A Food Lover's First Taste of New Orleans

Plus: More About Steve Glazer, and a Personal Writing Reminiscence

Greetings, and welcome to Tilting West. Today’s issue offers a tasty sampling of food and dining in one of America’s great food cities, New Orleans. (Admittedly we’re tilting a little to the southeast with this feature. Oh well…) Then, a personal reminiscence about one of the best experiences I’ve ever had as a writer, which occurred, appropriately enough, in the Big Easy. But first, let’s talk Steve.

More Memories of Glazer

Let me begin by expressing a heartfelt thank you to all those who wrote in to share stories and express their sadness about the passing of Steve Glazer.

Last week’s post, A Few of Steve’s Favorite Things generated the greatest response of any piece we’ve ever done for the newsletter. That is a tribute to Steve and how well he was liked. Clint Spesert and Shayla Fitch wrote touching tributes in the Comments section, and Gail Spielvogel emailed her thoughts: “What a great memorial to Steve. Whether one has known him for fifty-plus years or partied with him at a reunion, you can relate to some of those stories. I laughed, I cried seriously.”

Even those who did not know him responded. Said Dan Crouch, who is around Glazer’s age when he died: “Nice tribute. Not quite 71 years old? That hits a little too close to home, as they say....” And A.A. Barnsley added: “Condolences. Sounds like a great friend.” As an aside, Barnsley’s Substack column, Reset, Try Again, is a thoughtful exploration of life and self and often talks about surfing. Worth checking out.

While putting together Steve’s piece, several of his friends sent in photos of him. One such photo dates from a time when young men wore short shorts, drank Lucky beer, and bonded over games of croquet. It included nice portraits of Glazer and another friend who has passed, Greg Larson, so it seemed appropriate to offer it as a last goodbye.

From left, Kevin Nelson, Steve Bragonier, Greg Larson (standing), Max Lateiner, Bob Newlon, and Steve Glazer.

And Now, Let’s Eat!

It is a pleasure to introduce a new guest contributor, Jennifer Nelson, who thoroughly knows and loves food. She has co-written a wine country blog, dined at restaurants from Wyoming to Bordeaux, including ones with Michelin stars, and is a wonderful, creative cook. Besides all that, she’s my wife. After a recent trip to New Orleans—highly recommended!—she agreed to share a few of her dining impressions:

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By Jennifer Nelson

Guest Contributor

First Night in NOLA: Union Ramen Bar

Off the plane, into the car and entering New Orleans, we drove through narrow cobbled streets to our spot just off Magazine Street in the Lower Garden District. We weren’t exactly sure what time it was, our body clocks addled, and we certainly couldn’t remember when (or what) we last ate. Not in any shape to dive into the endlessly fascinating world of New Orleans food, we drifted out to find … something. And were spectacularly lucky to find the Union Ramen Bar on Magazine. Bowls of steaming, sumptuous ramen with their amazing confit oyster mushrooms and spinach, topped with a poached egg and some of their homemade chili sauce arrived. Inhaling and slurping ensued. We had arrived.

Yes, You Have to Go: Café Du Monde

This large, bustling café, located just off Jackson Square in the heart of the French Quarter, is a tourist mecca for a reason. If you go earlier in the day, you may avoid the long line. However and whenever (it’s open from 7:15 a.m. until 11 p.m.), grab that hot, sweet cloud of powdered sugar and fried dough and an iced or hot chicory coffee and enjoy the show. The people-watching and musicians are fabulous and the servers are on a caffeine and sugar high of their own. To burn off at least a few of the calories, walk up the nearby steps and admire the mighty Mississippi from the Moonwalk.

Classic Diner: The Camellia Grill

Take the St. Charles streetcar to South Carrollton and enjoy the amazing mansions and parks on your way to this NoLa institution. They don’t accept reservations, the waiters wear bow ties, and the food is classic diner fare, admittedly not the best meal in town, but it’s got an atmosphere that can’t be replicated. Anywhere.

St. Charles Streetcar, Po-Boys, and More Pleasures

Not all the pleasures of New Orleans food are found in the remarkable restaurants. When you want to eat in, it would be hard to beat The Fresh Market, also on St. Charles Avenue on the St. Charles streetcar line. Right sized, with plenty of local offerings and a marvelous second floor liquor section (the extra-large elevator means you can bring your cart up there). Pick up some fresh andouille sausage at the meat counter, and some Carolina rice and dried Camellia red beans to cook tonight (with a few more of the dried goods to pack in your suitcase), and you’re practically a local.

It's entertaining to look back at the planning for this trip: a half page list of things to do and three and a half pages of dining options. There’s no way to try even a tenth of what looks unmissable from home, but the pleasure of exploring, pre-tasting in your mind how it might be, is one of the significant joys of travel.

We definitely enjoyed some notable meals, as well as amazing non-culinary experiences. We spent the better part of two days at the National World War II Museum and can’t recommend it enough: moving, personal, beautifully told stories. Grabbed a shrimp po’ boy and wandered Louis Armstrong Park with its fabulous public art and deep historical significance.

We were also amazed at Brandon Lewis performing with the legendary Preservation Hall All-Stars and reminded ourselves to generously tip every musician we heard. Walked most of Magazine Street as well (bonus points for going in October and seeing the Halloween decorations) and throughout the adjacent Garden District with its gorgeous colors and classic architecture.

Speaking of walking in New Orleans, be sure to wear sturdy walking shoes. I’ve never seen sidewalks quite like these, and apparently there are very strict ordinances about removing trees. The photo below shows an uncertain traveler negotiating the sidewalk in front of the late Anne Rice’s former mansion.

 Best Meal: Peche

This is my favorite kind of restaurant experience: a lovely, open and relaxed space, friendly, well-informed but never pushy or pedantic waitstaff, and a menu that features incredibly well-prepared local food. The seafood is brand-spankin’ fresh, most of it having come off the boat at 3:00 a.m. that morning. Peche honors New Orleans and its world-renowned dishes, but keeps them light and appealing, with the exception of the (quite) rich desserts.

We shared three starters: a bowl of earthy, smoky seafood gumbo and a dish of hushpuppies, also called fried bread, and an appetizer of tuna crudo with salted egg, cucumber, cilantro and sesame. We shared the shockingly delicious jumbo shrimp entrée with braised eggplant, corn and tomato, and a side of field peas with bacon and green onions that should be in the New Orleans Food Hall of Fame. No such place? Well, there should be.

The field peas were a revelation, resembling baby lima beans and not the green English peas we were accustomed to, flavored by bacon that was cured on site. We couldn’t possibly eat dessert after that, but we enjoyed the giant piece key lime pie later that night.

Swankiest Cocktail: GW Fins French 75

The night before we left town, we made merry at GW Fins, a stylish eatery run by restaurateur Gary Wollerman and his family. With a great atmosphere and lively servers, Fins celebrates seafood with dishes that include lobster dumplings, barbecue shrimp, and their famous “Scalibut,” a unique combination of halibut and sea scallops, served with shrimp risotto, snow peas, and pea shoot butter.

Favorite Muffaletta: To Be Discovered

The famed Central Grocery was closed for renovations during our trip, so we made do with a delicious muffaletta for the flight home from Cochon Butcher. It carried us through admirably, and our nearby plane mates were justifiably envious.

More NOLA: A Personal Writing Reminiscence

One of my best-ever experiences as a writer occurred in New Orleans. It came about when a friend, Mary Daleke Gill, recommended me for the job of scriptwriter for the annual business convention of Discovery Toys, a national direct sales educational toy company. Mary had written the scripts for several years and was interested in moving on. I had never done anything like it before, writing for people on stage who were making speeches and acting out dialog in front of a live audience much like a theatrical play, and I jumped at the chance.

We stayed at a hotel on Canal Street, and that was where the convention took place. During rehearsals prior to the opening session it was my job to coach the company’s president and guide her on what she was supposed to do on stage. One problem: she hated me. Not sure why, but so it was. As a result she resisted virtually everything I said, including my idea to use the Beatles song “Drive My Car” to introduce the company’s surprise announcement of a big new sales promotion.

Every “play advisor” at Discovery Toys who sold above a certain amount would be rewarded with a new Cadillac SUV for the coming year. The president would be the one to make the reveal, and she wanted it to be a showstopper. If I were writing this script today I’d probably reference the gorgeous Tracy Chapman-Luke Combs duet at the Grammys on “Fast Car,” but this was the Beatles and so I figured I was all right. I was wrong. The company prez didn’t like me, and she disliked what I was proposing even more. Finally one of her assistants persuaded her to go along.

There were 300 women in the audience. Virtually all the direct sales people at the company are mothers who want to bring home an income while working flexible hours so they can spend more time with their children. The weekend in NOLA was a big getaway for them—no kids, Dad doing the parenting chores, and they’re steps away from Bourbon Street. They were pumped. Ready to rock. And when the president stuck to the script and George Harrison’s opening guitar lick hit the sound system, the place exploded.

I was seated with the rest of the crew backstage behind a curtain. The women couldn’t see us, and we couldn’t see them. But I felt them, powerfully. Their energy swept over me like a breaking ocean wave but rather than be pushed down into the chop, I was lifted up and riding high on it. It was fabulous. They were singing along—”Baby, you can drive my car, Yes I’m gonna be a star”—and so happy and excited by the moment. “Beep-beep and beep-beep yeah!” became the convention’s unofficial theme. Attendees sang it and hummed it all weekend long.

Madame President never did give me credit for the idea; she thanked the show’s producer for making it all happen and continued to regard me like a mosquito she’d like to slap. It didn’t matter. Afterwards I took a walk down Canal to see the Mississippi River and treated myself to a whiskey and barbecued Gulf shrimp in the French Quarter.

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Please note: I am off on assignment for a couple of weeks and there will be no issues of Tilting West during that time. The next edition will appear April 5.