Pull my chain

A week or so ago I was walking back on Canal from the ferry returning from a job interview. In the Quarter even with eye sight as bad as mine you can spot tourists two blocks away. Things like beads, souvenir cups, pointing, taking photos actually and stopping when asked about their shoes. One couple passed, each wearing Hard Rock Cafe shirt from two completely different cities. They had a bag filled with... Hard Rock Cafe NOLA shirts. I just don't get it .

I honestly go out of my way to be nice, even helpful. If I see a couple spinning a map around 360 degrees and each pointing in different direction, I will causally ask "Whatcha trying to find?" I'll admit I bite my lip when they say something like "Hard Rock" or "Bubba Gumps" I want to say in a condescending tone "WHY?" I've seen tourists walk out of a McDonalds. Save your air fare, I'm sure there's one closer to your suburban home. 

 At least go to Krystal Burger and look out the window.
You might get to see a felony being committed. 

I love this city. Like when you are introduced to friends and family of a loved one, you try to make a good impression. One time I found myself with Otis walking on a menacing dark Burgundy Street feeling like a film noir extras. Like a siren, the unmistakeably cackle of "Drunk girls giggling" is heard. We met at the intersection 3 grenade toting girls pledging a sorority that night, emerging out from the darkness. "What's down there?" one managed to blurt out between giggles pointing towards Rampart. Otis sternly warns. "Oh Sugar, you DO NOT want to go thata way. Turn around and go back towards Bourbon. Nothing on this side but trouble. Please go back to Bourbon." We stood for a moment to watch them turn and walk back towards the light. Not as creepy guys checking out booty, but like two dads watching our girls walk to the bus stop for the first time.

If you plan to live here for any length of time you must be resigned to question of WHEN you get jumped, not IF.  You got to look after the friends of the city you love. My point is, if they want fucking Bubba Gump, then go ahead. "BUT, might I recommend a favorite of the locals?""Oh yes please...." Eyes open wide in anticipation of a secret or good gossip. "Coop's Place on Decatur. The chef is missing two fingers from when he used to hunt gators in the Bayou. He figured cooking gators was easier and safer than catching them. Try the Jambalaya." It's up to them at that point. Perhaps the feel safer at Bubba's. 

The French Quarter is like hard liquor,
some folks can't handle too much at once. 

A recent public issue in the Quarter led to a separate discussion among Quarter Rats, "Are corporate national chain restaurants good for the French Quarter?" Purists insist such blights should be driven into the river like an invading hostile force. Landlords holding vacant buildings and unemployed kitchen staff differ. Personally, I detest all things corporate like that. The Clover Grill might be a little more expensive than a fast food chain, but so worth it. Do you know how many oppressed workers  must endure Jimmy Buffet music all day while being forced to wear an ugly shirt as a uniform? Inhumane working conditions by even third world standards.

Look at how many chains do attract visitors, Harrahs, House Of Blues, Marriott, Hard Rock. We almost never get ads from them, no hard feelings. Tourists don't read us, locals do. We send people to the hard knock cafes on Decatur and Burgundy Streets.  I've seen what can happen. Hip, chic and slightly dangerous artsy neighborhoods homesteaded by 21st century beatniks who move in and make an area worthwhile. Ten years later it's all Starbucks and pretentious franchisees that the artists can no longer afford. It's not easy adjusting your budget from squatter to $2,400 a month.

Corporate imperialism, happens all of the time up North.

Folks buy expensive homes and condos on Esplanade and then yell at the brass band to keep it down. They have money and influence. So much in fact, they use it to destroy what makes their investment so valuable. Dumb fucks. Those of you not familiar with the corner of Esplanade and Rampart, there's this abandoned 1930's canopied gas station with a green Spanish tile roof. Classic building covered with plywood and graffiti. Habana Outpost from New York City wants to open up another restaurant on that location. Rampart needs something to improve it. For even street wise local, the area is sketchy. One of those "we have a web site community groups" of property owners near the proposed Cuban food establishment are fighting it tooth and nail. 

Arguments of scarce parking are moot to my ears. Most every weekend there is a festival of some sort when a parking space is as rare as a virgin in the Quarter. Noise? You chose to buy property in the heart of the Jazz capital of the world, STFU. Prefer the unoccupied building as a neighbor? I can tell you first hand it's a great place to take a piss and hit the pipe on the return from a night in the Marigny. I'll give up my convenience for the good of the city, because I love her. 

We all make concessions to live here.

The majority of Quarter Rats seem to lean towards the development. A safer and cleaner Rampart, the no man's land, the forbidden zone after dark. It would be a great anchor of development for the area. A safe stepping stone between the Quarter and the Marigny / Bywater action. A main thoroughfare into the Quarter that now is like a beautiful face with one front tooth missing. Someone wants to replace it with a gold  tooth let him. It's been vacant for years, I haven't seen any local investors jumping on it. You want genuine French Quarta? Ok, NO MONEY to invest. That's real.

More than a half million spent on the property, at least another quarter million in construction jobs to renovate it. Fifteen to twenty full time employees and a reason for the next empty building on Rampart to be a safer gamble.  Sorry if the delivery truck idleing outside your window while you try to sleep off a hangover is waking you up.  I choose to deal with a fucking steam calliope playing "Helter Skelter" at 8 am. STFU.

I never even heard of Habana Outpost until I saw a bunch of signs protesting them. Nice protest guys, I just became a supporter of your opposition. I never even knew about it until you pointed it out. Derp. Habana appears to be one of those kinder, cooler business owners. Hippie capitalists who are environmentally conscious, community centric that treats being a good  commercial neighbor as a responsibility. The love of people, great food, great music, no, they don't belong here. You don't want neighbors like this? Move uptown or STFU. 

Are you a NOLA purest who despise any corporate chains from out of town? Would you fault a local favorite if they had an opportunity in New York City? Imagine how proud we would be if Camellia Grill opened up in Brooklyn. No one complains if a well known local business has a dozen convenient locations in the Quarter. Do they define us?

Our leading industry is tourism.

The customers define the needs.

Louie Louie

Friday night the Quarter Rat delivered the lattest issue (#26) to all of the finer drinking establishments in the French Quarter. Like the previous times the copies were dropped off by topless girls with their breasts painted in festive Mardi Gras themes. We started out with ten lovelies, I think only three managed to finish the route. One didn't even make it out of the first bar. Rather than writing about the night in my blog like I usually do, we videotaped the entire adventure. I know we should be able to edit it down to at least 30 minutes of non stop debauchery, nudity, stupidity and fun.

The Kingsmen - Louie Louie

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As Otis and I were unloading cases of the magazines from his car, I looked up across the street and famed street mime "Uncle Louie" was walking by with his bucket from working all day on Royal Street. It just turned out that Uncle Louie made the cover of this month's Quarter Rat. I grabbed a handful of copies for him and went over to hand them to him. I'll admit that I couldn't wait to see his reaction. Anyone who has visited the French Quarter has seen Louie in his pristine white suit posing on Royal, anyone who lives in the Quarter has shaken his hand and probably had a drink or two with him. A real cool man who is a staple to the French Quarter.

We had to videotape the evening because I really don't think anyone outside of the Quarter believes the stuff I write about. We couldn't get our buddy Zan and his pedicar to help deliver the boxes this time around. Zan said that he had a wheel fall off or something. (Personally, we think his wife got tired of him peddling up and down Bourbon Street with topless young women. We're not sayin, just sayin.) So I dressed up like a homeless guy and pushed a shopping cart around the Quarter loaded with cases of magazines. At one point on Lower Decatur Street I passed an actual homeless guy with a shopping cart loaded with personal belongings. Awkward at first, I had to comment to him about his cart "Nice model, what year is it?" 

Towards the end of the night we had to meet up with the remaining girls and the rest of our krewe at the Ginger Lime Japanese restaurant at 200 Decatur. They treated us great with fantastic food. I vaguely remember eating sushi off of a couple of the women.  We had a few block to travel to get there so we broke up into small groups and hopped into Pedicabs for the journey. I however was stuck with a shopping cart loaded with magazines and almost had to walk. Otis yelled "Styles! Sit on your cart and hang on to the back of the Pedicab and he'll tow you." So, dressed like a homeless guy I was towed behind one of the bikes down several blocks of Royal Street. All night I had been rolling ontop of the shopping cart. It was like "Jackass on Bourbon Street" I did take a spill when the front wheels of the cart dug into a pothole. You'll have to wait for the video.

Dining Review

When I first moved down to New Orleans I was set back by gas stations selling fried chicken. Back in Jersey, if you wanted fried chicken you went to the standard KFC or the recently opened Popeye's. As much as I love fried chicken, I thought the joints were were over rated and over priced. Dropping eight bucks on a couple of pieces of chicken was a luxury by my meager income. While working as a day laborer digging up sewer pipes of St Bernard parish a co-worker introduced me to Brother's Chicken. It's a chain of gas station / convenience stores down here that are are clean, reasonably priced and very good.

I was hooked. Excellent chicken, always hot, always consistently good and very reasonably priced. Now I live in the French Quarter, considered by many as the heart of the best southern cuisine, I could find a dozen places touting "Best fried chicken." It may be good, but I would be paying a day's wage for the location and name. Brothers is great fried chicken at the best price. It's the only reason I have to leave the Quarter, by one block. 

Tonight was pay day, I dropped about $15 on 12 pieces of white meat.  With a decent buzz going I had the doors of my balcony open listening to the roar of LSU fans on Bourbon street as I dined on the chicken and plain white rice that I cooked up while listening to WWOZ. I thought how much I wished my friends from Seattle were here. This is how Quarter Rats dine fine.