no "organary" breakfast

Mmm...liver. And onions. And grits--don't forget the grits that should be a component of every true Southern breakfast. And the perfect biscuit, both cloud-light and butter-rich.



Riccobono's Panola Street Cafe, in the Riverbend, is a homey, silverware-clanking spot on a residential street (7801 Panola), which helps contribute to the feeling that you've tapped into a true locals' secret. You walk in and seat yourself (if there's a seat to be had), read the menu waiting for you on the table, and linger over the paper and a cup of coffee. Prices aren't high, service is friendly enough, and there are several interesting options to try.

For instance, the crawfish omelet, full of crawfish, sausage, bell peppers, and onions. With grits, of course. And biscuit.

If liver and crawfish don't call to you in the morning, don't fear. The ordinary but soul-satisfying breakfast fare is all here as well: pancakes, sunny-side upps, bacon, and benedict.

By the way, if you're wondering what eating liver for breakfast is like, it's like this: each chew alternates between the flavors of steak and vitamins. Vitamin-steak-vitamin-steak-vitamin-steak. Swallow. Not bad, lots of iron, fortifying. Not exactly juicy.

They also serve lunch--sandwiches, burgers, salads, gumbo--quickly and affordably.

no "organary" breakfast

we can make it together

Remember that old Tony Orlando & Dawn song, "Candida"? Sing the chorus, but substitute the word "Mandinas." Good. Now you're humming the tune I was last Sunday, after we visited this famous New Orleans eatery.

Located on Canal Street in Mid City, Mandina's--a bright & friendly family restaurant--serves up classic New Orleans food like gumbo, turtle soup, fried oysters, and po' boys, and laces its menu with Italian-American faves (veal or chicken parmesan, spaghetti and meatballs). It won't be a quick trip, but you'll enjoy every minute you spend tasting.

my happy face

turtle soup au sherry (dark), crab and artichoke soup (pale); seafood platter (oysters, shrimp, catfish, and crab "ball" (like a crab hushpuppy))

Creole eggplant (casserole with shrimp, ham, & crabmeat, served with spaghetti) and a cold Dixie

Just take my hand and I'll lead ya!
I promise life will be sweeter,
'Cause it said so, in my dreams...

we can make it together

virgin no longer: a seafood love story

I'm an Oklahoma girl, born and raised, so it should be understandable that I never had much occasion to sample raw oysters. There is a popular oyster bar, P&J Oyster Co., in Tulsa's Brookside (near my stomping grounds), which my dad visited occasionally, but when the family went, I only ordered fried shrimp. I should admit here that I was fifteen or sixteen before I could even abide the texture of shrimp.

But after a few years of eating shrimp, I palated scallops, then lobster, then clam strips. Then I tasted my first fried clams "with bellies"--the whole animal--at Cape Cod. After those, I was hooked on all the secret, dark wonders of the fruits of the sea.

I became a sort of sushi wunderkind. I craved mussels, relished snails, and devoured squid. And now, I can slosh oysters down with all of you. Order up.

My de-flowering experience took place at Felix's Oyster Bar in the French Quarter--romantically, also the place where my Paul had his first raw oysters (though he was ten years old--what a pro!). The oysters were so juicy, cold, and fresh; they tasted like the sun-drenched air above the seawater. That's the best way I can think of to describe it.

I'm still quite a fan of all the different cooked-oyster treats I get to sample here in New Orleans. At Felix's, I had my first serving of Oysters Rockefeller, with their casserole-like spinach topping, and Oysters Bienville (left side of plate), which has a rich, custardy sauce. Serious yummers. (Check out John Folse's Bienville recipe here: http://www.jfolse.com/recipes/seafood/oyster06.htm)

What also happened: turtle soup. Gosh.

Note: I'd like to ladle on some advice to all you raw oyster-eaters trying to convince non raw oyster-eaters to try them. Don't say anything about texture. If you can eat steak, you can eat an oyster. I was shy for way too long due to texture comments. That's all.

virgin no longer: a seafood love story

ever feel like sampling a little seafood?

Last weekend, I attended my first New Orleans food festival--the Seafood Festival, held downtown on Fulton Street. This was also my first experience with Drago's: their famous char-grilled oysters. On the bottom is their grill (which also happened to have the longest line at the party); top left is the finished product--tender oysters, romano and parmigian cheeses, pepper, lemon, and hot-hot-hot shells.

Crawfish cakes from Mr. B's and Paul's happy face.

Alligator sausage & seafood gumbo from Red Fish Grill and shrimp remoulade from Galatoire's. If you guessed "yum," you're right. Incidentally, this was also my first Galatoire's. It was a big day.

ever feel like sampling a little seafood?

classics (a.k.a. food you can make without thinking)

I used to make this dish, which is basically pasta with shrimp and feta, about once a week. Sadly, this was several years ago, when I lived in Fort Smith, Arkansas, where the shrimp could only be as fresh as their drivers. I'm lucky now to have plump, fresh, affordable gulf shrimp to play around with.

Around 2002/03, when I started making this often, everybody was buzzing about feta cheese and its ideal companions, shrimp and tomatoes. Just seemed natural to toss it with pasta, I guess. Food magazines all weighed in with their own variations (olives. pine nuts. basil. etc.) for a good three years. I can pull any of my old Cooking Light cookbooks from that time period and I'll bet you a stock pot there are at least three recipes in each index.

Of course, tastes change. Feta cheese is so early 2k. Toss those shrimp with some flax seed if you want to be up-to-date. Sometimes I just like to feel dated.



Pasta with Shrimp and Feta

• 2 or 3 Tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• one onion, halved & sliced thin
• 2 to 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 or 3 Tablespoons minced fresh rosemary (or basil)
• 2 or 3 diced ripe tomatoes, or canned diced tomatoes (add extra tomatoes if you like sauce really tomato-ey)
• 1/2 cup white wine or chicken broth, or a few tablespoons of wine vinegar
• 1 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes (or one minced fresh jalapeno pepper)
• raw shrimp, peeled & deveined, about 1 1/2 pounds
• 1 pound pasta, like angel hair or penne
• 1 cup crumbled feta cheese (plain or garlic & herb)

1. Put a big pot of water on to boil for the pasta. Salt it generously.
2. Heat the oil in a large saute pan over medium heat. Add the onions and saute until soft, about 6 minutes. Add the garlic and rosemary and saute 2 minutes, stirring.
3. Add tomatoes (with their juices) and wine. Season with salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes.
4. Cover the saute pan and simmer over low heat while you cook the pasta.
5. When the pasta has about 4 more minutes to go, add the shrimp to the saute pan. Raise heat to medium, cover, and let shrimp cook in the sauce (about 4 minutes or so).
6. Drain pasta and return to its cooking pot. Check sauce for seasoning. Good things to add for flavor are pesto, tabasco, or extra vinegar.
7. Add the sauce to the pot with the pasta and toss (the pot gives you enough room to get everything really mixed together). Top each serving with a good bit of feta.

Serves 3 with a little left over.

classics (a.k.a. food you can make without thinking)

dinner from the freezer, louisiana style

John Folse is a famous Louisiana chef; I've watched him for years on PBS. He's also the author of several very large and luxuriously informative cookbooks, including The Encyclopedia of Cajun & Creole Cuisine. So when we happened by the freezer case stocked with his frozen gumbos, soups, and bisques, we just had to try one. It was really good, and I could argue that it's also worth the money.

Inside the tub, the frozen gumbo is packed in a plastic bag which you immerse in a pot of boiling water. I was glad for this technique--no one should have to eat overcooked seafood, and the bag helps you reheat the gumbo gently, protecting the crawfish and shrimp. The container says seven servings are in each bag, but they're 1/2-cup servings. Paul and I split the entire container (it's the gumbo part only, so you make your own rice to add--the best way to offer frozen gumbo, I think). We spent about $7, so about $3.50 per meal. That's a good price when you're comparing it to restaurant gumbos at $5 to $10 per bowl, but lousy when you're looking at a huge homemade pot that will last a few days. But as far as convenience and quality go, Folse's gumbo was much better than I was expecting it to be.

How much does your gumbo cost, per serving?

dinner from the freezer, louisiana style