To celebrate my 35th year on this Earth, we headed to Brooklyn for an extended weekend of food and fun.  To say we had a blast is an understatement…we fell in love with this borough.  We had such a wonderful time, I wasn’t sure where to start sharing with all of you.  But since the last moments were freshest in my mind, I decided to go backwards.  That and I had already written up this post in my mind and I was too lazy to fight my brain.

For our last meal in Brooklyn, the Boy and I headed over to Seersucker in the Carroll Gardens neighborhood of Brooklyn.  A mix of Southern and seasonal, Seersucker has been getting rave reviews since it first opened.  And it was consistently recommended by my foodie friends when I was creating our foodie itinerary for our trip.  So even though our stay was a whirlwind of activity, I made sure we snuck in to Seersucker before we bid adieu to our new favorite city.

When we came across it, I was a bit surprised at the location and the décor.  It’s tucked away in a residential part of Carroll Gardens, directly across from a park and a school (elementary from the looks of the young tykes running around on the playground).  Not only that, it’s a stone’s throw from the Carroll Street subway station, making it a perfect stopping point for commuters in the morning.  In fact, Seersucker starts offering Counter Culture coffee at 8 am and we saw plenty of people coming in for travel mugs of coffee to go.  And it was obvious these people were regulars, as the waitress/barista knew their names and chatted with them as she made their orders. 

For some reason, I had it in my head that Seersucker was going to be a more formal restaurant.  I’m still not sure how I conjured up this mental image but it couldn’t have been further from the truth.  Seersucker is clearly trying to make you feel at home.  The décor is laid back and casual, with plenty of light flooding the space.  Water comes in fancified (that’s a word a friend’s grandmother used for all things city related) mason jars and one bright flower adorns each table.  And the menu screams “Comfort Food” – catfish po’ boys, open faced fried chicken sandwiches, skillet macaroni and cheese.  These were foods straight out of my childhood and I couldn’t wait to dig in. 

When the Boy checked in at Seersucker on Foursquare, he noticed one of the “tips” listed said, “I can’t believe they have the nerve to call this Southern food.”  I feared the worst after hearing that and braced myself for disappointment.  I’m used to restaurants calling themselves Southern and being no more Southern than a Coney Island hotdog.  Or even worse, dredging every dish with gravy or deep frying it and calling it “traditional Southern fare”.  I like to think us Southerners use our fry daddy and gravy boat with a bit more discretion than that.  I was relieved to see there wasn’t a mention of gravy on their lunch menu and even more delighted to see “lightly sweetened iced tea” under their drink offerings.  I ordered the iced tea, again not hoping for much.  What I got was an exact replica of the sun tea my grandmother used to make on her porch during the hot Georgia Summers.  And while it wasn’t as sweet as my grandmother’s tea, it was sweet enough for me.  And truth be told, Southern tea can be a bit too heavy handed with the sugar.  With a tad bit more hope in my heart, I ordered the open faced fried chicken sandwich, while the Boy zeroed in on the catfish po’ boy. 

When the chicken sandwich came out, I had to snap a quick picture before digging in.  The chicken was juicy but a disservice was made to it by placing it on a piece of plain bread.  The bread soaked up much of the buttermilk dressing, which would have worked well with the crunch of the chicken.  And it wasn’t until I tasted the chicken not touching the bread that I got a kick of spices.  And that kick was a delight.  I eventually took the chicken off the bread and ate it alone.  While I could have handled a more aggressive spice mix, I can see how someone not familiar with Southern cooking would be put off by a stronger kick.  But let me tell you, it ain’t easy making fried chicken juicy on the inside and crispy on the outside.  That’s something you learn from your Southern grandma.  The accompanying mixed green salad had a tangy vinaigrette that elevated the simple greens to a more elegant playing field. 

I can see why someone would say this isn’t truly Southern food because it isn’t. It’s a hat tip to the way Southerners cook and embrace food in their everyday lives.  I suspect these dishes were crafted with an awareness of the New Yorkers they are cooking for while still trying to infuse the dishes with some Southern charm.  It’s just simple food, in a laid back atmosphere and I can’t argue with that.   

In my life, I have had my share of wonderful meals, but there are some that really stick out in my mind: Escada in New York City (I licked the fork after eating an amazing roast chicken…and the hazelnut torte) and now Irene’s Cuisine in New Orleans. I had heard it was hard to get into Irene’s without a reservation, so the plan was to be there as soon as it opened. And considering neither Daphne nor I had managed to eat lunch that day, we were more than eager to start chowing down. So it was very convenient that Irene’s was only a few blocks from the Kitchen Witch…and that we’d spent so long in said Kitchen Witch that it was now dinner time…WARNING: this entry contains lots of pictures…most of which will make you drool.

Let me point out right away that we got lucky. There were only three other pairs of diners in the restaurant, so we were seated right away. Even better, it didn’t really start to get busy until right before we left. So I have a feeling we didn’t get the jostled service some other reviewers of Irene’s discussed in their (still very glowing) write ups.

When we first walked into Irene’s, several servers and the maitre d greeted us, along with Irene DiPietro herself. She could easily be your grandmother because she has a warm smile and is immediately trying to give you food. Irene’s has three dining rooms: the light and airy front room, the more intimate formal dining room and the barrel room. We had our choice since it was still fairly empty, so we opted for the front room. Along the walls are pictures of diners (both famous – including Harry Connick, Jr. and his family – and us regular folks who just love good food) and various other knick knacks, giving the room a really cozy feel.

Our server was Joseph and he was an absolute delight. I should also point out that Felix’s Seafood’s wait staff was an anomaly in New Orleans. Every other place I went, I was greeted with some of the nicest people I have ever met. And Joseph was no exception. I asked him if it was okay to take pictures and he said of course. He then offered to take us on a tour of the restaurant so I could get even more shots.

There is an elegance about the place, no question. And the menu brims with dishes that would fit right in at any Michelin Five Star restaurant. However, Irene’s isn’t the least bit pretentious and the staff strives to make you feel at home. Once we got back to our table, Joseph brought out a small dish of bruschetta with tomato and basil. He told us the bread was freshly baked and it was, in fact, still warm…and delicious. The crust had a nice crunch and the middle was soft, but could still stand up to the juices from the tomato. But this was only the beginning. When Joseph returned with our drinks, he also brought a basket of fresh sesame bread. This bread was heavenly: great crust, soft inside and a sprinkling of sesame seeds on top (which tasted like they had been toasted slightly).

For the first course, we opted for the crabmeat gratin. As for the entrees, Daphne decided on the Cannelloni Al Forno (cannelloni stuffed with pork, veal, Parmigiano, ricotta and roasted eggplant) and I had pretty much decided on the Duck St. Philip…that is until I heard the specials. Apparently every Thursday they serve their famous Osso Buco and you can just guess what day we visited. I didn’t even listen to the side dishes that accompanied the veal shank dish…I just wanted it in front of me…now.

We were still tackling our bread when the crabmeat gratin came out. Biting into it, I could taste the freshness of the (generous) crab. And it helped that there were 2 (count them TWO) cheeses: swiss and brie. There was also some broccoli and something else, but really, isn’t it all about the crab and cheese?

Before bringing out the next course, Joseph asked us what brought us to New Orleans and where we were from originally. When Daphne said she lived in a particular state in the Midwest, he mentioned that another server was from the same state. The other server, Chris, came over soon afterwards and started talking to us. From that point on, it was almost like we had two waiters. Chris, just as friendly as Joseph, kept coming by to make sure we were happy and offering suggestions for where we could go to after dinner. But when our entrees came out, I lost all interest in conversation. I could try to describe how amazingly tender the veal shank was…or how the sauce had an incredibly rich and full bodied taste, with a hint of sweetness…or how the accompanying risotto was cheesetastic. But no mere words can fully convey the wonder of this meal. Trust me, it was better than a lot of the sex I have had in my adult life (which either tells you how fantastic the food was or how sad my love life has been…I’ll choose the former).

Daphne, being as big a foodie as myself, patiently waited for me to photograph her meal before digging into it. But when she did, the look on her face said it all: the cannelloni was orgasmic (uhmmm, wait that sounds too much like that scene in When Harry Met Sally…Just for the record, Daphne was not making loud moaning noises at our table). We had agreed to share our meals, so I got to have some of the cannelloni as well and it was divine. It was hands down the best pasta I had ever had in my life and the meats inside were cooked and seasoned perfectly. And there were 2 (count them TWO) cheeses stuffed inside as well!

You would think after all this, we wouldn’t have room for anymore food. Well, you’d be half right. Daphne was about to burst, so I ate the rest of the cannelloni. Yet somehow I talked her into dessert. Before I go any further, I must say that Daphne and I think alike…eerily so. When we got the dessert menus, I saw the chocolate hazelnut truffle and said in my head, “Mmmmm, that sounds good.” Almost immediately after that thought passed, Daphne said aloud, “The chocolate hazelnut truffle sounds good.” But this isn’t the eerie part. After agreeing we would both order different desserts and share like we did the entrees, I looked back at the menu to see what else I was interested in eating. When I saw the flaming baked Alaska, I thought “Sweet, I like fire! And I’d never had baked Alaska…that sounds good!”. And again, not a minute after my random love of fire popped into my head, Daphne said, “The baked Alaska sounds good.” Yup, eerie…

Like the rest of the meal, both desserts were excellent, although the baked Alaska had what was tantamount to a brandy shot as the sauce on the plate. Seriously, I felt quite giggly after eating it. But the crumb crust on the top and bottom of the baked alaska was firm enough to rest against the ice cream without getting soggy, but still flaky enough to be delicious. And the chocolate hazelnut truffle? Fan-fuckin’-tastic!

You would think that this wonderful meal would really put a crimp in our wallets. I was actually bracing for sticker shock when Joseph laid down the check. Daphne picked it up first, looked at it and did a double take. I was immediately frightened to look at it, but knew whatever it was, the food we had just consumed was well worth it. Imagine my utter shock when I saw that the meal only cost a total of $72! Since we were splitting the check, that meant the second best meal of my ENTIRE life, only cost $36! Unfucking believable! I have plunked down a lot more for meals that weren’t even in the same universe as what I had just gorged myself on at Irene’s. I have absolutely no complaints about this place: the service was impeccable, the food was phenomenal and I walked away having paid only $12 per course. Yes…yes…I can definitely die a happy woman as I have just experienced culinary nirvana.

Apparently strawberry season has already started in New Orleans! While wandering around River Walk, we stumbled upon a bunch of food vendors set up for tastings (read “free food”). One of these lovely human beings had these beautiful strawberries that really made me start craving strawberry shortcake. Now my sweet tooth is a powerful thing. It’s caused me to practically run down pedestrians to get to Krispy Kreme when the “Hot Doughnuts Now” sign was blinking. I’ve driven around a small town in Georgia, in my pajamas mind you, searching furiously for any place that sold Haagen-Dazs Vanilla Swiss Almond. So my craving would not be denied! And when Daphne told me she’d had an incredible dessert at Palace Cafe the day before, all other rational thoughts went out of my head. Even better, the restaurant was steps away from my hotel!

Palace Cafe reminds me a lot of Clyde’s in DC, so I wasn’t really expecting too much. But I implicitly trust Daphne’s taste buds (and I saw photographic evidence of said incredible desserts), so I went in with high hopes. I told the hostess I just wanted dessert and she offered to sit me at the kitchen window. I leaped at the chance to see my dessert being made! Immediately I was glad I happened to have my Canon (disclaimer: the hostess gave me permission to photograph the chefs when I explained I had a blog…I can get away with all sorts of things just by dropping the sentence “I have a blog”).

Separated by a pane of glass, sous chefs plate the desserts in front of patrons sitting at a long bar. The chefs smiled when they saw me taking pictures and even posed for one (unfortunately the lighting wasn’t good on that picture). I was so fascinated watching the precision of these chefs running around at lightning speed (without accidents), it took me a while to look at the menu. But when I did, I almost jumped up and down in my chair (I did, however, let out a squeal that caused the couple next to me to ask if I was okay): they had strawberry shortcake!!! I frantically looked around for the waiter and just about yelled out my order in excitement. He smiled at me, saying “So you like strawberries, huh?” and took my order into one of the sous chefs. I watched as he took out the sweet biscuits, cut them and plated them, the beginning of my dessert. I got so caught up in watching my shortcake being made, I didn’t think to capture the event on film (hence the reason all the kitchen pictures are of other people’s desserts).

When he was done with the shortcake, the sous chef pointed at me and I nodded eagerly (and that’s what I blame for the headache I got later…not the ale I downed). I actually clapped when it was placed in front of me and he laughed. One bite and I knew Daphne was right. Instead of a soggy sponge cake, the shortcake was a sturdy yet tender sweet biscuit that didn’t distract from the flavor of the strawberries. And the strawberries? DIVINE!!!! I can go on and on about how good it was but let’s just say it didn’t take long for this:

to turn into this:

You can’t go to New Orleans and not hit Bourbon Street, so after our less than stellar meal at Felix’s Seafood, we moseyed on over to the infamous strip of road. This is when we discovered you could actually walk around the streets of Louisiana with a huge ass cup of beer without fear of the cops pulling a Rodney King on you. And the beer was plentiful and cheap…as were the women apparently.

So my question is what makes a love act “world famous”? But (as always), I digress…

Bourbon Street is basically an adult Disney Land, complete with bars, live music and strip clubs (including the unfortunately named “Barely Legal” and “Little Darlins”). As you stroll down the street, employees from the bars and strip clubs both try to entice you in with free cover charges and (I kid you not) shouts of “She’ll do whatever you want man…whatever you want.” Not wanting to contemplate the type of debauchery that could result in such a statement, I concentrated on the cool shops and funky signs on the street. Some of my favorites included this apron:

and this ode to Vanilla Ice:

It’s highly likely I will head back to Bourbon Street to catch one or more of the local bands playing, but since this was my first night, I didn’t want to have all the really big fun at once. So there will be more adventures on Bourbon Street to come! In the meantime, I’ll leave you with my new favorite apron:

Any takers?

No surprise I wanted food the minute I settled into my hotel room. I called up my friend Daphne (my New Orleans food partner in crime) and joined up with her crew. We walked around the French Quarter and the River Walk before eventually deciding to find a place to: watch the Penguins game (I wasn’t the only hockey fan in the group), enjoy some adult beverages and chow down.

We stumbled upon Felix’s Seafood, a stalwart tradition known for its oysters and local beers. Considering I am not a fan of oysters or beer, I was more interested in sampling other dishes indigenous to New Orleans. So I opted for the red beans and rice with sausage and, at first, passed on a beer the waitress recommended. As many of my friend know, I hate beer…if this shocks or offends beer connoisseurs, oh well. To me, it smells like moldy bread and looks like someone pissed in a cup and handed it to me. But when the beer, called Abita Amber, arrived for my other dining companions (and let me point out Moses chiseled the Ten Commandments into stone faster than we got our drinks), I was impressed by it’s rich, amber color…and the fact that it didn’t smell like a science experiment gone horribly wrong.  Before I go any further, let me say that I am the most forgiving diner when it comes to wait service.  I hate nothing more than when a person is rude to a waitperson.  So when I say the service was bad at Felix’s, trust me, it was abominable!

Daphne proffered up her cup for me to taste and that was it! I immediately asked our waiter for my own (and by immediately I mean as soon as I could find our disappearing waitress). It tasted nothing like beer to me but instead had a mellow, almost honey like flavor to it. I won’t even attempt to describe it because I don’t know enough about beer to do the job properly. Unfortunately, the beer was the best thing about the meal.

My red beans and rice was lukewarm and had no taste to it at all. No salt, no cayenne pepper, no slight punch of spice…not even a whiff of garlic. The beans tasted like they came from a can and the rice was a bit crunchy. One of my other dining companions had the same complaint about her etouffee. Daphne ordered a cheeseburger po boy, which seemed like nothing more than a cheese burger on a kaiser roll. However, the cheese fries we ordered were good…too bad you can get cheese fries anywhere.

I’m just chalking this up to a one off and moving on to the next restaurant! Next up, Cafe du Monde for beignets and Irene’s for dinner (if I can get in…apparently it’s really popular…and really good). Have fork, will travel!

Unlike most people, I love to travel for work…okay, I just love to travel, regardless of the reason. And why you may ask? Because I have this thing about airports and hotels. I love them! And I was especially excited about this trip because I was going to an airport I had never seen AND (the caps mean it’s a huge deal for me) I had a hotel room all to myself! In all of my life, I have never stayed at a hotel by myself and I relished the thought. The flight was relatively uneventful and I had a window seat, so I was a happy camper. Bonus: the guy sitting next to me was a photography buff himself, so we talked about the settings on my Canon for most of the trip! I was more than happy to soak up as much information as I could…I told y’all I was shameless.

Not all cab drivers are perverts who like to cop a cheap feel. In fact, my cab driver from the airport to the hotel was very nice (henceforth called Louie). Not only did he give me restaurant suggestions (it was quite honestly the first thing I asked him once we got all of that “Where are you heading?” stuff out of the way…shameless, shameless, shameless), which I fully intend to pursue, he gave me a glimpse into the effect Hurricane Katrina really had on the people of New Orleans. Before the hurricane hit, Louie was a business man with a nice house and family living in the city he loved. Two days before Katrina, him and his family evacuated to Dallas to stay with friends.

Fast forward to three years later and Louie has only recently returned to the city he says he still loves. However, his wife refuses to return, saying New Orleans will never be the same. Louie is battling with insurance companies to get his house repaired and he is struggling to decide if he should just give up and go back to his wife and son in Dallas.

Louie said he was one of the lucky ones though; According to him, only 20 percent of the applications for federal aide have been processed and paid out to victims. Rent in and around the city has increased by 300% (again according to Louie) and the lower 9th Ward still looks fairly similar to the days post Katrina. “Nobody knows where the money went,” he said as he pointed out how the tourist spots were restored at lightning speed. But he also agrees that without the tourism industry, New Orleans will never get back up on its feet.

Either way, Louie assured me the city was getting on its feet and that I would love it. As we were pulling up to my hotel, he told me that no matter what he decides to do, he would never stop loving this city…even if Katrina tried to ruin it.