Super Luxe Sundays

Stepping out back to put on a load of laundry this morning, I was amazed at the pleasant weather we are experiencing, especially considering that it's August in New Orleans. After a day of torrential rain on Friday, the humidity seems to have disappeared, and the weather reports are calling for the high today to reach the upper 80's, which is perfect weather in my book. For some strange reason, the weather took my mind to a place that offers conditions like this almost all year round: Aruba.

I love to travel, and I love exploring the Caribbean. I've had the good fortune to experience quite a few islands (mostly due to work), and Aruba is one island I long to visit again. Gorgeous beaches, friendly locals, and fantastic food.

Aruba is part of the Dutch Antilles and is located 15 miles off the coast of Venezuela in the southern Caribbean. The are four predominate languages spoken on the island: English, Dutch, Spanish and Papiemento, a local language that's been cobbled together through centuries of cultural mixing from immigrants around the world. Unlike other islands that have natives who are discontent, even openly hostile to tourists, Arubans are welcoming and happy to share their island and culture with visitors. The beaches are pristine, and the water is one of the prettiest shades of blue I've ever encountered in my life. The island is less than 20 miles long and 6 miles across at its widest point, so one is able to comfortably explore the terrain without feeling overwhelmed. Of course much of the beach has been developed with hotels and resorts to accommodate the tourist trade, but the interior of the island offers fantastic flora and fauna for naturists to enjoy. Even along the roads near the resorts packs of wild goats can stop traffic as they forage for food.

I've stayed at several resorts during my visits, including a three week stint at the Wyndham, a gorgeous luxury property on the island, that is apparently no longer in existence. No matter--find a hotel, grab a rum runner, slather on the sunscreen and soak up some rays by the pool. You'll understand the meaning of Paradise as the gentle breeze caresses your skin and your cares and worries melt away.

In Praise of the Po'Boy

I had the luxury of a day off on Wednesday, and spent the day lounging around the house and catching up on emails, phone calls and other correspondence that had suffered my neglect during my last bout of work insanity (I'm thankful to report that I've pared life down to one job, the Roosevelt, so I can finally begin to enjoy the experience of life in New Orleans). Brandon had the day off as well, and we decided to head out and make groceries. Before hitting Rouse's we stopped off for a quick repast at one of the city's best joints for Po'Boys, the Parkway.

Brandon had taken me to the Parkway on my visit to New Orleans at Easter, and I could not believe the roast beef Po'Boy we shared. It was one of the messiest sandwiches I've ever eaten, and one of the best. The Po'Boy contained delectable chunks of roast beef, smothered in gravy, and the sandwich came dressed with the usual adornments; mayo, lettuce, tomato and pickles. The sandwich literally comes apart as you consume it, and there's as much filling on the wrapper as there is in the Po'Boy.

The Po'Boy is a quintessential New Orleans creation; in fact the Po-Boy Preservation Society has a web site that gives the background on the inventors of the sandwich. There's even a Po'Boy Festival (of course), which Brandon swears is one of the best festivals in the city.

On Wednesday I decided to stick with the tried and true roast beef Po'Boy, while Brandon enjoyed the daily special, a Cuban. The sandwich looked delicious, and Peaches declared that the Cuban rivaled any concotion he had sampled in Tampa. My roast beef was delightful as well, and once I again I practically emptied a napkin holder plowing through the sandwich.

My dear friend Veeta has been making noise about coming to the Crescent City for the holidays and wants to tour the city in search of the perfect muffaletta; I think we're going to concentrate on Po'Boys instead.

Here we come, on the run, with a burger and a bun

After a three day run of double shifts, I met Brandon out last night for a couple of much-needed libations. Tired, a little cranky, and hungry, we decided to grab some food before heading home as the cabinets are quickly reaching Mother Hubbard status. Typically, late night snacks come from the Verti Mart, located a couple of doors down from our usual watering hole, but their grill was off for cleaning. Fortunately the Quarter has several 24 hour grills that deliver, so all was not lost. Brandon whipped out a menu and treated us to a late night repast of bacon cheeseburgers.

Aware of the fact that the consumption of grease and bread, particulary late night, contributes to my Ruebenesque stature, I shed all thoughts of guilt and shame when we arrived home and opened the to-go boxes. Staring me in the face was a delicious, juicy bacon cheeseburger, topped with swiss cheese and appropriately dressed. I grabbed the ketchup and the mustard and enjoyed the burger with reckless abandon.

I'm a huge fan of cheeseburgers, and summertime is not complete until a few tastily prepared burgers have been consumed. Unlike my rule of one hot dog a year, I could enjoy a burger every day. Brandon receives several food and entertaining magazines every month, and the August issue of Saveur magazine was dedicated to the burger. Page after page is devoted to one of the quintessential American food staples, and each article leaves the reader salivating with a desire to break out the grill or hit the nearest burger joint for some hot beef satisfaction.

I'm not very fond of chain restaurant burgers, with the possible exception of In-N-Out, which makes every burger fresh to order. I do enjoy checking out local restaurants and bars to discover a good burger, as I find these are these places put thought and effort into their burgers, and often show as much care about taste and presentation as one would in his own kitchen. Several weeks ago we dined at the Camellia Grill located off St. Charles Street and enjoyed fantastic burgers. And of course, Quarter crawlers are always guaranteed a tasty treat at the Clover Grill on Bourbon Street (although I still long for the return of Earl the Girl to the counter). There are several other local spots that carry a good burger reputation, and I look forward to trying them all, cholesterol be damned.

A nice mellow Monday

Having worked my way through two pots of coffee this morning, I'm in a surprisingly mellow mood for a Monday. I've never been one of those Monday Haters, so it's nice to wake up and embrace the day.

I start training at the Roosevelt this evening, and have a very full schedule ahead of me. I agreed to be a guest post on my friend Paul's blog, Kitchen and Residential Design, so I'm trying to decide what to share with his vast readership. Hysterically, several of his guest posts have featured fabulous cocktail recipes, and Paul does not drink. Guess you really have to know him to find the humor.

Nothing really luxurious to share today; just the pleasure of listening to the rain while I catch up on neglected tasks and phone calls. I may indulge in another piece of delicious cake before going to work. The apple I had for breakfast more than offsets the sugar, carbs and calories in the confection, right?

Who Wants Cake?

Yes, another post about delicious food. With the advent of a hectic work schedule (which is not a complaint; I'm happy for the opportunities) I've had little time to pursue pleasure outside of the delicious treats that Brandon has prepared. Wednesday was Brandon's birthday, and to celebrate, he made a fantabulous cake. Behold:

This recipe comes straight off the Hershey's cocoa tin. It's a dense, moist chocolate cake, and Brandon decided to enhance the flavor by adding a peanut butter filling in between the two layers. As peanut butter and chocolate is one of the best flavor combinations in the world, needless to say I was in heaven. The frosting was the Perfectly Chocolate frosting recipe, also found on the container.

I am amazed that any of the cake is still around! We've been working our way through it, enjoying polite slices in the evening after work while watching season two of "Mad Men". The simplest pleasures can provide the ultimate satisfaction, and I'm grateful to be temporarily housed in the company of such a delightful gourmand.

The Pleasure of Low-Country Fare

I've had the luxury of a couple of days off, coupled with the delightful news from the Roosevelt that I start orientation in the morning. My objective is to work out a schedule with the hotel and Commander's Palace so I can amass some coinage and stay busy during the slow season (which is upon us) by working both jobs.

Life has not been all toil and drudgery, despite the tone of my last few feeble posts. I'm fortunate to have a wonderful friend and host helping me through this transition time. I've mentioned in the past the extraordinary talents that Brandon possesses, and I decided to share one of his recent triumphs to ease back into the Sybarite mindset.

Readers who want to know more about the delicious pot roast dinner he served last week can check out his blog, Where the Sweet Olive Grows. I was just as taken with the low-country fare he prepared for us the night before: shrimp and grits.

If you've never visited the Southeastern United States and sampled the amazing dishes of the region, you really don't know what you are missing. Cooks for generations have used indigineous ingredients to create simple, yet unforgettable dishes. Low-country cooking refers to the area primarily around southeastern South Carolina and northeastern Georgia (the Charleston/Savannah area).

Having grown up in North Carolina, I have always been a fan of grits. Much to the horror and chagrin of friends I made when I moved to Boston, grits are best served piping hot with some butter and salt, and in my opinion they triumph over oatmeal any day of the week. If you have the good fortune to have salty country ham served with breakfast, by all means, slather your grits (and your biscuits) with red-eye gravy (made with drippings from the ham along with coffee). As I began traveling the country I stumbled upon shrimp and grits at a restaurant in Charleston, and marveled at the combination of seafood, spices and cheesy grits. I've had other delightful versions of the dish, especially at the now defunct Agnes and Muriel's in Atlanta.

Brandon's version included Lousiana shrimp, red pepper, tomato, garlic,green onion, lemon juice and some Worchestshire sauce which was sauteed and ladeled over cheese grits. While Brandon claimed the grits were too salty, I found the dish a wonderful adventure for the palate. The picture on the blog does not do the dish justice. I was transported back to memories of some of my favorite low-country meals, and was delighted to add another luxurious culinary delight to the list.