Monday Munchies: Food Isn't the Only Nourishment

For those of you who know that I'm from the Big Easy, it might come as no surprise that I was celebrating in the French Quarter on Sunday night, following the New Orleans Saints' historic Super Bowl win against the Indianapolis Colts. Normally, Dan and I would be in Los Angeles by now, preparing for our Beverly Hills Shorts Festival, but as soon as we knew that the Saints were going to be in the Super Bowl for the first time ever, our plans inevitably changed. After all, we were determined to be a part of this once-in-a-lifetime event – and we knew that celebrating with our fellow New Orleanians in the Quarter would be far more memorable than seeing the game in Miami.

And, man, oh, man, was it ever a memorable experience. Although we were invited to two different Super Bowl parties – one at my godfather's house in Metairie, the other at my stepbrother's place in Mid City – we opted instead to see the big game from the comfort of The Kerry Irish Pub, our favorite watering hole in the French Quarter. Of course, we were a little late to the party – traffic, as you might have guessed, was a nightmare in downtown New Orleans. But, luckily, after being in the car for over an hour and a half, and beginning to believe we were going to miss the kick-off, we finally found a parking spot at the Harrah's Casino garage on Poydras Street.

Soon afterward, we were making a beeline for the Kerry, where the owner, Doris, had laid out a spread of hot dogs, chili, salsa, chips, brownies, and the like for her regular customers as well as the out-of-towners (many of whom were dressed in team jerseys). Happily, we were just in time for the pre-game show, so we grabbed some vittles, bought a couple of beers, took our place beside the covered pool table, and waited – with a whole mess of other die-hard Saints fans – for the game to begin.

Although it didn't look so promising for the Saints during the first quarter, Dan and I remained hopeful. After all, despite widespread predictions that the Colts were going to wipe the floor with the Saints, the score wasn't all that high, and by the start of the second half, it was clear that the Saints were going to fight hard for this one. As Coach Sean Payton, Quarterback Drew Brees, and the other Saints have been saying for a while now, this Super Bowl wasn't just significant for the team – a win would mean something to the entire city of New Orleans, perhaps signifying that, despite the death and destruction that Hurricane Katrina left behind in 2005, the spirit of this unique place couldn't be broken.

As the fourth quarter progressed, the tension and excitement continued to grow inside the Kerry – and, no doubt, in bars, hotels, and homes throughout the city. Everyone – including me and Dan – were alternately jumping up and down and shaking our heads in disbelief. Moments before the Saints scored their final touchdown, Dan sent a text to his brother (who, by the way, was rooting for the Colts) that read, “watch out... pic six coming!” Even today, he's still tickled that he called the game-winning play before it happened.

Of course, when it happened, there were still a few minutes left in the game, and everyone in the Kerry knew that, with Peyton Manning on the other side, anything was possible. Our adrenaline was pumping, our eyes were glued to the television, and a few of us looked as though fainting was a high probability. But our boys did it – they managed to rattle the mighty Colts, the team that had been favored by many analysts, broadcasters, and former coaches. And you should have heard the collective cheer when the Colts missed their chance for a comeback, and the Saints were declared the winners of the 44th Super Bowl.

Naturally, the cheers didn't stop there. Once the game had ended, people poured out of bars and hotels throughout the Quarter, like streams of black-and-gold cockroaches, and all night long, car horns were honking, Mardi Gras beads were flying, and people were singing “When the Saints Go Marching In,” shouting “Who Dat!” and dancing in the streets. Dan and I have never seen the Quarter so crowded before – not even for Mardi Gras. By midnight, Royal Street was so packed that it resembled Bourbon Street on a normal weekend, and Bourbon Street itself was teeming with so many revelers that Dan and I decided to watch all the action from the relative safety of a Lucky Dog cart at the corner of Bourbon and Conti. For a long time, we stood there, watching strangers (some of whom were dressed in crazy outfits, like black tutus and a black-and-gold Boba Fett costume) hug and high-five one another. It was the only night that people actually wanted to touch a cop – I saw many people (drunk or simply elated) embrace them, too.

As on any other night, we saw a few unhappy folks – girls with tear-stained cheeks, men yelling at their girlfriends. Alcohol, unfortunately, can bring out the worst in some people. But, most of the folks we saw were delighted – stunned but thrilled that the Saints had managed to achieve the ultimate win – not just for themselves, but for a city still on the mend. The win offered a spiritual boost that will resonate for a long time. Even today, while Dan was at the grocery store, people were still shouting “Who Dat!” at one another.

I could go on and on, psychoanalyzing this incredible event, speculating on its lasting significance, and questioning Peyton Manning's choice not to shake Drew Brees's hand at the game's end (which, incidentally, seemed pretty classless to me, especially considering Peyton's personal connection to the Saints and the city of New Orleans), but better writers than I have already tackled all of the above over the past two days. So, I'll just leave you with this: Seeing that it's a “Monday Munchies” post, I could have focused on the food of Super Bowl Sunday, but sometimes, we need more than food to nourish us – sometimes, we require spiritual fulfillment, too. And that's what this win represented for me, Dan, my family, and everyone else who celebrated on Sunday night – the fulfillment of a decades-old wish and a citywide dream – something that many New Orleanians (whether former or current residents) believed would never happen in their lifetime, something that many of us craved in the wake of the storm that nearly destroyed the Crescent City.

While the Saints' Super Bowl win might not turn everything around in New Orleans, bring back every lost soul, and rebuild every devastated neighborhood, it certainly gives us hope in the face of adversity and makes us realize that anything – and I mean, anything – is possible, and that sort of nourishment lasts a lot longer than the food we ate on Sunday – no matter how much we enjoyed our post-game seafood gumbo at the Oceana Grill. Of course, if the record-breaking television viewership is any indication, New Orleanians weren't the only ones curious about this historic game – which means, no matter who you were rooting for on Sunday night, you probably sensed that this game was part of a larger story – a story that will continue to play out tomorrow at the special Saints parade downtown... and long after that.

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P.S. Forgive my terribly grainy photos – my camera broke just before kick-off, so I had to rely on my cell phone, which is, well, less than reliable. Nevertheless, I persevered.

Friday Fantasies: Think Cameron Needs More Money?

It hasn't taken long for James Cameron to break his own box office record. Avatar has now beaten Titanic for the top-grossing film of all time, and I couldn't be happier. Oh, wait, I could be happier – after missing our chance to see Avatar on New Year's Day – due to unforeseen circumstances like, well, hangovers – Dan and I are finally going to see it again tonight! Yahoo!

So, I guess we'll be adding our wee share to Cameron's ever-growing mountain of money. Who said perfectionism doesn't pay? (A fact I should remember the next time I rue my obsessive-compulsive tendencies.)

Whimsical Wednesday: Admitting Bane Could Be Right

In thanking Valerie Geary yesterday for her recent interview, I admitted to being a fellow spurner of romance. As I should have expected, my good friend Bane of Anubis called me on that statement, by leaving this succinct comment:

Anybody that read Twilight+3 in such a short span cannot call herself a spurner of romance :p

He might be a smart ass, but he's completely accurate. Although I stand by my disgust of the kind of romances that might feature Fabio on the cover – or could be easily adapted for the Hallmark television network – I have a considerable romantic side. Why else would I cry while watching Avatar or eagerly seek out romantic comedies like Catch and Release? Even my novel, Hollow Souls, centers around a lifelong love affair.

That said, it probably comes as no surprise that love features prominently on one of the other blogs that I maintain – Come In Character – where today we're even attempting a group romance. Okay, so participation has seemed low as of late – in fact, this is probably the shortest group story that CIC has ever experienced – but that won't stop me from focusing on love and all its various forms during the month of February.

So, as difficult as it might be for me to say this, I guess Bane was right. I am a sucker for romance – and hopefully, my hubby knows it.

Tuesday Travels: Thanks for the Interview!

Last week, Valerie Geary posted an interview about my background and experiences as part of her month-long focus on travel writing, and I just wanted to take a moment to thank her for inviting me to participate. I feel very honored – and I only wish that I had been more timely in expressing my gratitude.

If you haven't yet visited Valerie's blog, please do so. Every month, she focuses on a specific genre. During February, she's setting her sights on romance – a genre that she's never embraced before. But, as she wrote in her first post of the month, “I'm on the path to recovery. The whole point of this year is for me to read outside my comfort zone. Not only that, but to read with an open mind. So as I explore the genre I've been dreading most, I will try to keep the eye rolling to a minimum.”

As a fellow spurner of romance, I respect her open-mindedness and look forward to her thoughts, interviews, and reviews – just as I did during her exploration of the travel genre (one that, as you might imagine, I count among my favorites).

Monday Munchies: Highway Nostalgia for the Last Time?

Some of you might remember my Cracker Barrel rant from way back in August. To avoid a long rehashing, I'll just say that, for as long as I can recall, Cracker Barrel billboards have comforted me. Whether traveling with my mother (as a child) or with my husband (as an adult), the sight of their brown-and-yellow logo has filled me with nostalgia – for the simple board games and puzzles of my youth, for the home-cooked meals at Mom's house, for wholesome books and television shows of long ago...

But sadly, Cracker Barrel – that ever-present, old-fashioned restaurant and country store – has lost some of its luster over the years. Every time, in fact, that Dan and I have ventured into one, we've left disappointed – whether because the service was slow, the food was lukewarm, or all of the above. It had reached the point where Dan simply refused to stop there ever again – no matter how much I, with my misguided sense of nostalgia and loyalty, tried to convince him otherwise.

So, we were at a standstill – Dan, unwilling to fork over another dime to this disillusioning establishment, and I, unable to let go of the illusion – that is, until I took the sagacious advice of one Stephanie Faris and shared my displeasure with CB's corporate headquarters. Of course, I never thought I would receive a response – after all, how many times have we complained about the practices of a corporation, only to be ignored? But, as reported in my September follow-up to the initial rant, I did indeed get a response – in the form of a heartfelt apology and a “gold card,” entitling me to a complimentary meal for two, at the Cracker Barrel of my choosing.

On that day in late September, I asked my online pals if I should swallow my pride and take Cracker Barrel up on its generous offer (and/or marketing ploy) – or if I should simply toss the card at my earliest opportunity. Well, several of you answered – Bridget, Martha, Roni, Becky, and Deb encouraged me to take advantage of the free food and excellent service that the card promised; Steph suggested that I just keep the card as a reminder of the lesson learned; and Susan thought it would be best to use the card, then never return. Well, today, while en route from the Florida Keys to New Orleans, Dan and I decided to give CB one more try. Yes, without my even pointing it out, Dan pulled into the parking lot of a rain-drenched Cracker Barrel in Brooksville, Florida, and smiled that naughty little smile of his. At that moment, the hunger pangs were so fierce that I was actually excited about our potentially ill-fated return to the CB fold, so after fumbling for the little “gold card,” which I had long ago stowed in my travel bag, we left the kitty in the van and headed inside for a short respite.

After strolling between the rocking chairs on the porch and passing through the ubiquitous inner country store – filled with an impressive selection of candy, candles, cookbooks, chimes, apparel, toys, dolls, games, and music, not to mention the paraphernalia of yesteryear (from washboards to rolling pins to watering cans) hanging from the ceiling – we were quickly seated beside a front window. Soon, a pleasant, middle-aged waitress named Carol arrived to take our drink order – hot Darjeeling tea for me, Diet Coke for Dan. Once she'd returned with the beverages, we were ready (if nervous) to order.

While waiting for our food, I took in our surroundings – from the bluegrass band playing on the speakers to the vintage décor on the latticed walls (including tennis rackets, fishing poles, old games such as pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, and signs like “Headquarters for Keen Kutter quality pocket knives,” which reminded me of my stepbrother, Kit Keen, who, oddly enough, used to work in a Cracker Barrel). Dan, meanwhile, played with the peg game that was sitting on the tabletop. Of course, it didn't take him long to get frustrated with his inability to get rid of all the pegs but one (the object of the game) – although, to be fair, he's still suffering from the cold that I gave him three weeks ago.

By the time our food arrived, we had almost forgotten about the little “gold card,” which I had yet to show to our waitress. Dan immediately started delving into his sampler plate – containing chicken and dumplins, meatloaf, country-style ham, and his three chosen sides, corn, mashed potatoes, and fried apples – while I dug into my roast beef. It didn't take long, however, for us to remember why we had come – to give Cracker Barrel another honest-to-goodness chance – but while the service was surprisingly speedy and the food was still tasty, I admit that the meal was still less than satisfactory. Although my roast beef was warm and tender, the fried okra was delicious, and we both enjoyed the shared biscuits and corn muffins, Dan's food wasn't quite as hot as he's come to expect elsewhere. The fried apples were so cold, in fact, that he opted not to touch them at all.

Ultimately, I enjoyed the meal more than Dan did, but still, he admitted that it wasn't as bad as he'd expected it would be. Not a ringing endorsement, but better than it could have been. Perhaps I should've shown our waitress the “gold card” from the start, but I'm not typically a fan of special treatment – and frankly, I wanted to give our visit an honest try. I'm not sure what this says about the future of our Cracker Barrel encounters – it's likely that we'll never go again – but that won't stop me from feeling a little surge of nostalgia every time we pass by one of the ubiquitous billboards. In fact, we just passed another one in Alabama, and despite my mediocre meal earlier today, I still felt a moment of happiness. Is something wrong with me, or am I just a sucker for the joys of childhood?

Tuesday Travels: Scrumptious Neighbors

Forgive me for a moment – I'm still a little giddy from the New Orleans Saints' overtime win over the Minnesota Vikings. For those who don't like football – or the Saints in particular – I'm sure Sunday's win means very little, but for New Orleanians, it signifies the fulfillment of a decades-old wish. The Big Easy might not have won the Superbowl (yet), but even the fact that our beloved team is going to Miami in two weeks is an amazing feat for this seemingly jinxed organization. Believe me when I say that, even four years after Hurricane Katrina, the people of New Orleans needed this chance.

So, as I said, forgive me for a moment of giddiness. Okay, it's passed – on with the show!

As I mentioned last Tuesday, Dan and I have spent the month of January exploring the Florida Keys, a unique cluster of islands south of Florida's mainland, in preparation for a travel guide on which I'm currently working. One of the communities that we've had the privilege to experience is Islamorada, a village that consists of four islands (Plantation Key, Windley Key, Upper Matecumbe Key, and Lower Matecumbe Key) and whose Spanish-influenced name means “purple isles.” It's also known, in many circles, as “the sportfishing capital of the world.” After all, the area is rumored to have a larger fishing fleet per square mile than anywhere else in the world. Besides that, my father, an avid fisherman, has actually heard of the region and is, hence, terribly excited about the publication of my travel guide. Now, that, more than anything else, tells me something about this place – since my father, whom I love dearly, rarely knows a lot about locales beyond southern Louisiana, the region where he's lived his entire life.

Beyond being popular among anglers, however, Islamorada is also considered one of the poshest areas in the Florida Keys. This is where you'll find upscale resorts like the Cheeca Lodge & Spa and The Moorings Village, a former coconut plantation that today features several well-appointed cottages and houses, enveloped by shady trees and situated beside a glorious Polynesian-style beach, one of the finest I've seen in the Keys. As if that (and the pool, tennis courts, and beachside massages) aren't enough, the owner of The Moorings also operates two fine restaurants on the opposite side of the Overseas Highway: the Morada Bay Beach Café and Pierre's Restaurant.

Dan and I were lucky enough to experience both – and, against dietary considerations, in the same day! Our first stop was Morada Bay for lunch. Although it was an unseasonably cold day in Islamorada, we opted for a table on the beachfront patio, where we could keep an eye on the lovely Florida Bay as we ate. The meal began with drinks, chips, and salsa – and while this might sound dim-witted, I often judge a place by the quality of its iced tea and salsa, both of which were excellent that day. The ginger-peach tea didn't require a sweetener, and the salsa tasted fresh and homemade, the way Dan often prepares it at home – except that Morada Bay's addition of chopped red onions gave it a tiny zing.

Afterward, we each tried the island-style conch chowder – a delightful version of this Keys favorite, with a kick that even two New Orleanians could appreciate. Before the main course, we sampled one of the café's appetizers – a combo of fried calamari, shrimp, and zucchini, all of which were lightly breaded and served with marinara and chipotle aioli sauces. By the time our salads came, we were admittedly full, but we powered through nonetheless. Dan enjoyed his chicken Caesar salad, while I adored my choice – an artfully arranged pile of artichoke chunks, asparagus bites, avocado slices, and spinach leaves, topped with Pecorino Romano cheese. Oh, yes indeed-y, I would order that again!

Besides the food, though, Morada Bay is also wonderful for its ambience – set as it is beside the water, amid swaying palm trees. At night, you'll even be treated to live entertainment from a small stage on the beach.

Of course, not twenty yards away on the same beach, stands one of the finest restaurants in the Keys. Neighboring Pierre's Restaurant might be pricey, but it's well worth the splurging. On the night we went (several hours after dining at its neighbor), it was still fairly cold in Islamorada, but we nonetheless ventured onto the second-floor balcony of the gorgeous plantation-style structure. From there, we could hear the wind in the palm trees, see the tiki torches on the beach, and listen to the live music from Morada Bay. Although the interior of the restaurant has a distinctly African vibe, complete with incense in the bathroom, the candlelit upper balcony reminded me of New Orleans.

At first, we just relaxed with a drink – a mojito for me, a gin-and-tonic for Dan – then we began to order appetizers. Two that popped out at us were the French goose liver foie gras and the Maine lobster sashimi. Though small and expensive, each dish was a delight. The lobster sashimi was especially unusual – clear, gelatinous, and enhanced with fresh ginger, yuzu ponzu, and grape seed oil. Of course, the entrées were the main event: filet mignon for me and tempura lobster tail for Dan. Oftentimes, Dan chooses more wisely than I – perhaps it's because he's an excellent cook himself, with unexplainable instincts for such things. Well, however he does it, he did it again that night. While my filet mignon was delicious, his lobster was inspired – perfectly breaded, with hearts of palm hash, soy glaze, and wasabi crème fraiche. I admit to having been tempted myself, but for some reason, I had beef on the brain that night – no doubt due to all the seafood we'd been eating – but if I ever return to Pierre's (which I hope to!), I'm definitely getting the tempura lobster tail.

Though we were both full by the meal's end, we couldn't leave without sampling dessert. While Dan opted for the chocolate bomb – which is as gooey and rich as the name implies – I decided to try the banana beignets, four fried banana chunks paired with vanilla ice cream and glazed with Grand Marnier caramel sauce. This time, I believe my choice was the more interesting – it certainly was tasty!

All in all, we enjoyed both dining experiences, but while Morada Bay has a decidedly more casual feel, Pierre's is the kind of upscale place in which Dan and I (both casual at heart) feel comfortable, too. Our waiter, Scott, who's worked at Pierre's for a decade, was friendly, helpful, but not too smothering. And though I was freezing by the time we left, we both relished being the only ones on the upper balcony. Privacy and relative peace are key in any fine-dining establishment – there's little worse than paying a fortune for small, unsatisfying meals in a noisy, crowded joint. At Pierre's, the meal was divine, and the atmosphere almost better. I sure hope you have the chance to experience both restaurants someday – if you like to eat, you surely won't be disappointed.

Weekend Mishmash: Breaking for the Saints

Lately, I haven't had much time for anything but travel research. I'm not complaining, mind you – I've really enjoyed traversing the Florida Keys, in search of little-known eateries and experiences – but I do miss having the time for other activities, like blogging, beta-reading, and playing with my kitty.

I've been working so hard on my Florida Keys travel guide, in fact, that my parents have both expressed concern. They each believe that I need to step away from the laptop for a little while, and they each suggested that I spend the break watching my beloved New Orleans Saints take on the Minnesota Vikings – which will be happening in a matter of minutes. After all, this is a historic moment for native New Orleanians – the Saints have never gotten this close to the Superbowl before, and if Archie Manning's old team gets a chance to play Peyton Manning's current one, I can't even imagine the party that will erupt on the streets of the French Quarter.

So, perhaps I should take my parents' advice and embrace a little football break this evening. You think I should?