My Dear New Orleans, I'll Be Seeing You

It was like any other Saturday, nothing particularly exciting going on, except one little thing- it was date night. Chris and I don't do date nights all that often. Maybe once a month or every 6 weeks or so. We usually decide that the hassle of getting a babysitter and the anxiety of leaving all three girls just isn't worth it, and we wind up buying steaks and wine from Whole Foods and we stay up late and drink too much all at home, and we call that a date night. But this night was different. We had planned a big date night. Which meant we were headed into the City- something we only do once in a blue moon.

Some couples go out to one of the bajillion incredible restaurants in New Orleans every weekend. Some go several times a week. I am not-so-secretly envious of those people. There are more non-chain places to eat here than you could ever, ever imagine. I've lived here my entire life (save the last two years spent up north) and I'm not even close to being able to say I've tried them all. After a week of throwing ideas back and forth, we had narrowed our restaurant choice down to two places we had never been. Emeril's and Herbsaint. (I know, if you're local you're probably wondering how we had never eaten at either of those places. Just bear with me.) We have eaten at many of the notable New Orleans restaurants- Commander's Palace, Antoine's, The Rib Room, Galatoire's, and Couchon, among a few others. Which is like barely a blip on the radar. I know this. Which is why when we do decide to go out to eat, we pick one of the places we've never been to, instead of somewhere we've already been. We also expect to spend anywhere from $150-$200 on dinner, which is yet another reason why its not something we do every weekend, or even every month for that matter. Its usually reserved for special occasions.

(from our anniversary dinner last year)

So we got all dolled up, kissed the girls goodbye, high fived my fabulous niece/babysitter, and all but ran to the car. We talked the whole way down to the City, on gorgeous St. Charles Avenue, parked, and finally, we had made it. In the end, we had settled on making reservations at one of the incredible Donald Link restaurants, Herbsaint. We were seated at a small table, fairly close to the entrance, with what seemed like half of the city packed into the building. It was loud, but so comfortable. I didn't know anyone else in the place, but it was like we all agreed on the same restaurant, so we all must get along on some level. The atmosphere was lively, fresh, and personal. We each got a drink- Chris, a classic Sazerac, and myself, a Ponchatoula Sour (they had me at homemade strawberry syrup- yum!). We ordered our appetizers, and a few sips into my incredibly delicious cocktail, I was finally winding down. I looked up at Chris and felt so, so at home. I mean, here we are, at one of the best restaurants in the city, only a half hour from our house, and we were surrounded by more history and culture than anywhere in a several hundred mile radius. New Orleans is famous for its history, its food, and its culture. And of course its people. And we were submerged in it. At that very moment, I looked up at Chris to see him staring over my shoulder. I turned to see what had his attention, but before my eyes focused, I knew what it was. I felt the rumble and heard the low hum of the streetcar making its way through the city. I looked back at him, and he said it. The words stung, mostly because I don't think either of us believed him, but both of us desperately wanted to. "We're never moving away from here." Then he got romantic on me. "I'm sitting here, in this amazing place, drinking a Sazerac, eating this insanely delicious dinner, watching street cars go by. We have all of this at our fingertips. Why would we ever leave?"

About a month later, that night came crashing through my mind like a freight train when I got the phone call I knew would one day come, but prayed it wouldn't be this soon. "We're moving to Louisville."

I grew up in New Orleans East, and moved to the Northshore when I was 11. I have seen New Orleans at its best and at its worst. I cried as I packed my bags to evacuate from a hurricane when I was in high school. I was 15, dramatic, and full of anxiety, I just knew that every hurricane that brewed in the Gulf would be The One. If you're from here, you've heard about Camille and Betsy, the two most notorious Hurricanes to hit the Gulf Coast before Katrina. I had heard stories my whole life about people having to use axes to tear through their roof to escape the rising water in their house. That hurricane was not The One. It would be about 6 years later that we would meet Her. I cried as I watched the roof of the Superdome cave in on the news from my sister's house where we evacuated to, in Jackson Mississippi, in the early hours after Hurricane Katrina (that bitch) ravaged the whole state and coast for that matter. I prayed that my parent's house would still be standing when we came back. (It was). I was here as we (Southeast Louisiana) bonded, rebuilt, and came back stronger. I said my vows in the same beautiful church that I made my First Communion in so many years earlier, and spent my wedding night in one of the most romantic, historically rich hotels in the city- Hotel Monteleone.




I have been drunk on this city, among other things, yelling for beads at Endymion, sucking heads and pinching tails at crawfish boils every other weekend, screaming "Who Dat!" while watching the Saints year after year. I walked through the doors of Miller Hall on LSU's campus, pledged my sorority (Kappa Alpha Theta), and locked eyes with a brown eyed boy that stole my heart. I've fallen asleep on the parade grounds in early spring, yelled at the top of my lungs "Geaux Tigers!" until it felt like my throat would bleed, and as a victim of beer funnels and best friends, Chris managed to get us thrown out of an LSU game before it ever began. Ahem.






I've bonded with this city. I have a relationship with this area, and I feel like I'm leaving with so much left unsaid. I mean, let's face it, this city is so much more than Bourbon Street and voodoo dolls. There are so many things that I've never done while I've lived here that I'm ashamed of. How is it possible that I will be 30 this year and have never been to Jazz Fest? I hang my head in shame. Does this make me a, dare I say, "poser"? Gosh, I hope not. I will be back, I will fill my soul with this precious city once more. I will again shop Magazine street, picnic in Audubon Park, and go to mass in the Cathedral. Eventually, we will eat at every restaurant this city has to offer. I will hang a Michalopoulos painting on my wall (one day!) and remind my girls every day to never forget their roots. Because even though we will move again, (and again...) their roots are already planted. They will know Louisiana like I do. They will reel in massive bull reds in Hopedale, watch speckled trout dance just under the surface of the water from a glowing light on a pier over the lake, and taunt large mouth bass in the brackish waters in the neighborhood canals. They will stand on that very same St. Charles Avenue, elbow to elbow with their cousins, first and second, and wait as the men in our family crawl march in the Irish Channel Saint Patrick's Day parade, with half of the city, handing out flowers for kisses. Yes, they will know this city well. Come to think of it, they already do.

(With Paw Paw)



New Orleans, you are full of romance, history, and intrigue. You are so much more than even what I've mentioned. I'm sorry I have to leave you, again, before I could learn all of your secrets. I may be leaving for now, but know this: I'll be back after not so long. My Dear New Orleans, I'll be seeing you.