The Best Cajun Cooking In All.......TEXAS??

I've been on the road for one week today. I've been on the road for one month today. I've been on the road forever. Funny what floats through your consciousness when you're relaxed and in your zone. I missed a big event last night while driving in the dark to St. Charles. My van turned 60,000 miles. When Poppa and my mother and I went on road trips, my father, the accountant, found quirkly little pleasures in numbers. Numbers were his life. His work. His relaxation. "Watch! Watch! Don't miss it! Look, Penny, it's going to change from 59,999 to 60,000! All the numbers are going to roll over, watch!" I felt a funny sense of disappointment when I missed the actual event, although I had made note that it was coming. This morning in the coffee shop, the talk was all about the big storm. "Is that normal around here? Does that happen often?" I asked."Oh, no, that wasn't at all normal! We got tornado warnings too." "Glad I didn't know that! By the way, last night I crossed over the I-10 bridge into Lake Charles and, omigosh, those lights, those beautiful lights! What IS that?" "The lights? That's just the chemical plants." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Chemical plants? What an odd place to find a sight I'll never forget. Outside the coffee shop I said good morning to a man enjoying a rocking chair with his coffee. He started talking about his work on pipelines and where it takes him and that he was really enjoying the food in Louisiana. Last winter was spent on the Mexican Baja. The weather was great but he didn't like the food. A friend of his walked up and handed him a book. "Do you like war books?", he asked me. "Probably not, I guess." I looked at the title: "Hogs In The Shadows, Combat Stories From Marine Snipers In Iraq". "Oh, my stepdaughter's grandson is there. He's a helicopter mechanic." So for all our guys and gals in a war zone, the book is available through Amazon and written by one of your own, Milo Afong. I hit the road for TX, but not before I asked where I could get an authentic Cajun meal before I left LA. "The Boiling Point" was between Lake Charles and the border, I was told. But, not a sign of it and crossing the Sabine River, I was in Texas. Low and behold, I should have gone to Texas for Cajun food to start with! I passed up a couple that didn't give me enough notice to hit the exit and finally did get an advance head's up for "Al-T's" in Winnie, TX. Winnie....where had I seen that before? When I saw the building I knew I had struck gold. Simple, low key. The parking lot was full...always a good sign! As I entered and looked around I was reassured that this was the real thing. Stuffed wild turkeys, armadillos, ducks, cast iron cooking skillets, a cement floor, and the smells! Waiting for a table I glanced over at the souvenir t-shirts and remembered how I knew Winnie....and Al T's (Al Thibodeaux). Bob looked at a radio station in Beaumont TX with an eye to buying it and decided we wouldn't like Texas...or at least not that part of it. He brought home a t-shirt for me from.....Al-T's! There is a fine gold thread that joins us all together in this life...past and present. It's a strange fate that allowed me to find great Cajun cooking in Texas and stranger yet that it was the same restaurant Bob ate lunch in 25 years ago. I ordered crawfish etoufee and fried boudain pieces. So good. From that one appetizer I stuffed myself and brought "home" dinner and lunch tomorrow. Finally, great food! Photos above. Tonight the 3 of us are "hanging out" at Love's near Katy, TX. With any luck, we'll cross into New Mexico Tuesday night. Time for a shower in my new rubber flip-flops. I'll run the hot water until my fingers shrivel and I'll think back to the days of our childhood when Betty, Wallace, Sara, Nancy and I caught "lightening bugs" in jars in a Kentucky backyard on a summer night.

A Hundred Christmas Trees and A Palace

In the late afternoon it was hot. I turned on the air conditioning and hoped it would cool down when the sun set. There's no cross ventilation in the van. 'Round 5PM I came to Lafayette. General Lafayette is remembered with respect in Virginia also. His namesake didn't slow me down. I kept on to Jennings, self proclaimed Oil Capitol of Lousiana. I needed to pick up a few supplies. (That's what we pioneers call medicine, food, water.) Jennings didn't do much for me either. On to Lake Charles. Along I-10 approaching Lake Charles, it's darker than midnight. I don't like driving at night but I hoped for more than Jennings as a rest stop. There was a fierce head wind suddenly and I knew a bridge was close. I don't like bridges when it's daylight and NOT windy. I held my breath and said a little prayer. "Please, Lord, don't let me fall off into the water. Not for me, Lord, but for Danny and Nala. They haven't done anything bad." At the top of the old I-10 bridge, I took in my breath sharply and forgot my nerves. There, on the west side of the lake and river, were the bright, white lights of a hundred Christmas trees rising high into the darkness and to the left, a neon palace, called L'Auberge. I was so taken aback by this surprise, I got off at the wrong exit, which turned out to be fortuitous as it took me through the forest of lights and nearer L'Auberge...near enough to realize it's a casino hotel. I took a good look from a distance and got back on the Interstate. When I parked for the night, I went to sleep thinking of that sight and wondering what I was REALLY looking at. About 30 minutes later the fierce wind became gale force, the rain came down in torrents and the sky was split with ferocious lightning, over and over, for a couple of hours. Nala is a calm cat. She's happy all the time. I found her flattened on the bed, so terrified she couldn't even hide. When I picked her up, she was stiff and motionless. I put her under the covers with me. She didn't move for an hour after that storm ended. Danny's deaf, so for him it was just another good night's sleep. Tomorrow I'll be in Texas. I'll have to consider whether I like Louisiana, but I'll miss it.

Red Stick and The Mighty Miss-a-sip

French, the language of romance. Small wonder when you compare the way "Baton Rouge" sounds to "Red Stick". Baton Rouge is a delicate confection, an exciting night of champagne and laughter, a flirtatious glance. Red Stick... hmmm...not so much, eh? And yet, a rose by any other name... and Baton Rouge is a rose, on the banks of the most storied river in American history. Wide, the color of cafe au lait. It's impressive.. I arrived in the river town and major port city, state's capital, under a holdover of NOLA's lousy weather. Driving toward the riverfront and the "Belle of Baton Rouge" casino, I saw a sign directing tourists to "Catfish Town". I like mine poached, but I imagined I'd find it fried, with corn bread and okra and maybe stewed tomatoes or yams in a dingy, crumbling locals joint. The streets are a challenge. Lots of one way's. I ended up forced into going through a valet lane for the casino. I apologized to the attendant, sort of. "Aren't you sick and tired of people getting lost and driving up looking for directions?" "No, ma'am. What are you looking for?" "Catfish Town!" "Catfish Town closed about 8 years ago." "What! The road signs pointing to it aren't THAT old!!"

He laughed. The casino lot was full on an early Saturday morning. I left with directions for downtown. Meandering along, I turned onto a street that deadends into the river and saw one of the best examples of Gothic Revival architecture I've seen anywhere. I couldn't get close enough to read what it was. Found a parking spot on Main St., about 10 blocks away. Danny's bad heart won't allow a walk that long and he's not little enough for me to carry. He stayed with Nala at a shaded meter I had poured all my loose change into. I passed St. Joseph's Cathedral pictured above. I had to back up an entire city block to try to get all of it in the shot and I still didn't succeed. Teams of volunteers were putting glue on oval plates and affixing them to the cement above all the storm drains. I went over to check it out. Now, I don't know about you, but I've evolved into a person who wants to know "why" I'm told, or expected, to do something. "Don't take this product if you have taken aspirin in the last 24 hours." Why? Will I end up in the emergency room or will it just give me indigestion? Just tell me "why" and I'll be happy. In Baton Rouge, they must empathize with that cussedness, 'cause they do tell you why. If they had just said "No Dumping" they may have been met with resistance or indifference. Instead they explained their "request". If you know what you dump will go straight into the bayou, you won't dump anything you don't want to have eaten by critters you'll eat. More cities and states could take a clue from that. The extraordinary Gothic Revival is the old State Capitol Building currently under renovation. Across the street is modernist new construction, "Shaw Center for the Arts", which will house a museum, art gallery, restaurants, boutiques. It's massive and I photographed it but you really can't tell much from the photo so it isn't included here. The clouds skittered away, the day was warm and sunny now. I saw a sign for jambalaya down a side street. Oh, yes! Closed. Downtown Baton Rouge is like so many urban areas on the weekend. Deserted. I nosed around a few minutes. Time to cross the mighty Mississippi and head for Lafayette. From the top of the I-10 bridge you can see it's length into infinity. Yesterday it looked like it was ready to spill it's banks. I kept an eye out for Cajun food. There is an Alternate I-10 for about 75 miles beginning in West Baton Rouge. I took it. There must be local diners with local food somewhere! One observation about LA is that they have more casinos than they have McDonald's. From luxurious casino hotels to casinos built into truck stops with Subway sandwich shops, they are everywhere. At least around the Interstate. Around a bend in the road I got my first close up of a bayou...I couldn't take my eyes off it. I see why people write songs about bayous. "Blue Bayou" ran through my head. But where's the Cajun food? Past Bayou Grosse Tete was "Penny's Diner"...1950's style. Had to be a sign. I went in. "Which one of you is Penny?" "No Penny workin' here."

"I'm in the mood for authentic Louzeeanna food. Do you have jambalaya?" "No." "How 'bout gumbo?" "No." "What do you suggest, ladies?" "How 'bout a hamburger?" "No. Have a great day, ladies." Few more miles further, in Krotz Springs, a hand made sign said: "Hot Spicy Cracklins....Hot Crawfish Balls....Hot Boudin Balls". Boudin balls...my ears picked up and I pulled in. Boudin balls...the edible version of jake braking...what the heck are boudin balls? There was a long line in the shack. I had lots of time to look at the food in the hot case before it was my time to order. Lots of balls, all deep fried. Crawfish balls $1.25, Boudin balls 89 cents. "What are boudin balls?" "Booo...deee...annnn balls? They're pork, rice and (mumble, mumble)", she smiled. "That sounds great! I'll take one!" One boudin ball later, can't say I'd advise you to try it. One the other hand, maybe it's an acquired taste. It stayed with me for about 50 miles.

NOLA Fiasco

I drove out of Gulfport in a daze. I approached the exit for New Orleans with a vague sense of dread. It began to rain as I crossed that span of I-10 that Katrina took out. It has reopened but repairs are still underway. That approach to NOLA is anything but conventionally attractive, still, it reminds you of nothing else you've seen anywhere. On the left, across the water, was a private home, circular, made in the likeness of a white castle. I couldn't get a photo of it. I was a bit surprised by the moderately heavy traffic. I didn't expect that at all and not at 3 in the afternoon in any case.The land began to look very different as well. The marshes were a burnt umber color, the trees were broken off at the top and looked scorched. It rained harder. I kept looking for an exit that I could find shelter at for the night. I had seen, and not completed come to terms with, all I cared to see. But...suddenly I was looking at New Orleans and the exit for Vieux Carre, the French Quarter, and Downtown including the Superdome. I left the road. The streets were slick and traffic now bumper to bumper. I saw St. Louis I Cemetery on my right and looked for a place to park. I had a mild interest in the French Quarter but my goal was talking to the residents and walking through New Orleans' fabled above ground cemeteries. Those of you who've never seen or heard of them probably think that's macabre. And normally I'm not one to wander in cemeteries, especially if I know no one there. I could spend an entire morning if not an entire day in the "Cities of the Dead", as New Orleans calls them. They are an art form. Above ground burials are the result of pragmatism and nothing more. As the world now knows, New Orleans is below sea level. Tourists are warned never to go to the cemeteries alone, but in groups. Mausoleums and statues conceal muggers and thieves. I wanted to chance it. But "Chance" had other plans for me. I couldn't find a place to park. In fact, I couldn't work my way out of the left lane. Finally at a major intersection I turned left toward the French Quarter and/or any parking I might find. There was none. At a stop light, a trolley passed by. I looked at the faces of the riders...blank, no expression at all, not talking, just staring vacantly. I drove St. Charles St. What few people were talking to one another seemed deep in conversation. The trees were festooned with Mardi Gras beads. Several of you who read Highway Heaven have urged me to be careful. When Angel and I talked, he asked if I was afraid to be driving to California alone. "No", I replied. "There's nothing to be afraid of if you're cautious." I looked around the streets. Time to exercise caution. I didn't feel comfortable parking in New Orleans, so I left and planned to come back Saturday morning. Back on I-10 the traffic was bumper to bumper. Crawling from Downtown to the outskirts (Kenner) took an hour. No accidents, just rain. I couldn't understand it. Continuing on, the swamp began to take on a Gothic look. It looked like nothing so much as a page from Edgar Allan Poe or Emily Bronte. Brooding, menacing, dangerous. Did I just hear a mad Heathcliff calling "Kathy, Kathy-y-y-y-y!" across the moors? I was disappointed but still planning to double back in the morning. I pulled off at St. Gabriel, the first place I felt at ease overnight. Next morning I asked an attendant at a Shell station if I could fill a gallon water jug for Danny. It required a key which she willingly provided. A glance at Danny's sweet face panting in the window was proof that it really was for my little friend. "How y'all doin' down heyah?", just flowed out of my mouth like the Southern girl I once was. I was embarrassed when I heard myself. "We OK. Jes tryin' ta come back." "Are you gettin' any help comin' back?" "Yeah." "Well, Nawlins sure looked busy last night. I had a deuce of a time gettin' out." "It's NBA All Star Weeken'...you din know?" Me? Is there any ball game but FOOTball? I feigned interest in basketball just long enough to celebrate the Miami Heat's title, but I have zero interest in it. "So that's why!!" "Yeah, you can't get a room or nothin'. Nawlins is sold out." "That'll help!" You bet it will. That, however, killed my plans to drive back. Rats! No conversations, no jambalaya, no beautiful cemeteries. I moved on to Baton Rouge, another city that once enchanted my mother more than a half century ago. The photos posted here are from the 'net. and not my own. They are taken from St. Louis I, Lafayette, and Metairie Cemeteries.

"But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. " (And try to use a little common sense on the road)

From the "Desiderata"

Roll 'Em!

You roll the dice when you live on the water. Everyone knows that, but you bet that your number won't come up. You look out at that mesmerizing view and you place your chips on the dream of a lifetime, a waterfront home...oceanfront, bayfront, gulf, river. Gulfport and Biloxi lost the bet two and half years ago. I recall the governor and the citizens of Mississippi saying that they were as desperate as New Orleans, but then the levees broke and the media concentrated on Louisiana. The media is gone now. So are most of the homes and businesses on Beach Boulevard. Two casinos have reopened. Hard Rock has come to town. It's a nice gesture, but it'll take more than Hard Rock to pull this area back from the edge. I could hardly wait to get there this morning. My friend Karen in St. Pete gave her mother a trip to Biloxi and the casinos for her 75th birthday. They had a great time. Great town, they said. I left the truck stop early after being warned of strong winds in Texas by a driver who asked where I was headed. He encountered 80 mph winds outside Dallas. He drives a semi and he couldn't keep it on the road. When I confessed I wasn't looking forward to the drive across Texas, he commiserated. "The sun has set, the sun has riz and here in Texas still I is!" Warm, sunny drive through Alabama. Mobile wasn't hard to resist. Industrial seaport with billowing plumes of smoke and steam casting a gray pall over the city. I know Alabama is more than Mobile and I know the people who live there are loyal to their state, but that little stretch between Florida and Mississippi is lackluster. So, with a tip of my hat to Bear Bryant, I was over the MS state line before 10AM. There is a palpable difference when you cross the line. The road is wide and trimmed. Something about it just looks prosperous. Since perception is everything, they are setting the tone for a strong first impression. I usually avoid Welcome Centers. They're noisy and not too clean on average, but I stopped anyway. What a surprise! Polished brick floors, circular staircase to the second floor, gleaming dark wood antique reproductions, chandeliers, and a lifesized cardboard cutout of Elvis in a gold suit that is wired to talk to you when you walk past him! Look at the photo, it looks like a hotel lobby. Mississippi raised the ante with this welcome center! Dr. King and his "I Have A Dream" speech are on the wall. Oriental rugs help the accoustics. You're offered a beverage when you walk in. Definitely a cut above. I had forgotten than Tennessee Williams was born in Mississippi. I grabbed a giveaway of his best quotes and thumbed through it. The very first one resonated with me and certainly rings true on this journey: "Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." (Streetcar Named Desire). Back on I-10, I turned off on Route 49 South and followed it to Highway 90, the "Scenic Highway". That's also known as Beach Boulevard and that's when I stepped into an alternate reality. At first you don't recognize what you're seeing. The beach isn't too wide, but wide enough. Then you realize that the beach is closed and dredging pipes line it from one end to the other. Dredgers are sitting offshore. Beautiful old oak trees grace the boulevard. Then it hits you. Those trees are almost the only survivors. Construction crews are trying to piece Biloxi and Gulfport back together again and that means not only sand but new streets, new piers, new boardwalk, new buildings. Most of the lots have been cleared of debris and most of them now sport "For Sale" signs. Many of those who didn't have insurance left. They will never come back. The buildings that are there are lovely, of course; they're brand new. Four or so condo high rises, a couple dozen single family homes, a few restaurants. Fast food companies have dollars to burn, so, sadly, they are well represented. I drove the waterfront to Biloxi, then turned around and drove to Pass Christian. I remember how charming my parents thought it was. It was. Once. Now, at least on Beach Boulevard, it just doesn't exist. The trees look so serene. Some of the signs made it also. The signs made it, the buildings didn't. St. Thomas The Apostle...great sign, no church. Outback Steak House...sign's up, restaurant floated away. I've never had an experience like this one. And all I'm experiencing is the surreal aftermath. My mind can't comprehend the agony of those who survived with nothing left of their lives. I stopped in the parking lot in front of Ken Combs Pier. Striking up conversations is easy to do in Gulfport. People so much want to share what they have been through and continue to go through. They pour their hearts out to you if you open the door. The man's name was Stan. He lives in Gulfport. His home was blown away. He lived in a FEMA trailer for two years. Stan is lucky. His home was insured. He has rebuilt now and is living in the same spot in new construction. He pointed to the land side of the street in front of us. "That was a service station. And that was an auto parts store. Then there was a cafe. Then four apartment buildings." He's pointing at empty lots. "I look at this and I know what used to be here." He shakes his head, but smiles at me. "A lot of people are still living in tents." I just stare back. "You could have gotten a Katrina Cottage, Stan, for the same money they spent to put you in a trailer and then you would have had something, something of value." "Yeah, well, I wanted a Katrina Cottage, but they wouldn't give me one." "They who?" "The government. They said I couldn't have one because I put the trailer near my work in Biloxi and the trailer had to be on my lot where my house used to be in Gulfport or I couldn't have the cottage." "Stan, you watched the news coverage. You know that private donations from everyday people around the US totaled billions." He nodded, yes, he knew that. "Stan, where did the money go?" He broke out in a grin ear to ear. "The money?", he laughed. "Oh, that's in the Cayman Islands! That's waiting for them when they retire!" He took a call on his cell phone and patted my arm. I waved goodbye and drove back toward I-10. I was hungry by then. Little Mexican restaurant appeared and I swerved in for a soft taco. The server had heavily accented, but good, English. "May I ask you something?" "Sure", he looked a little suspicious. "Were you living here when Katrina hit?" That opened the flood gates. He started to tell me about it. "I have never seen anything like that. The news said it would be a Category 2 or 3 storm. I didn't believe them. I took a few clothes to my car and drove an hour north. I came back in two days and my apartment was standing but everything inside was gone. I didn't know what to do. My sister lives two blocks from the beach. I couldn't find her. We didn't have electric for more than a week. I went to Miami for a month to try to find work. My parents were trying to reach me and my sister and they were so worried. In a month I came back and a friend in Long Beach let me live at his house." That was when he told me he's from Honduras... Tegucigalpa, the capital. When I told him I had lived in La Ceiba, he opened up even more. "Who arrived first to help you here?" "The military. They left water and food in boxes on the streets and in the parking lots." "How long did it take for someone to come?" "Three days. We didn't have food or water." "You know a lot of money was collected to help all of you. What do you think happened to that money?" "I don't know. I got $400. It wasn't much, but it helped me get to Miami." "Que es su nombre?" "Angel." So Angel, the restaurant worker, came back to Gulfport. Gulfport's other angels seem to have left. They must have caught the same bus out of town that so many others did. On the surface, you could say, "Look! They're rebuilding, they're moving on!" But the truth is, for Gulfport and Biloxi citizens, life changed forever in the early morning hours of August 29, 2005. One roll of the dice.

(**One small bright spot: The last home of President of the Confederacy, Jefferson Davis, was "Beauvoir" on the Gulf in Biloxi. It survived and is undergoing major reconstruction now. The building is closed until the reconstruction is completed. See the photo above. The third photo is of a condemned area. Again, the tree survived, the highway overpass didn't.)

Any Port In A Storm

Last night the temperature plummeted after sundown. I have a habit of putting the mundane on hold whenever faced with something more interesting. Like the beaches of Pensacola. Suddenly it dawned on me that, once again, I had no idea where to drop anchor and since I don't have a generator, I would need an electrical outlet. My response to this dilemma was to eat dinner. There are two kinds of people. People who live to eat and people who eat to live. Generally speaking, I'm the latter but last night I was starving and that took precedence over heat. Until I ate. Then I was able to focus on the inequity of one small dog and one fat cat keeping me warm all night. When I was young I would rather have frozen to death or broken down and rented a hotel room than to ask for a favor. Well, I'm not young any more and now I wonder what I was thinking all those years. False pride? Fear of rejection? Dunno. I went straight to the manager of Cracker Barrel at Exit 7 on I-10 West and asked him to let me plug into the electrical outlet behind the restaurant. "No problem, just don't burn the place down!", he said. Think I should buy stock in Cracker Barrel? Today my body cried out for a long, hot shower. That's one thing I can't get at a restaurant. I looked up truck stops on the internet and found one near Exit 10, I-10, Fleet Travel Center. They have showers. I called the manager and asked how much it costs to stay there all night and use their electric. "Nothing." This is too good to be true. "How much for a shower?" "Seven dollars." Ah, there's the rub! You know how grungy you are when you don't hesitate to pay seven dollars for a shower. So I'm outside the shower stall, letting the water run until it's hot, and suddenly I realize I'm going to have to take off my shoes and walk into this shower barefooted. Well. It LOOKS clean. It SMELLS clean. But is it REALLY clean? I kept my socks ON and had one of the best showers of my life! Letting hot water run over my shoulders long after the road grime had circled the drain, I never spent 7 dollars any better! Tomorrow morning at 9 I have a telephone meeting with my Cincinnati partner and my Minneapolis partner. How seriously do you think they'd take anything I have to say if they had a snapshot of me standing in a truck stop shower in my white socks? And with that thought, good night, world! (Don't look for a photo next to this commentary.)

Layover In Paradise

This morning there was frost on the ground and my breath hung in the air when I walked Danny at 630AM. The clouds departed overnight and it's a beautiful day. I found when checking messages that the business needs a little of my attention, so I'm staying over until Friday. I drove to the Historic District this time, looking longingly at the beach exit, and past a sign reading: "Welcome To Pensacola, America's First Settlement". Do you know how many towns are "America's First Settlement". I'll have to put my OCD on hold to avoid counting them all! Anyway, everybody likes being first at something. Time to quote P.T. Barnum, eh? I spent a couple of hours downtown which the city is promoting hard. Plaza de Luna....more thought went into the name than the plaza, unfortunately. Seville Quarter...an entertainment area near the Village. Historic Pensacola Village...I loved it, but it's only about two city blocks. The two photos above were taken of recreated days past. The homes are authentic, but the laundry, the garden, the tent for shade, are all for effect. The home shown in the picture with a tent in the forefront was owned by "Julee Panton, a noted freewoman of color". Costumed college students earn their beer money with tours. The vegetables in the garden are real and so are the earnest smiles of the guides. A couple of blocks away were art galleries, a museum, a cultural center. It's across the street from the downtown marina which I tried to photograph but, alas, what I really wanted you to see was the high stone wall built to protect the docks and that doesn't show up at all. You CAN faintly see one of the causeways from the mainland to Gulf Breeze. There's another joining Gulf Breeze to the beaches. During the week, there are as many Alabama cars on the streets as Florida cars. It must be easier for those just across the state line to find work here. Mobile is almost 60 miles west and it's the first city of any significance in Alabama. There are the requisite statues for the Confederate dead here also. Although the city lies on the Gulf, the land itself rolls gently and is alive with blossoming red bud, tulip trees, japonica and forsythia. Spring has already come from Charleston south. Even the gardenias are in full bloom. Pensacola was first settled by the Spanish in 1539. That settlement lasted 2 years and was then abandoned. The first permanent Spanish settlement was in 1698. Many of the streets in Pensacola have French or Spanish names. In 1783 the British relinquished all claims to Florida and the Spanish reclaimed it, but in 1719 Pensacola belonged to the French briefly. They traded it to the Spanish in return for New Orleans. Hard to say who got the best of that deal, but I'll say the French did. You never forget New Orleans, but Pensacola is a bit like vanilla ice cream. Delicious while you're eating it, but can you name the last time you ordered it?