Nonna Mia. 3125 Esplanade Avenue, New Orleans, LA.

Saint Expedite.  Patron of prompt delivery.

La dolce vita is saucy in New Orleans.  New Orleans is not a pizza town, so when a pizzeria stays in business, you can bet that they cook a good pie.  With indoor and outdoor seating, Nonna Mia does what it does very well.

On Mondays and Tuesdays, pitchers of beer are five dollars, and bottles of wine are half price.  This is reason enough for some visitors to New Orleans to extend their stays past a weekend.  Nonna Mia, like every generation of endeavors, was born out of love.  New Orleans runs on live, shared between grandmother and daughter and granddaughter.  Traditions are made by the people who live them.  Nonna Mia delivers.

Neither deep dish nor thin crust, the pizza chefs at Nonna Mia craft their pies New Orleans-style.  Even if your nonna is not from Nola, you still know good pizza when it is put in front of you.  This is good pizza.  If you walking up to City Park, pop in for a slice at the bar.  If you want to sample a slice of New Orleans pizza culture, you will get an flavorful education.

Hubig's for desert.

An actual children's menu from the French Quarter.  I forget where we were:

Children's Menu

Fried Shrimp with Creamy Pasta 

14 

Paneed Gulf Fish with Jumbo Lump Crabmeat 

Served with Brabant Potatoes and Jalapeno Hollandaise 

14 

Chicken Breast 

Served with Truffle Mashed Potatoes, Fresh Vegetables and Hollandaise Sauce 

14 

Petite Filet Mignon 

Served with Truffle Mashed Potatoes, Baby Vegetables with 

Choice of Marchand de Vin or Bearnaise 

14

...Teach the little tykes to appreciate the finer things in life.

The desert menu?  Why a seasonal selection of Hubig's Pies, of coarse, served with a scoop of vanilla ice  gelato.  $8.00.

The Future needs pies.

Hubig's Pie.  Apple.

Concerned over the state of fried pastry consumption one hundred years from now, I thought I would do my bit for history.  When people go to the gas station or the corner grocery, or just stop somewhere to pick up a pack of smokes, what kind of pies will they be able to purchase on impulse?  If Hubig's happens to go out of business in the next century (Heaven forbid!) some documentary evidence should be left behind to resurrect New Orleans' single serving, portable pie culture.

I stopped by the bakery on Dauphine Street and picked up a few cases for the time capsule I'm working on.  

Finding a good reuben in New Orleans.

A good reuben.

A good reuben sandwich is a thing of beauty.  New Orleans has a long history of active and robust Jewish community, but the kosher fare, or even a good Jewish deli, is hard to come by.

There is Stein's Deli on Magazine Street.  They make a good sandwich, but I haven't tried their rueben.  Stein's is pricey, and they tend to go heavy on the meat.  This isn't a bad thing, as any New Orleanian will tell you, but I prefer balance over a heavy hand at the slicer.  For this reason, and for this reason alone, I have resisted the temptation to try Stein's reuben.

You might think that I would also avoid Parkway Tavern's reuben sandwich, but you would be wrong.  While Parkway is famous for its messy, overstuffed sandwiches (as I have happily reported elsewhere in the archives), the corned beef is mellow and savory, and everything else is added in just the right amounts.  A reuben is the sandwich I order most often at Parkway.  This hasn't stopped me from looking farther afield.

We went to the Kosher Cajun today, at 3519 Severn Avenue in Metairie today.  Already, my New England fustiness about what constitutes New Orleans, disqualifies the Kosher Cajun's sandwich from being the best in the city, but other people are not so particular about municipal boundaries.  It is a nice deli, don't get me wrong, but like anything, some things get lost in translation.  The bagels, for instance, are frozen and flown down from the New York metropolitan tri-state area.  I'm not saying which state is their point of origin, but it isn't the Empire State, and it isn't the Nutmeg State.  There is nothing wrong with this, but, being the stickler I usually am, if I get a New York bagel, I expect it to originate in Queens.  So it goes.

The Kosher Cajun makes a good reuben.  It isn't the best I've ever had, and I still prefer Parkway's.  I will certainly be going back to this deli when I am in the neighborhood.  That is a rare occurrence, but it does happen occasionally.  They do carry the full line of Dr. Brown's soda, and I love to slake my thirst with a Cel-Ray, so there is icing on this cake.

Celery tonic.  Cel-Ray refreshes!

I have heard rumors that the best reuben in New Orleans can be found at Cooter Brown's in Riverbend, of all places!  They take their beer and their oysters seriously.  There is no reason to think they don't take their pastrami seriously.  From what I can gather, Cooter Brown's uses pastrami rather than corned beef.  This is not a concern.  Rumor has it that the pastrami is shipped special delivery, COD from New York City on a regular, weekly basis.  I don't see the reuben listed on Cooter's menu, but you never know until you try.  I foresee an exploratory errand in my future.

Credit where it is due:  The first illustration, of a reuben, is courtesy of stickygooeychef.  That, my friends, is a really good sandwich.

There's new scooter in town

A drive through the airport.

As much as I enjoy my motorcycle, it has too much power to be cruising around the city's streets.  The Ninja yearns to be set free in a landscape without traffic lights and stop signs.  For inner city travel, nothing beats a motor scooter, as I've long believed.  I'm a scooter man from way back, using one to criss cross the beautiful state of Connecticut at 35 mph for ten years from my home base in scenic, downtown New London.

In New Orleans, a motorscooter makes sesnse:

At the Mid-City post office.  That's the Central Business District in the background.

The new scooter is a joy to ride in traffic, whisper-quiet as it zips hither and yon.  I took it to Ye Olde College Inn for an oyster loaf to celebrate...

Carrollton Avenue, across from the seminary.

Let's get a closer look at that scene..

Ye Olde College Inn, home of the justly famous oyster loaf.

What does that sign say, exactly?

Only in New Orleans.

The fine print reads "Almost actual size."  The sign doesn't lie.

Hubig's pie cast aside?

I purchased an apple Hubig's pie today, intending to describe what it is like to eat one of these confections, but more pressing matters distracted my magpie attention span.  My mistress and I went to Story Land in City Park...

2006 Ninja 250 XR

Isn't she a doll?  I don't mean Bo Peep.

Afterwords, my mistress posed in the park, leaning to one side to show off her best profile...

That Ninja is a lady

The lady of the house and I took a ride to lunch, and I mentioned that I had been out with my mistress earlier in the day, while I patted my mistress' seat.  My wife said, "There's no competition here.  I know who owns your heart."  Then the three of us made our way deep into Faubourg Marigny to the Cake Bakery and Cafe for plates of fried oysters and scrambled eggs.

I don't know how the French describe a relationship in which three parties share mutual love and respect, and everyone is satisfied with the role they play.  I only know that love makes a family, and there is plenty of mutual love to go around at Whalehead King's house.  Is there room for a fourth cog in this blissful, domestic machine?  Does Savory Simon the pie-man have a key to open the front door and share in our homely, simple bliss?

Everyone loves a Hubig's Pie.

How are Hubig's Pies made?

Hubig's pies are made with love, buddy, on equipment older than you are.  Money may not be able to buy you love, but one dollar and nine cents will buy you a Hubig's pie.

They are made by people older than you are.  They are made from local produce.  They are made with pride, New Orleans-style, at a New Orleans-style price.  

After you've tasted a Hubig's pie, you'll turn up your nose at Hostess.

Just the sight of a Hostess Fruit Pie package will turn your stomach, while a glimpse of Savory Simon on a Hubig's package will make you salivate.

The Gambit wrote an article on Hubig's post-Katrina recovery a while ago.  They also shot the video above with its appropriate soundtrack.

Happy eating!!
WK

Cigars...Cigarettes...Hubig's.

You know how in old movies, there are always pretty girls in swank nightclubs selling cigars and cigarettes from a tray?  I used to know a woman who worked her way through college selling roses in nightclubs, "A rose for the lady, sir?"

I know what would sell like hot cakes in New Orleans nightspots.  "Hubig's Pies, anyone?"
Apple, lemon, peach, pineapple, chocolate, coconut, and seasonal flavors (currently banana).  They will settle your stomach more gently than a Lucky Dog or a Rally Burger.

Click image to visit the virtual bakery.  Order a case today, or, if you live in New Orleans, visit any gas station or grocery!

Coffee, tea, or Hubig's?

When planes are en route to Louis Armstrong International Airport, stewardesses should ask their passengers what they prefer, "Coffee, tea, or Hubig's?"

"What's Hubig's?" out-of-towners will ask.

"It's something you won't be able to get enough of after we land.  Hubig's Pies are sold on just about every street corner, but the little bakery can't keep up with demand.  They are good.  They are very, very, extra-ordinarily good.  Coffee?  Tea?  ... No, I didn't think so."

Stewardesses should also offer them to passengers leaving the fair city of New Orleans.  While plenty of people stock up on Hubig's Pies when they leave city limits, by the time they are over Slidell, that stash has a big dent in it.  A Hubig's for the trip would be just the kind of lagniappe New Orleans is famous for.

Everyone loves Hubig's Pies.

Are there any recorded songs that mention Hubig's Pies?  I don't listen to the radio, so I don't know if Hubig's jingles rain down from the airwaves.  I'm sure live, scat-laced rhapsodies are composed off the cuff in New Orleans parking lots every morning, and extended riffs are played out on saxophones and snares in smoky venues after the witching hour, but is there an official Hubig's song?  Something to march to while carrying one of these treats in one's hand?  A Marseillaise dedicated to the overthrow of pastry despots determined to thwart the common man from the food he loves as much as he cherishes liberty, fraternity, and equality?

The pies are ubiquitous.  I saw someone eating one with relish this morning down at the French Market.  By that, I mean gusto, not the condiment.

Sweet and neat, 
They're the treat that can't be beat.
Somewhat nutritious, certainly delicious,
Filled with fruit, they're the route to a hoot and a toot.
They'll put a spring in a step and some step in your boot.


You can trust what's in a Hubig's...
You can love what's in a Hubig's...
You can share what's in a Hubig's...
Or you can keep it all for yourself (boom-boom).


Twice as nice
As pies that need to be sliced,
They are savory and flavory, 
Extra-ordin-ar-ily favorite-y,
They're the pie that'll make a smile
on your face...
Any place! (hoo-ray!)


It's Hubig's, the name you can trust,
It's Hubig's, the pie that's a must,
It's Hubig's, with the quality crust,
Eat it up when you've got it, or share it with your chums (boom-boom)!
Just remember to save a bit and share it with your mum (Aw, Ma!).
She'll love you.


Every day is happier,
Slap-dappier happier, 
Effervescently, messlessly, carelessly happier,
when you put a bite of Hubig's past your gums (boom-boom) (hoo-ray!) (Aw, Ma.).

This lyric is not officially affiliated with Hubig's Pies, only in mouth-watering, soul-satisfying spirit.

Pick one up today!!

Odometer Update: Day 2

Crescent City Classic Race, last week.

That's not me in the foreground.  I used to run a few miles a day, but I gave it up to become a bon vivant.  I moved to the right city.  The real subject of this photo is that beautiful motorcycle in the background: The Littlest Ninja This Side of the Mississippi River.

I was busy for most of today.  Too busy to be out on patrol.  The odometer reads 25,506.  I traveled 27 miles since last measurement.  That's one mile less than when I was on patrol yesterday.  What did I do?  I went to Lowe's to buy some spray paint and brass nails.  The store is about a half mile from my house as the crow flies, if not the Littlest Ninja.

Then I went to the grocery on Esplanade Avenue in search of some turkey cutlets because I've had a hankering for turkey the past few days.  I don't eat chicken or pork.  I rarely eat beef, and then only if it is cut up small, preferably at a Thai restaurant or as Chinese Orange Beef.  The grocer only had ground turkey and I don't eat ground meat.  No particular reason; it's a personal preference.  Empty-handed, I walked across the street to the Italian market across the street.  No cutlets, only a frozen turkey breast for more money than I wanted to spend for my turkey fix and bones to boot.  Total distance traveled as the crow flies: another three quarters of a mile?

Then I got the bright idea to buy some turkey legs I saw the day before at the supermarket on Carrolton Avenue.  As I said, I've been thinking about turkey cutlets for a few days now.  I figured I could cut the skin off the legs and cook them in a way I was dreaming about:  broiled so that the meat is dry.  Another WK culinary fun fact:  I like my meat cooked all the way through and toothsome.  If I burn it, I don't particularly mind.  I save those parts for last.  So I went to the supermarket, about a mile away if an efficient navigator were plotting the course.

Trip home: lets call it a mile and a half, which I did the straightest line possible because I don't like to leave meat in my satchel with spray paint and brass nails and whatever sundry important papers I may be toting about.  

Total distance supposedly traveled: two and a quarter miles.  Odometer reading since yesterday: 27 miles.  How do I do it?  I'm not sure, but I am trying to become aware.  Your humble narrator shrugs, "A motorcycle invites detours."

So, to sum up my carnivorous habits, no chicken or pork outside of sausage, which doesn't bother me.  Rare beef, and then usually only when dining out.  Occasional turkey.  A fondness for a lamb, which I don't mind cutting myself on the plate, though I prefer to do it prior to presentation.  No veal.  Don't even get me started on seafood, which I consider meat and I am just as persnickety about.

I'm not sure why New Orleanians prefer the necks of turkeys over cutlets.  If I had a hankering for turkey necks, I would have dined a week ago without any searching.  Ah well, the trip's the thing, as my odometer tells me.

Another insightful odometer update tomorrow.

Telling what is open and closed in New Orleans

I was getting a tire plugged the other day.  While I was waiting, I walked around the block and discovered this nightclub.

The man who plugged the tire was done in about 5 minutes.  I asked him if the L&R is still open for business.  "Of course it is," he said.

I explained that I'm fairly new here and I still have a hard time recognizing buildings that are abandoned from ones that are still viable.  "You'll get used to it," he said.

I'm thinking about going on Monday for the red beans.  This is a traditional Monday dish, hereabouts.  A lot of bars offer it.

Eating Crawfish in New Orleans

It is true that portion sizes tend to be large in New Orleans.  The food is good and people like to enjoy it. Now that Lent is upon us and many people are eschewing meat, it seems it is the season for boiling crawfish.  The weather is certainly  nice enough for cooking outdoors.

An excerpt from today's Times-Picayune:
"...4 to 5 pounds per pounds [of crawfish] per person is typical for a South Louisiana boil.  People here can, and will, put them away.  Outsiders, not so much.  Figure 2 pounds for out-of-towners."

4 to 5 pounds?!?!  I can't say I'm surprised.  Much of the weight is comprised of shell, which is inedible, but when I buy crawfish for dinner, I buy a total of two pounds for both the lady of the  house and I.  It is more than enough.

We haven't been to a crawfish boil yet.  When I read the recipes in the article it mentioned putting frozen corn in the boil.  I assumed it meant kernels but later figured out that it's frozen corn on the cob.  I didn't even know there was such a thing.  Corn on the cob is something I've always bought fresh toward the end of summer.  As usual, every day here is a learning experience.

The full T-P article here.

I've tried sucking the heads but don't find it particularly appetizing.  I'm a person who eats the lobster's tomalley with gusto.  I'm sure I'll acquire a taste for the head eventually.  Waste not, want not.

There's nothing "hep" about hepatitis in New Orleans.

I was watching an instructional video for new personnel at the Burger King on St. Claude Avenue (don't ask why).  I had to pinch myself and wonder if beatniks are all of a sudden the employees of choice for this venerable franchise.

A scraggly-bearded narrator wearing a beret appeared on the television screen via well worn VHS tape.  "Look," he said, "Hepatitis is a drag, man, and spreading it isn't cool.  You dig?  Wash your hands when you're done in the can, baby.  Nobody else gets sick and everything is fine, just fine."  He smiled and spread his hands to the camera as the scene faded out.

I was tempted to snap my fingers when this presentation was over which, unfortunately, didn't have a bongo soundtrack.  The girl seated next to me looked puzzled.   The chap next to her, who must have been seventeen if he wasn't sixteen, turned to the old guy in the audience, me, and asked, "What was that about?" as he stifled his laughter, pretending to cough in front of the manager who was changing the tape for the next lesson.

I explained that some strains of viral hepatitis don't display obvious symptoms and it is in the best interest of public health that food servers practice established, proper hand hygiene protocols to reduce the risk of cross contamination by reducing transmission vectors and limiting exposure to possible pathogens through the use of frequent, vigorous scrubbing with soap and water augmented by bactericides and clean technique whenever a restaurant professional may come in contact with pathogens before handling food, utensils, or any other item commonly used by customers who may have at-risk immune systems in a busy, high-traffic, fast food setting.

The girl said, "Why didn't he just say that in the movie?  That was so lame."  She rolled her eyes.

I agreed and joined her in looking up at the ceiling tiles in the break room cum school room.  It was a long day for all of us.

Who says they don't teach valuable things in the New Orleans school system?  Who says you have to talk down to New Orleans graduates?

Roman candy ages well (Part III)

So I pulled the Little Ninja up behind the mule-drawn Roman Candy cart and disembarked.  "What'll it be?" the man in the cart asked.  "What have you got?" I said.

"Strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate."

I know the lady of the house likes chocolate, so I ordered two sticks in that flavor.  The man pulled off 18 inches twice and rolled them and wrapped them in wax paper and handed them to me.  I handed over two dollars.   They were warm to the touch.

We sampled about a half stick that evening.  It was delicious.  It was as chewy as the candy claims to be in red letters on a white background: Roman Chewing Candy.

We revisited the leftovers of that stick about a week later.  It is still delicious.  It is harder now, more the consistency of New England salt water taffy.  It's a good treat.  I'm glad I have a whole stick left to savor at my leisure since I don't often happen upon the Roman Candy cart while I am on patrol.

New Orleans: where centuries coexist

Where else but in New Orleans can you drive down a busy street in car traffic and find a mule-drawn cart parked by the side of the road?  Since 1915, the Sam Cortese cart has been plying this city's streets selling Roman Chewing Candy, taffy, in three flavors: vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry.

If you see the cart, you pull up behind and step up to the window.  The current price is $1.00 for a sixteen inch stick hand rolled and wrapped in wax paper.  It is warm to the touch.  It lasts a long time too, keeping fresh and full of flavor.

The cart is a marvel of craftsmanship.  It is a little dinged and nicked but buying a stick of taffy is like standing in a picture postcard.  Only in New Orleans, my friend, only in New Orleans.

Pills in New Orleans

"A man who was fond of wine was offered some grapes for desert.  "Much obliged," he said, pushing the plate aside, "I am not accustomed to take my wine in pills."  -Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin.

Bottoms up!

Is New Orleans a woman missing an eye?

"A meal without cheese is like a beautiful woman with an eye missing." -Jean Anthelme Billa-Savarin.

Some would argue that what is missing adds savor to what is there.  Like a bald woman who doesn't need silky tresses to be seductive.  There is something to be said for self-assurance and confidence being the most attractive attribute an individual or city can possess.  New Orleans has that in aces and spades.

I don't eat a lot of meat but I do eat my share of cheese.  Unlike the Chinese, I do no find it a barbarian food.  I don't think of it as a condiment but I also don't mind eating it on a Triscuit.  Some people eat omelets for breakfast, I eat a few crackers topped with cheese.

"A country producing almost 360 types of cheese cannot die." -Winston Churchill.

New Orleans is a town that loves to eat its meat.  There are meat markets on every other corner.  They are corner grocers carrying the usual selection of canned goods and pre-prepared meals but what they are proud of and what they advertise on their signage is their selection of fresh meat.  Meat in all its forms be it beef or pork or poultry, all kinds and all cuts.  Chicken Mart on the corner of Simon Bolivar and Jackson Avenues advertises its wares with an LED sign:  "Turkey necks: 30 lbs @ $25.99!  Tilapia: 25 lbs @ $30.99!  Pork hocks: 30 lbs @ $24.99!  Fresh cuts @ reasonable prices!  Chitlins: 30 lbs @ $17.99!  Beef ribs! Pork ribs! Spare ribs!  $25.99 - $35.99!"  New Orleans runs on affordable meat.

Some New Orleans-specific variations:
"A po'boy without dressing is like a beautiful woman with an eye missing."
"A city producing almost 360 types of po' boys cannot die."

New Orleans architecture promotes exercise

It's a fact of life, men can lose weight in a hurry.  Some of them don't gain very much to begin with.  When I lived in Italy for three years (courtesy of the US Navy) I gained twenty pounds.  It took me more than three weeks to lose them on returning to the States, but I've managed to keep them off without too much trouble.  While I am ten pounds heavier than I was two decades ago, I like to think I'm in fighting trim for a desk jockey.

What does this have to do with the price of a Luzianne teabag in New Orleans?  I'll tell you.   During the whole relocation process of moving from apartment to house, we've been eating out a lot.  Not just po'boys at the Parkway Tavern but also pizza at a joint up the street in our new neighborhood.  I stepped on the scale last night and guess what?  I lost a pound.  I credit all the heavy lifting of boxes up the stairs.  That and the fact that a New Orleans house tends to be loooong.  I'm getting my exercise walking from front to back and back again every time I've forgotten what I got up for in the first place.

I've got to ride my bicycle from the Lower Garden District to Faubourg Marigny sometime this week.  That won't really be exercise. New Orleans is so flat, you can't really break a sweat if you ride like I do.  I ride like I write, just meander about hither and yon, take a detour and then double back to stay on course.  It isn't the destination that matters, it is the journey.  I tend to make the most of the spaces in between.

My mother will tell you that even as I child I was one to stop to smell the roses, a regular Ferdinand the Bull as opposed to Taurus (I'm really a Sagittarius, ruled by the loins, born in the Year of the Snake).  Some inclinations are hard to break, more so than habits.

So, fit as a fiddle and sleek as a bowspit, I wander my new neighborhood, chatting up everyone I greet and asking questions only a stranger would ask.  It's a real Nantucket sleigh ride.  They must be thinking,  "Who is this new weirdo who rides a motorcycle in a suit down Ursalines Street?  Will he still be here next week?"  Yes, neighbor, he will.  He lives here for better or for worse.  Probably better.  Nice to meet you!

-WK

Loose ends in New Orleans.

Please play today's soundtrack while you read.

New Orleans' best sandwich won't be available after tonight until next year.  Glad I got it while I could.  Tonight we ordered the large Thanksgiving po'boy (description in the link).  The crew in the kitchen did a superlative job, this was one overstuffed loaf of french bread and, boy, was it delicious.  We were sad to learn today is the last day of the season for this Wednesday special.  There will always be next year.

I usually want to ricochet from one thing to the next but it is so nice out tonight.  We sat, stuffed with luscious po' boy goodness and enjoyed the evening air while wearing nothing more than shirtsleeves.

I took the Littlest Ninja down Bienville Street to head homeways.  While I tightened up the screws to eliminate the motorcycle's most embarrassing rattles a few weeks ago, they are slowly returning.  It's streets like Bienville that are the cause.  With all the bumps and pothole-dodging I weave down the street like a baby elephant's walk.  The Ninja is built for going fast, not navigating rough terrain.

It's so nice out I wanted to sit on the porch and smoke my pipe and write this article.  Unfortunately, the chair and table are at the new house.  It is supposed to get cold for Christmans.  Oh well.  A cold day in New Orleans is warmer than any December day in New England.  It's like complaining about a bad day spent fishing.  There's no such thing.  I don't fish, but that's what I'm told.

Now I'm off on patrol with Henry Mancini compositions in my head.  There are worse soundtracks to my minor adventures.

Gute nacht,
WK