Here, Eat This! The Adventures of Kiki Maraschino

Wednesday we visited some New Orleans institutions that were practically destroyed by Katrina and have risen from the ashes. When the hurricane hit, Willie Mae Seaton left town with only the clothes on her back and her James Beard award in her purse. After Katrina nearly destroyed the place, volunteers organized by the Beard Foundation and the Southern Foodways Alliance helped to rebuild. There is even a documentary.

The restaurant is now being run by Willie Mae’s great-granddaughter, Kerry Seaton. Willie Mae’s Scothch House on St. Ann is famous for their fried chicken and is a destination spot for lovers of local cuisine like Ed Levine and the Roadfooders.

One of my favorite restaurants, Dooky Chases, is just around the corner from Willie Mae’s. When I realized there was a 45 minute wait, I thought I’d check out Dooky Chase during the interim. There have been various rumors about Dooky Chase since Katrina, that it’s only open on certain days or only for takeout.

Then I did something only a crazy foodie with limited time would do – I walked around the corner and ate lunch while I waited for my lunch.

Dooky Chase is open Tuesdays through Fridays from 11 to 3 for a buffet lunch. The day I arrived, they didn’t have the delicious fried chicken. On the Wednesday I was there we had baked chicken and a number of side dishes.

Andouille sausages

Let’s see, ummm, baked chicken, succotash, dirty rice, white rice, red beans, white beans, creole shrimp, greens…

I have always loved Leah Chase, ever since I saw her on TV making an entire meal casually using a fork as her only cooking utensil. And who was still in the kitchen, whipping up the lunch? The lady herself.

For “second lunch”, I made my way back to the Scotch House. Their fried chicken IS the best fried chicken in the world. The skin was as rich a pork cracklins. Just look at that crispy skin!

You can get the usual red beans and rice

but the side dish not to miss are the butter beans, which are seriously creamy – and hammy.

The small dining room encourages comraderie (if you didn’t already share life stories while waiting in line). These friendly people let me photograph their food.

There were homey tchotchkes on narrow shelves

Because these aren’t just restaurants. These places are home.

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Whenever I go to New Orleans, I love photographing the beautiful statuary in the cemetaries. I find beauty in the crumbling stone angels. I realized as we drove along the freeway, passing the cemetaries of Metarie, that this time I had no desire at all to visit a cemetary. I realized the whole city is a cemetary.

I haven’t been bringing the huricane up because I don’t want to be a downer, but every single day there has been some reminder of Katrina and its devastation. Every day I saw something that made my heart ache. Passing by the convention center, my mind was filled with images, of people screaming at the news cameras for water, an old lady in a wheelchair forgotten in a corner. Staring at the bridge that crosses the Mississippi, I saw the people stranded at the top as flood waters lapped at the bottom.

I chose not to take the 9th ward tour, because I really didn’t have to. Everywhere you go outside of the quarter there are still houses with that giant, unforgettable X painted on the side. It is impossible not to look for the body count and feel relief when there is none. Homes are torn in half, and windows are broken out.

As I caught up with old friends, everyone had a story. Shalai said, “One day everything was normal, then the next day it was like living in a ghost movie.” She said even when you think you have a good apartment, eventually the mold comes creeping and makes their homes unlivable.

This is Mike Anderson’s, where I got married. Closed. Post-flood inspections showed that they would have to make the floor higher and they chose to let it go.

At least the gorgeous balcony is still there. Someone will fix it up eventually. Let’s ust hope to God it’s not a Daquiri shop.

Street art and T-shirts still tell the story.

People keep asking me how New Orleans is. Almost 4 years after Katrina, the city is still in shambles. But the people are not. The spirit of the people is indominable. This is not the first hurricane. It is not the first time that the levees broke. New Orleans is a town that was built on cemetaries, voodoo, and disaster. Time after time it has dusted itself off, raised a glass and continued to celebrate life. And I have faith that New Orleans will continue to do just that.

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You just can’t go to New Orleans without eating an Acme po’boy. I think the earth would tilt on its axis. Sure, there is always a line outside, but it moves fast.

Acme opened in 1910 on Royal Street, but moved to its current location on Iberville after a fire destroyed the original Acme Saloon building in 1924. The building that now houses Acme was built in 1814. In the 80s, Acme fell on hard times and was rescued by Mike Rodrigues, a New Orleans native. Starting in 1997, he opened four more locations in Metairie, Baton Rouge, Sandestin, and in Covington inside the New Orleans (Louis Armstrong) Airport.

We started off with the chargrilled oysters, basted in seasoned butter and finished with parmesan cheese. They definitely rivaled Felix’s. It’s a tough call. Felix’s had more cheese, but Bob thought these oysters were plumper and of a higher quality.

Still, it’s all about the po’boys. Acme is famous for inventing the “peacemaker”, a fried shrimp and oyster combo. Or for 9.99 you can get a half and half po’boy. I got half of a shrimp and half of a catfish.

The Acme “10 Napkin Roast Beef” is a debris po’boy that is not as messy as Mother’s. Bob liked it better than Mother’s, but that still seems sacrilegeous to me.

A lesser-known specialty at Acme are the Boo Fries, french fries and gravy, which seriously kick ass.

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Tuesday was a lazy day of napping punctuated by forays out to eat seafood. I slept in and we headed over to Galatoires. Jean Galatoire opened the Bourbon Street restaurant in 1905. It is currently run by Melvin Rodrigue, who works closely with the grandsons of Jean Galatoire’s nephews. Even though the new second floor accepts reservations, the main room is still seated on a first-come-first-serve basis and lines usually snake around the block. Since there was a lull in tourism and it wasn’t lunch hour, we practically had the place to ourselves. Everything was shiny and gleaming, from the cutlery to the mirrors that line the walls.

We started our meal with the Galatoire Grand Goute, a seafood sampler of sorts. The standout was the shrimp remoulade, made with large shrimp and served cold. The crab was a little difficult to pick out, as it fell between the lettuce leaves that provided its bed. The crawfish was addictive. I could have eaten it all day.

At the server’s suggestion we added a brochette of bacon-wrapped oysters. Plump, juicy, and scorchingly hot, they were coated in a fritter batter. There is perhaps no surer way to improve upon a food than to wrap it in bacon and deep-fry it.

I decided if anyone was going to make me like soft-shelled crab again it would be Galatoire’s. I was on a mission. Galatoire’s serves it two ways, deep-fried and sauteed in butter. Unfortunately the shell was still too thick, not paper-thin as I had hoped. It was better than Felix’s, but still I think it’s time to accept it. It’s never the same as the first time.

Redfish in a butter sauce with crab and mushrooms was tender and delectable

The bread pudding was lovely, but we were kind of bread pudding-ed out at this point. Nothing could match the Praline Connection’s version.

As we ate, a group of waiters sat barely out of earshot telling stories and laughing. I could barely make out the louder comments. I heard one say, “So this guy, he’s in there all night, giving everyone grief, especially Louie. Well Louie, he just smiles and takes it and doesn’t say nothing. Then after he left, the guy is walking through the alley, and Louie is standing by the back door waiting with a frying pan, and Kabaaam!!!” and they all burst into laughter.

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Even when I can’t afford a nice hotel for the entire trip, I like to pamper myself for a few days when I can. The Ritz Carlton was only $150 a night during the weeknights. So we were suddenly ensconced in pure luxury. There was a huge bouquet of roses in the lobby the size of a VW bug and I thought at first they were fake, then I realized, “If they don’t have real roses at the Ritz, where would they?” so I went and smelled them and yes, they were real. The room was in a dark corner with no view, but those are usually my favorite rooms because they are so quiet.

Other than the opulence, one benefit of the Ritz is its location at the edge of the quarter. One block away were oyster competitors Felix’s and Acme. Felix’s has shrunk in size, occupying less than half of its previous square footage.

I have never liked oysters, but I have never stopped trying to like them. I have eaten them raw, fried, barbequed, really every Bubba Gump way and in every big city that is supposed to be famous for oysters. I just never liked them – it’s that green stuff in the middle. But I had heard good things about the barbecued oysters at Felix’s and I wasn’t quite ready to give up on them just yet. Swimming in garlicky butter and smoked to a tender consistency, they finally did it. I LOVED these oysters and ate three – a record. I would have eaten all of them, but I had to share.

Plus we had also ordered a catfish po’boy and a soft-shelled crab po’boy. Lately all of the soft-shelled crabs I’ve tried have had a too-tough shell. But c’mon, this is New Orleans, the home of amazing soft-shelled crab. Damn it. They just weren’t as papery and melting as they are in my memory.

After a walk around and a nice massage back at the hotel, we stopped in at the Bourbon House for a dessert. Because Felix’s and Acme aren’t enough oysters for this corner – the Brennan’s had to represent. The trifecta of mousses was good, but the white chocolate was the best.

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Jane Stern answers the question, “What is Roadfood?” in spite of some extremely loud wind.

The chain vs. franchise debate

The chain vs. franchise discussion continues

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I woke up early Sunday and headed over to Mother’s for breakfast. Grits and debris, and a side of polish sausage along with a nice fluffy biscuit was just what you need to get your day rolling.

In the afternoon we returned to the Roadfood Fest:

Sunday “from 11 a.m to 7 p.m. from the 300 to 600 blocks of Royal St., the free, first Louisiana RoadFood Festival will feature the original Roadfood Warriors, best-selling authors and Gourmet magazine writers Jane and Michael Stern, in “How to Find Roadfood” panel Sunday from 1:30 to 3 p.m. Ed Levine, Sara Roahen and others will join in the roundtable discussion on the steps of the Surpreme Court building.”

Mmm shrimp balls!

But I think I liked the fried artichokes better

Mmmm snowballs

You see a lot of weird shit on Bourbon Street

and some dapper Dans

Catfish and potato salad

On a side street we serendipitously ran into some ooey gooey butter cake.

Then we made our way to Jackson Square where you see some REALLY weird shit

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