"When we go pick up the stiff..."
They say you learn something new every day. We learned something new yesterday that was a tough lesson to take. You can, in fact, get a crummy meal in New Orleans.
I won't go into the details nor will I mention the place's name to protect the innocent and the guilty even though to me providing food and service as careless as what we experienced in a city where food may be the most important cultural element after music is an insult to one's community. I will say that my wife is a genius who saved the evening with quick thinking.
"Let's just go and see if that guy in the alley is still playing" she said referring to a small courtyard right off Bourbon street where there's a cafe that sells coffee and beignets along with (of course) a bar. The previous night an act called Steamboat Willie had played and my mother in law had enjoyed the small part of the show that we saw. Thank God he was still there last night and the evening was saved as we got a table, grabbed a drink (me) coffee and beingets (them) and savored the last two sets of old-fashioned Americana via the bass, banjo, trumpet and voice.
I know, he's probably regarded as some hokey tourist-friendly act by the locals but I already had my hipster credential suspended earlier in the day since I saw and, much to my surprise really enjoyed the Robert Plant-Allison Krauss set at the festival. Will wonders never cease?
The festival weather was perfect yesterday, a polar opposite to the sheets of rain coming down outside my window at the Monteleone right now. As always the food was spot-on too with perfectly cooked fried chicken and the incredible, roof that God exists via a sandwich called Cochon De Lait. If nothing I've said has convinced any of you to come here, allow me to humbly suggest that the sandwich is worth the plane fare.
Seriously. I do not mess around when it comes to pig.
But it's not all about the food. There is music to be heard (it is called the Jazzfest, after all). The Economy Hall tent is the place to hang out and hear traditional New Orleans jazz in many of its forms. And to learn that some of it is functional as well as purely artistic. Or as the leader of the brass band put it:
"When we go pick up the stiff......sorry, the dearly departed, foist we play a solemn hymn like this" and then the band played (I think) "A Closer Walk With Thee" all quiet and somber-like.
"Then we take the body and we play a march like this" and they played a slow march evoking scenes of slow-moving, black-clad mourners slowly ambling toward the cemetery gates . I was mesmerized.
"You know, people used to hire professional mourners back in the day, yes sir. I don't know if it's true or not, but somebody said they even cut a' onion in half and put in near the horse's eye so it looked like he was cryin' too".
My mother-in-law was getting restless with all the funeral stuff. "If they play one more song like that I'm leaving."
"And then, once the body go in the ground, the snare drum comes back and everyone gets happy!" The band broke into one of those upbeat numbers you've seen used in countless everythings on TV from actual New Orleans shows to cell phone commercials. My mother-in-law was happy again, and we struck out to get the Cochon De Lait leaving her in the tent. When we returned, we witnessed my favorite memory of this whole trip: the band had launched into "When The Saints Go Marching In" and my petite Sicilian mother in law was waving a handkerchief and doing the second line with all the local folks and their decorated umbrellas.
The set started with funeral marches, and ended with an outburst of joy. It says something about the power of music and the character of the people here.
You should come see it and hear it and taste it.
I won't go into the details nor will I mention the place's name to protect the innocent and the guilty even though to me providing food and service as careless as what we experienced in a city where food may be the most important cultural element after music is an insult to one's community. I will say that my wife is a genius who saved the evening with quick thinking.
"Let's just go and see if that guy in the alley is still playing" she said referring to a small courtyard right off Bourbon street where there's a cafe that sells coffee and beignets along with (of course) a bar. The previous night an act called Steamboat Willie had played and my mother in law had enjoyed the small part of the show that we saw. Thank God he was still there last night and the evening was saved as we got a table, grabbed a drink (me) coffee and beingets (them) and savored the last two sets of old-fashioned Americana via the bass, banjo, trumpet and voice.
I know, he's probably regarded as some hokey tourist-friendly act by the locals but I already had my hipster credential suspended earlier in the day since I saw and, much to my surprise really enjoyed the Robert Plant-Allison Krauss set at the festival. Will wonders never cease?
The festival weather was perfect yesterday, a polar opposite to the sheets of rain coming down outside my window at the Monteleone right now. As always the food was spot-on too with perfectly cooked fried chicken and the incredible, roof that God exists via a sandwich called Cochon De Lait. If nothing I've said has convinced any of you to come here, allow me to humbly suggest that the sandwich is worth the plane fare.
Seriously. I do not mess around when it comes to pig.
But it's not all about the food. There is music to be heard (it is called the Jazzfest, after all). The Economy Hall tent is the place to hang out and hear traditional New Orleans jazz in many of its forms. And to learn that some of it is functional as well as purely artistic. Or as the leader of the brass band put it:
"When we go pick up the stiff......sorry, the dearly departed, foist we play a solemn hymn like this" and then the band played (I think) "A Closer Walk With Thee" all quiet and somber-like.
"Then we take the body and we play a march like this" and they played a slow march evoking scenes of slow-moving, black-clad mourners slowly ambling toward the cemetery gates . I was mesmerized.
"You know, people used to hire professional mourners back in the day, yes sir. I don't know if it's true or not, but somebody said they even cut a' onion in half and put in near the horse's eye so it looked like he was cryin' too".
My mother-in-law was getting restless with all the funeral stuff. "If they play one more song like that I'm leaving."
"And then, once the body go in the ground, the snare drum comes back and everyone gets happy!" The band broke into one of those upbeat numbers you've seen used in countless everythings on TV from actual New Orleans shows to cell phone commercials. My mother-in-law was happy again, and we struck out to get the Cochon De Lait leaving her in the tent. When we returned, we witnessed my favorite memory of this whole trip: the band had launched into "When The Saints Go Marching In" and my petite Sicilian mother in law was waving a handkerchief and doing the second line with all the local folks and their decorated umbrellas.
The set started with funeral marches, and ended with an outburst of joy. It says something about the power of music and the character of the people here.
You should come see it and hear it and taste it.
Comments