reads: "Jazz is two or more musical voices improvising collectively in two-four or four-four time on any known melody and 'syncopating.' " ..Huh? OK, moving on....
Choosing where to eat dinner in one of the gourmet capitals of the world is more of a headache than a pleasure. Antoine's, (a leader in traditional French), Arnauds, (classic Creole), Bella Luna, (one of the country's most romantic restaurants), Cafe Marigny, (magnifique!) That got me to the D's, when it suddenly hit me, Bam, thats it! Chef Emeril's, Delmonico Restaurant and Bar, referencing the now infamous TV Chef, Emeril Lagasse. Located in the Garden District, away from the hustle and bustle of the Quarter. This unobtrusive two story on St. Charles Avenue, adjacent to the Historic Trolley line, was easy to access by car, something that few popular New Orleans restaurants can boast. "Reservations a must", and it was soon obvious why that statement was true. A score of finely decorated intimate dining rooms and bar, flanked by a staircase to more, where already completely full by 7:45 pm. We were escorted to the lounge where the little pixy of a waitress that served us our aperitif was younger than my tie... ba da boom!
Within minutes, we were shown to a comfortable corner table in one of the 2nd floor nooks, with a window overlooking the Boulevard and the lighted skyscrapers of a distant downtown. The menu was a full compliment of everything anyone would want or expect with a quality continental fare. Although I am not exactly a fan of smoked things, I loved the sampler of Crusted Salmon Roll, which was bursting with flavors including hickory. This was followed by a fried Oyster in shell, topped with a gentle crab sauce. Our soup course was wonderful, Matthew ordered the Turtle Soup au Sherry, more of a Chowder, and I still had a taste for a real Gumbo, and I got what I wanted, in style. The level of service was a bit hectic, and somewhat chit chatty amongst the staff, but efficient, and the courses were paced perfectly within our needs. The Caesar Salad was blended to perfection, and although I prefer the Romaine leaves to be a bit more chilled and crisp, the table side preparation was impeccable. The true measure of a great dining experience is what I get for my money, and I have to say they didn't get paid enough for what I received....
Our choice of entree was typical of a Master Chef and family, one trying the limits of Haute Cuisine, the other, ordering a grotesquely large slab of charred Beef and totally lacking panache.
I real enjoyed my 1 1/2 lbs of Dry-Aged Prime New York Strip Steak, with 4 great sauces, and Matthew dined on a wonderfully delicate Truite Provençal, a Sautéed Rainbow Trout with Sizzled Rock Shrimp, Artichoke Hearts, Lyonnaise Potatoes and Lemon Butter sauce. Our Captain laid down a true marker to a Chef, claiming the best Crème Brûlée in all of New Orleans. It was, and I know the difference, and I have a special recipe you can easily make at home to prove it, and will share it with you.
Classic Crème Brûlée
Chef Carlo
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