Lesley and I met shortly after she began her freshman year at Millsaps. My then-girlfriend, Margaret, and I spotted her in the University Center, decked out in Decatur Street goth-wear, haughtily perusing a course catalogue. Being the suave, sophisticated sophomore that I was, I complimented her on her sassy black leather backpack. She made a snarky, disparaging remark to Margaret. A friendship was born.
Lesley is largely responsible for the life I've built in New Orleans over the past decade and a half. She's from the city, and on weekends we'd pile up in my Mustang and her Duster and head down to her parents' house for some college-style binge-reveling. She introduced me to her hometown circle of friends, and in no time at all, I'd developed quite the social network in New Orleans. Shortly after graduation, I imposed on one of them for a few weeks, sleeping on his sofa while I looked for a job and a place to live. For months and years afterward, those were the people I called when I needed help or wanted to have some fun.
Lesley stayed in Jackson after she finished college. She's a Sommelier now, working at one of my favorite restaurants in the country (no relation to that other Bravo). She got married a couple of years back, and she just had her first baby, and she doesn't get home as much as she'd like, but New Orleans is still very dear to her.
Lesley was affected by Katrina just as deeply as anyone living in New Orleans. A week after the storm, she wrote an article about the city for the Jackson Free Press. The edited version they published is okay, but the full version is better--which is why I've posted it here, with a couple of added links.
A Toast to a City
This has been a tough week for me. My home town of New Orleans is under water. Under terrible, toxic water. Fellow New Orleanians are suffering, having lost everything, and I feel powerless to help them. Sure, I took several bags of non-perishable food, baby formula, blankets, etc., down to the Trademart, but I still feel as if nothing I could ever do would really help. At times like these it’s easy to get caught up in the bad stuff, almost to the point where I feel like I’ll never see my beloved city again. Of course I’ll return someday, but it will never be the same. The skyline without the Superdome will seem naked. As a child I watched, in complete awe, as it was constructed. Now, it seems, I’ll watch in utter disbelief as it is taken down.
Today I made it a point to recall only good things about New Orleans. Places already defunct even before Katrina, food I plan to eat again as soon as I am able, wines that will never taste as good as they did in that fantastic place.
About eleven years ago I worked at Bayona Restaurant on Dauphine Street. I was but a lowly hostess there, but was given so many opportunities to try great wines and eat fantastic food. Susan Spicer, the chef, would often pop up to the hostess stand with a sample of something she was working on for an evening special and ask me to taste it. “Do you think we should go with that tonight?” she’d ask. Then the Sommelier would arrive with a taste of wine wondering “Do you think this works with that sauce?” It was my first experience with a real Sommelier and my first true exposure to the marriage of wine and food. I remember “approving” a coupling of a lobster appetizer and a Kalin Chardonnay, feeling so proud and honored when Chef Spicer told the staff at the pre-shift meeting that “Lesley LOVED this!”
Bayona’s then Sommelier, Michael Fisher, left the restaurant to open his own place, a wine bar on Decatur Street call Vino! Vino! To say that I was a regular there would be a gross understatement. The wines by the glass were constantly changing, offering a curious new oenophile like myself a great opportunity to develop my palate. The kitchen offered basic bread and cheese boards with sides of whipped whole butter and roasted garlic. Humble yet fancy, I thought. It was here that I first tried a Spanish sparkling wine. Crisp and refreshing, but with beautiful richness from the Chardonnay grapes the wine was made from. Michael told me all about the Cava district, where these wines are produced, and I drank enough of the stuff to have believed that I was actually IN the Cava district… It became a staple for me and my pals. Bottles and bottles were consumed amongst laughter and stories and great friends.
My roommate and I lived at Napoleon Avenue and Baronne Street, just a few blocks from Martin Wine Cellar. At least once a week we would have lunch there in that incredible deli, then take our time roaming the isles and pointing out wines we’d had before, wines we could never afford, and wines we’d be taking home with us that day. One of the cool things about that place is that they are always offering samples of wine and cheese featured each day, neither of which we ever refused. I discovered Eberle wines there, which might never be available here in Mississippi. (If you see it anywhere, BUY IT!) We sure were broke, but we always had money for cheese and wine…
In 1999 I attended the New Orleans Wine & Food Experience at the Convention Center for the first time. The La Louisiane ballroom was packed with hundreds of winemakers and restaurants showing off their wares. In three hours time I probably tasted a hundred wines and ate about 30 plates of food. A newly certified Sommelier at that time, I chatted with winemakers, proudly passing them my brand new business cards while inviting them to come to Jackson where I would showcase their wines at a wine dinner or some other fun event. My friend Karen and I ended up scoring some passes into a private party for the folks from the wineries where we hooked up with John Larchet, owner of the Australian Premium Wine Collection, and took him down into the Marigny to the R Bar, another favorite haunt of mine. There we drank Chimay, a strong Belgian Ale, out of big goblets, and listened to John tell us all about his son Benji, the namesake of his Hill of Content Benjamin’s Blend (Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, Semillon). I remember being so hungover the next day that Karen and I both almost swooned upon entering a wine lecture at 9 a.m., where we were offered glasses of water by a man who said we looked like we could use it.
I hope that man is down there offering someone some water right now…
The last time I was in New Orleans in July I made tentative plans with a friend to go to a cool little wine shop in the Bywater, near the Ninth Ward, called Bacchanale that has wine tastings every Saturday afternoon. She said that the guy who runs it always has a lot of neat stuff like Vinho Verde and Gruner Veltliner open for folks to try, which is right up my alley…
I feel pretty certain that that shop is under water now, all of those great little wines floating in that putrid mess. But because of the spirit and resiliency of the people of New Orleans, I think that, in time, I just might make it to that little shop after all. In fact, I intend to.
