It’s hard not to find yourself daydreaming about nostalgic memories during these unprecedented times. Celebrations with friends and family, vacations to new and exciting places, or maybe dining at your favorite local restaurants. What I would do to be in New Orleans in April...
Simply put: New Orleans in the Springtime is magical. The magnolias are in bloom, their irresistibly sweet perfumes fill up the French colonial streets. The weather switches from heavy, warm rainstorms to bright, clear blue skies. Everyone rushes to plan their weekend crawfish boils, a New Orleans tradition consisting of boiling nightmarish-looking crustaceans, corn, potatoes, and drinking enough booze to sedate a village.
By this time, everyone is scrambling to get their JazzFest plans in order. The race to figure out who lives closest to the Fairgrounds begins, and more importantly, is willing to host the pre-festival party. I can already feel the hot sun beating down on my sun screened skin as I walk through the gates of the festival. Trumpets, saxophones, belly-deep vocal cords echo around the racetrack. My friends and I have a dedicated path. We get there in just the right time that we are hungry enough to chow down. We go straight to get an ice-cold beer, then hang a “Louis” to the one strip of eats in from Cajun country. Mrs. Wheat’s Crawfish Pies are the best I’ve ever tasted in my entire life! Martin’s Wine Cellar is a few strides behind, coming in second and third. The rich flavors of the seasoned crawfish are coupled with smokey, robust tastes that captures the earthiness of the perfectly cooked roux. The spice that sits on your lips begins to tingle where the chill of the beer, freshly picked from the ice bucket, will cool the fiery sensation crossing your lips.
Next stop is the crispiest fried stuffed shell crab po boy with the airiest French Bread that is purely a tasty vehicle to keep all the condiments in place as a side show to the crab. That’s paradise in every bite. It’s imperative to your JazzFest experience to have the infamous crawfish bread and mango ice. You stand in line for the food, with a Hot Toddy or second beer in hand, blissfully chatting away with your festival crew. You hear the music from that random band from your teenage years who reunited just for this moment. Miraculously, you remember all the words to their Top 40 hit and belt the lyrics at the top of your lungs. You secretly thank the liquid courage.
On the way To JazzFest!
The music never really stops in New Orleans. Rain or shine. Hurricane or Saints game. In the Springtime, when the real swamp heat has yet to set in, you can walk around the streets of the French Quarter or the Garden District and hear the distant sound of a trumpet player or perhaps a young drummer using the old empty paint buckets from his father’s garage. Crowds will form to listen and dance to the rhythmic beat that defines the soul of the city. Up above in the oak trees, stranded Mardi Gras beads from a few weeks past dangle and glisten in the sun. The city never really skips a beat.
Even now as the city copes with the uncertainty and hardships this pandemic brings us, there’s a sense of reassurance knowing that future Springtime’s are there awaiting on the horizon. The city has survived catastrophic hurricanes, economically devastating oil spills, and decades of disappointing Saints losses. The vibration of life runs deep in every New Orleanian and the soil they stand on. We’ll be back soon again!
Sending out a blessing to our Jazz Patriarchs who have left us this past year, and that they are forever happy on their next journey! R.I.P. Dr. John, Art Neville, Ellis Marsalis Jr, and Dave Bartholomew.