Tag: Bakeries

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Louisiana Deux

Sale of Estates, Pictures and Slaves in the Rotunda, New Orleans; by William Henry Brooke, engraver; engraving with watercolor from The Slave States of America, vol. 1; London: Fisher and Son, 1842.  THE HISTORIC NEW ORLEANS COLLECTION, 1974.25.23.4.

“Well, you see, it’ uz dis way. Ole missus—dat’s Miss Watson—she pecks on me all de time, en treats treats me pooty rough, but she awluz said she wouldn’ sell me down to Orleans.” 

Jim, Huckleberry Finn.

I thought when I started this that I would write some about fishing and some about states and their history and literature. Louisiana didn’t come up by design but opportunity.  It is nearby, we haven’t been in a while, we have a deposit with a guide, and who doesn’t like New Orleans?

And what better way to approach Louisiana than through race and ethnicity? I’m stupid sometimes. I should have stuck to Sazeracs.

New Orleans was founded for the French in 1718 by Jean-Baptiste le Moyne, Sieur de Bienville.  Although intended to be France’s center for trade and government,  the site selected was  a muddy swamp situated in the crescent of the shifting and flooding Mississippi River.  See that first big bend above the Gulf in the big river in the left of the map map below? The bend’s more complicated in real life, but that’s more or less where the French stuck New Orleans.

New Orleans was first destroyed by a hurricane in 1722.

1959-210.website

Le Missisipi ou la Louisiane dans l’Amérique Septentrionale; ca. 1720; hand-colored engraving by François Chéreau; The Historic New Orleans Collection, 1959.210

In 1724, the French adopted the code noir governing slaves. Believe it or not, it didn’t favor the enslaved.

Le_Code_Noir_1742_edition

In 1765 the Spanish, now in charge, brought the first Acadians, the Cajuns, to lower Louisiana from France (where they’d arrived after the British deportation of the French, Le Grand Dérangement, from the Maritimes). This was about the time that the British expelled the Scottish clans from the Highlands, and was apparently a favored British method of social planning. Get rid of ‘em.

In 1786 New Orleans burned, and in 1794 it burned again. The rebuilt city, the city we know by its French Quarter, is actually Spanish architecture, from its St. Louis Cathedral to its wrought iron frills.

Beginning in 1791, New Orleans experienced a sizable influx of slave-revolt refugees from Haiti: white French colonials, slaves, and free blacks. By the late 1700s, New Orleans was a city of French-speaking Acadians, German-speaking Germans, Spanish Canary Islanders, French-speaking refugees from Haiti, slaves from Africa and the Caribbean, and free people of color (often of mixed race).  All of these, French and Spanish colonials, Africans, and Germans, are the Creole, the ethnic and racial stew that made up Louisiana in 1803, the year of the Louisiana Purchase. There were also Americans.

 In 1803, Louisiana’s population was 35,932, with 21,224 Anglos, 12,920 slaves, and 1,768 free people of color.  By 1850, thirteen years before the Civil War, the population had exploded to 516,702, with 255k whites, 244k slaves, and 17k free people of color.  New Orleans had become the principal slave market of the South, there was cotton, there was sugar cane, there was the port traffic in the the Gulf and on the Mississippi. New Orleans was a major U.S. city and the major city of the South. Samuel Clemens came to New Orleans to work on river boats and from that he wrote Life on the Mississippi and Huckleberry Finn. Abraham Lincoln made two trips to New Orleans by flat boat: thus, Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter. And the Emancipation Proclamation.

One of the world’s great cuisines came out of that ethnic and racial mix.  The food was created out of what people had on hand: rice, seafood, pork, herbs, and the trinity of bell pepper, celery, and onion. Louisianans brought to cooking their cultural history: African, Caribbean, Spanish, French, German.  Which reminds me, on Friday our son, Andy, brought me breakfast — a boudin blanc kolache from his favorite donut shop.   Boudin and heat from the Cajuns, sweet dough from the Czechs,  assembled in Houston by Vietnamese immigrants. It wasn’t really a kolache, it wasn’t really even a klobasnicky, but it was pretty spectacular.

 

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Guadalupe River Triple Redux

I finally caught my trout today. Off and on I’d fished the Guadalupe since the Super Bowl was in Houston, a bit more than a year ago. I fished two days then and came up blanked. I started this year in December, and finally caught my fish today, March. It was nothing special, a 12-14″ rainbow that spit out the hook after it came into the net.  I’d hooked another earlier, and had a hit later, and foul hooked and landed a carp, a big carp, much later.  Because of their mouth carp always seem to foul hook.

I knew what I was doing though with the trout. I set up the rod with two droppers below an egg, with an indicator two feet up from the egg, no weight other than the weight of the brassies on the top dropper.  The fish stayed on the hook.  I didn’t take a picture. I wanted the fish back in the water, and I was worried about fumbling my phone.

Earlier, before the fish, I fell into the river, and tonight the muscle pull in my left calf hurts because of the fall. A half gallon or so of water came over the top of my waders, and when we left the river we stopped at Gruene Outfitters to buy dry clothes.  I bought a pair of Patagonia Guidewater pants, grey because even though I wanted tan Kris told me to get the grey.  They will be go-to’s for future travel, fishing and otherwise, but I’m sorry I had to buy. On future river trips I need to bring extra clothes.

On the way out of the store though I saw one of the great objects of men’s fashion, a Howler Brothers Gaucho Snapshirt, with embroidered alligators.  I’d first seen Howler Brothers shirts in Belize, where the younger guys at the bar compared their Howler Brothers shirt embroidery.  The embroidery then was great, the yellow rose and the shrimp and the blue crabs are works of art, but more important their shirts had pearl snap buttons, which for me is always the height of male fashion.  I came back to Houston and bought one sans embroidery, and you know what? When you roll up the sleeves of a a fishing shirt with pearl snap buttons they stay up. They don’t need those sewn-in goofy straps that seem like good design but aren’t. Pearl snap buttons have purpose.    There’s no sleeve creep when you roll up your sleeves.

So I caught my trout and got a great pair of pants and the work-of-art shirt I need to wear to Louisiana. I wish I had a photo of the trout.

It was windy today, and overcast, and the day on which daylight savings time started so we were already tired and late when we left Houston. I got water down my waders. On the way to the river we checked out donut shops in Seguin. Apparently like all donut shops in Central Texas they were Buddhist donut shops. The Donut Palace had a pretty good glazed, but no kolache, sausage rolls but no kolache. It was packed more or less. I wouldn’t recommend anything but the glazed, but I would recommend the glazed.

Top Donut had a good cat, but the donuts were only good efforts.

At three when we came off the river I wanted to go to Black’s in Lockhart for Barbecue, but it would have added two hours and Kris didn’t want to make the investment. We found a place in New Braunfels for German food, Uwe’s Bakery and Deli, that made its own bratwurst, and I suspect its own pickles and sauerkraut. It was outstanding. If I lived in New Braunfels, I’d go to Uwe’s every Tuesday for chicken and dumplings, and every Saturday for the goulash, and I’d be happy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Flagler Steakhouse

When you fly in on a Friday morning and fly out on Sunday morning, fish six hours, and go to two baseball games, you don’t see as much of a place as you’d like. I never visited the Flagler Museum, or stuck my toe in the Atlantic, or caught some weird exotic out of a canal. Part of the point of this exercise is not just fish. I could stay in Houston and not catch fish. Part of the point of this exercise is to get the sense of 50 states. It’s hard to get much sense in two days.

We were terrible spring trainers. We were in West Palm Beach for Astros’ spring training, but we never made it to a game before the second inning. It wasn’t our fault. We made it to the Budget rental line at the Fort Lauderdale airport by  11 am, and the game didn’t start until 1:30, but we stood in line for an hour for a car.  The drive’s another hour, and when we got to the new Ballpark at West Palm the signage is horrible.  We took two wrong turns before we got to where we could park and that took at least 30 minutes.  Then it’s a long walk to the stadium and another long line for ballpark food. Delicious.

This is the first thing I learned about Florida: It’s not just Donald Trump who goes there every weekend.  The lines for the rental cars on Friday morning are waiting for you.

We were late to the game on the second day too, and missed an excellent first two innings by McHugh, 1 hit, 1 walk, 5 strike outs. We kept fishing until we were late. Ok, that was our fault.

We stayed at a Bed and Breakfast, Hibiscus House, near downtown, a block off the main drag Clematis. Kris noted that she always feels cheated at Bed and Breakfasts because we never actually get to eat the breakfast. I didn’t find a bakery, but on the way back to the airport we found a good donut shop, Jupiter Donuts, which was neither in nor on Jupiter but near enough to both.

Skip the banana and chocolate. I can’t believe I preferred banana Moon Pies as a child.

We walked down Clematis Street Friday night, top to bottom to a good restaurant, Pistache. I had a martini, and some wine, and a good potato and leek soup which I’d wanted all winter, and the duck breast. I also learned something: everyone in nice restaurants in Florida really is old, as old as me at least. I asked the waitress (who was originally from New York) what we shouldn’t miss. The turtle rescue, she said. She was right, too, we shouldn’t have missed the turtle rescue but we did.

The second thing I learned about Florida: if you’re in Florida, it’s easy to miss the turtle rescue. There’s golf. There’s baseball. There’s fishing.

The third thing? It’s great to feel young again. There are all these old people in Florida and everything is relative.

The next night, after the fishing, after the game, after the two-hour nap and practicing the Sor “Variations on a Theme by Mozart” while Kris slept, we had dinner reservations at the Flagler Steakhouse. It’s easy to see why Henry Flagler is the patron saint of Florida. He came from New York in 1879 with unimaginable amounts of money, a different level of money, and he built the Florida East Coast Railway and the Florida Overseas Railway down the coast, from San Augustine in the north to Key West at the bottom of the world, all to serve his Florida resorts and real estate investments. He was Walt Disney before Walt Disney. He built the Ponce de Leon Hotel in San Augustine. He built Palm Beach to serve the rich and West Palm Beach to serve the not-rich. He built the Royal Poinciana in Palm Beach on the shores of Lake Worth (where the New York lady in yoga pants told us to stop bothering her dog). He built Miami and named it Miami instead of Flagler.  He built the Breakers.

We thought about staying at the Breakers. There was no reason to stay at any other resort on Palm Beach, so if we were going to stay on Palm Beach it would be the Breakers.  It is still the surviving heart of everything that Florida is: ridiculous, extraordinarily expensive, gorgeous from the Atlantic and at night from the land rimmed in light and shining.  I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t spend that much money. But I thought eating at the Flagler Steakhouse in the Breakers would be a good compromise.  We could get there early, we could walk around and see the hotel, we could admire Flagler’s vision.

We got there early but here’s the thing, the Flagler Steakhouse is across the street on the golf course.  It’s part of the resort, it’s just not in the hotel.  We only saw the hotel at a distance, like that green light across the water or the Magic Kingdom, and then our Uber driver took us back around the guardhouse and across the street.

As for the Flagler Steakhouse, don’t. Just don’t.  We spent $350 on a pretty good steak with a steamed bake potato.  I had a martini, and two glasses of wine. I had some corn chowder with bits of lobster.  $350 for a steak and baked potato is obscene, even with a martini, and even if service is included. There was sour cream with the potato, so that was good. The place was packed. As our Uber driver said on the way back to our bed and breakfast, the rich are different.

The fourth thing? The rich are different.

I think Henry Flagler might have been proud. I think he reached his audience.

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More Guadalupe River

There was a point on the Guadalupe yesterday when for a moment the sun shone and I thought we’d be able to see fish. We hadn’t caught anything, and I’d fished hard.  I’d fished up from Gypsy Camp about a quarter mile. When the sun shone we’d already moved further north to Rocky Beach, where I’d hooked the nice trout a few weeks before.

But the sun didn’t stay out.  The wind shifted to the north, and 15 minutes later the sky clouded again, and the temperature dropped 10 degrees into the low 50s. We weren’t dressed for it, but that sort of summed up the day.  I’d fished two nymphs, a pheasant tail and a copper john, and I’d added and then deleted both a  girdle bug and a wiggly worm as an attractor.  I’d added weight, I’d taken off weight.  I’d tangled. When the guide in the boat passed me I was fishing an Air-Lock strike indicator over a Feather-Craft Czech Nymphing indicator that I’d several times greased with gink over a tippet ring over the nymphs. I hadn’t fished that much hardware since 40-odd years before when I’d stopped fishing bait. The guide said they’d had their luck with eggs, so  I dug through my vest and found a single bright orange egg, my one and only egg, and threw it into the mix.  I still didn’t catch anything.

Earlier, driving down River Road to Gypsy Camp, we had passed a younger group of anglers–which for us includes anyone younger than 50. There was a tall young woman, maybe 5’8″, very trim, who looked like a Vogue wader model. She really could have worn waders on a runway. It was the most remarkable thing, so we remarked on it, and laughed at her good fortune and our more human fortune. When Kris took off her waders late in the day they had sprung a leak, which is probably a death knell for the waders. I hope that girl not only looks good in waders, but that her waders never spring a leak.

A tall and trim Kris bird fishing.

We stopped at Reel Fly Fishing Adventures in Sattler and there was a pair of Reddington women’s waders on sale. I asked Kris if that was what the young woman was wearing, and Kris said they would almost certainly make her, Kris,  taller and thinner.  They sold us some Trout Beads and some Trout Bead Peggz and some Trout Bead hooks–like I need hooks–and a box to put them in.  Next time I will catch fish on Trout Beads, but unless we go back for those waders Kris will be no taller. The store clerk did make me feel better.  He said no one was catching anything.  I didn’t tell him we never catch anything.

I’ve heard that eggs work well in the Guadalupe because the fish are brought from Missouri to Texas in the Winter, and when they get to Texas the rainbows think it must be spring and start to spawn.  It doesn’t work, but I’ve seen a pair of rainbows wrestling down the river, and I guess that’s what I’m seeing. They drop a lot of unsuccessful eggs. That may not be why the eggs work, but it’s a good story.

Good news? We stopped at Luling City Market on the way in and got early barbecue.

Along with the Capitol rotunda and the inside of the Astrodome, the pit room at Luling City Market is one of the best-known rooms in Texas.  I had a rib for second breakfast, and then later on the river had fatty brisket and banana pudding for lunch. Healthy choices.

Being Saturday morning, Naegelin’s Bakery in New Braunfels was also open. The young man touching up the mural told me that Ferdinand Lindheimer had gotten in trouble with the locals for accusing them of being too interested in bars and too indifferent to hard work. I guess others have accused a group of German farmers of being insufficiently industrious, but I wouldn’t guess it was common.

Naegelin’s has been around since 1868, and I thought the woman at the counter needed to hear my story about how my parents had brought me there from West Texas when I was 10 or thereabouts and how it was the first time I remembered seeing bread that wasn’t white.  She said they heard stories like that all the time, which was either deflating or validating.

We also had a discussion about Naegelin’s kolaches, which I didn’t remember and which were more like a biscuit with a topping.  It was good to see a kolache which was different, but I guess I wasn’t surprised that a great German bakery would make a peculiar Czech pastry.

Third breakfast.