A southern-style Sazerac
Let me just preface this post by telling you I adore New Orleans. I love the food, the atmosphere, cold beer, icy Hurricanes in plastic cups, and the music. I love the tawdry, bead-bedecked, 24-hour street party that is the French Quarter. There's just no place quite like it, anywhere else.
But I live in the northwest corner of the U.S.—almost as far from New Orleans as you can physically get, and still be in the continental United States. I haven't been back in a couple of years, now, so I often find myself longing for café au lait and beignets, gumbo, fried oyster po'boys. As hot as the Pacific Northwest has been, this week, I've found myself more and more thinking of super-heated, muggy afternoons in dim barrooms, nursing frosted mugs of Abita beer under a slow ceiling fan. Read more
