Frolic: jazz, books, food

Jazz, Books, Food, and the Writing Life

Blogging from New Orleans, La

31 December 2004

Standing on a Philadelphia street, the man on the pay phone said, “God knows what I’m doing is right. God knows.”

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The Floating Logo project airbrushes away the supporting poles from signs and billboards. The commercial clutter looks unexpectedly menacing hovering above us.

When perched on a pole, signs seem vulnerable to collapse. A good push from a fast moving car could bring them down. Floating in the air, they are invincible.

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29 December 2004

The always bitter Why I Hate D.C. notes that Bush will spend about $5 million more on his inauguration than on aid to tsunami victims. That figure will no doubt increase, because the $40 million estimate for the inauguration does not include the cost of security.

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Over lunch, I heard a young woman say: “The study moved from Middlemarch to Bleak House. That was really ballsy.”

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The train from the Philadelphia airport was full of literary critics. They were headed to the annual Modern Languages Association conference, and each one casually thumb edthrough the conference program as a silent signal to attract each other’s attention. Unlike the other passengers, the academics quizzed the conductor repeatedly on where to depart and how to find the train for their return. One woman scrutinizes the train ticket, no doubt discerning social significant invisible to the average mind.

In front of me, a woman with stringy red hair and a British accent falls into conversation with the professor across the aisle. He has a pock marked face and a bristle brush mustache. I bet that his suit probably leaves the closet no more than twice a year. In the first few sentence exchanged, they each mention the elite graduate schools they attended. One studied at Johns Hopkins, while the other graduated from Harvard. They both agree that it’s difficult to remember to stop by the ATM before embarking on a trip.

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25 December 2004

Merry Christmas to all my faithful readers!

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22 December 2004

“Are you having a good time?” the waitress asked. A few minutes later, a different waitress asked the same question. The doorman walked up and wanted to know the same thing. Then a manager swung by and asked, “Are you having a good time?”

I guess we looked glum, but I doubt anyone could not have a good time watching trumpeter Kermit Ruffins play.

Kermit was having birthday party last Sunday, and anyone willing to pay ten dollars at the door was invited. A cheap ticket for Kermit, The Treme Brass Band, free food and cameos by half the musicians in New Orleans. Treme started the night with a sound a little less rocking than the modern New Orleans brass bands. Kermit, sitting in the corner wearing a pink fedora and a pink striped shirt with a stack of twenty dollar bills safety-pinned to it, looked pleased with the turn out.

Any set that Kermit Ruffins plays ranges from straight ahead jazz to funky tunes that occasionally veer close to the sound of a Vegas lounge act. If the music moves in many directions, Kermit’s personality pulls it all together and makes it feel completely honest in the execution.

Fellow trumpeter Irvin Mayfield, one half of Los Hombres Calientes, made the first guest appearance, adding a buzzing modern edge and showing off his circular breathing technique with a single sustained note that lasted five minutes. Rebirth Brass Band, a funky ensemble that Kermit helped found, barely fit on the stage and their sound filled the small room.

Kermit soon took the role of MC rather than leader, chatting and drinking while one guest after another took a turn at the microphone. If only I knew more local acts, then I would list their names. Old funk tunes, jazz, swinging Christmas carols and heart rending soul were all heard. Through it all Kermit’s band, the Barbecue Swingers, seamlessly adopted every style. I could have sworn that Dr. John was chomping an unlit cigar in the corner, but he left before Kermit could call him to the stage.

I’ve heard Kermit a few times, but after the parade of talent I saw last Sunday, I realized that I need to get out and hear some more local music.

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21 December 2004

Hoards of black and white moths with orange tipped tails appeared in New Orleans this morning. I won’t be surprised if tomorrow they disappear as quickly as they came.

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17 December 2004

We had to take the bridge over the Mississippi river. That much we knew. How to get on the bridge and where to exit were less clear. Somewhere in Gretna, on the west bank of the river, we knew that we would find an excellent bowl of Pho. Andrea had eaten at Pho Tau Bay once before, but she hadn’t driven that time. Josh was certain that we would find Pho Tau Bay in a strip mall off Manhattan Avenue. He was wrong.

Completely lost in suburban New Orleans, we called the restaurant for directions. The owner saw Josh’s New York phone number and was concerned that we would never get there from the east coast. We assured him we were in the vicinity, and he guided us through the neighborhoods until we found the back of a bowling alley. Pho Tau Bay was around corner.

When we arrived, the owner turned out to be a white New Yorker who “married into the business.” Pho Tau Bay, now a small chain in New Orleans, served food in Vietnam before the fall of Saigon. From the age and tattoos of the owner, we guessed that he fought in that war. I don’t know if he spoke fluent Vietnamese, but he certainly spoke it well.

After some sparing with the brusque waitress, we ended up with a table full of rolls, bowls and buns. The owner’s niece runs another location inside the city on Carrolton Avenue, but I got the impression that it might be inferior. When I asked why the bitter lime drink looked so different at Carrolton, they said, “I don’t know how they do it over there, but this is authentic.” As we paid the check, after polishing off desserts of corn pudding and green taro root, the owner pointed to the enormous pot where he boils down beef for broth. “I take my time with it here, because it’s worth it,” he said.

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14 December 2004

It started as a drink after work. Before anyone noticed, several rounds of vodka disappeared. Someone shared scandalous and completely true gossip about several sitcom stars. A plan was hatched for hitching a ride on a Mardi Gras float. The new Jude Law movie, I was told, might use me as an extra, because I have long enough hair to cut anyway the movie stylist desires. My inability to juggle or play a brass instrument, however, might ruin my chances of catching some screen time.

Four hours later, we realized that food would be a good idea. Everyone made it to Juan’s for burritos and tacos. I think the rest of the group kept drinking, but Andrea and I went home. The next day we heard stories of dancing on pool tables at three in the morning.

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12 December 2004

It’s a slow night at the New Orleans airport. Only one plane is landing and no one has taken off in the last ten minutes.

With a live Java feed of traffic I can see exactly what’s taking places at several airports around the world. Click on the plane to find out it’s altitude and model number.

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I recently started following Craigslist ads for writing jobs around the country. Never know where you might find a freelance opportunity. Every city in American lists “Writing/Editing Jobs,” but San Francisco has “Writing Gigs.” That’s one hip town.

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9 December 2004

Last week, while the blog was out of order, I published a feature in the Gambit Weekly about New Orleans’ online food communities. For those who missed the piece, here’s the lead:

Toward the end of August, Spencer had a question that was on the minds of many New Orleanians: “Anyone know when Casamento’s is opening back up?” Spencer, however, isn’t a New Orleanian; he lives just west of Orleans Parish — in southern Texas, to be more precise. So Spencer posted his question on the New Orleans message board of Chowhound, one of several online communities where foodies from around the country gather to talk about the Crescent City’s cuisine.

Read the entire article to find out how this story ends.

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7 December 2004

Housekeeping note: Comments and archives work again. One step at a time.

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Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, as I was saying yesterday, etc., etc. After some massive technical problems, I’ve revived the blog. You might have noticed that the address has changed slightly, many photos are missing, and comments don’t work. All this should be corrected once I recover the original domain name. Unfortunately, that may take another month.

Posted by Todd at 10:36 am | Comments (1)