Crawfish bread at New Orleans Jazz Fest, radical gospel and Matt’s last bar (New Orleans)

The best part about this time of year in New Orleans? Jazz Fest. If you love music, food, happy people, creatively decorated tall poles and sunshine, there is no better place for it.

One of the most coveted treats at Jazz Fest is the crawfish bread.  From the moment I awoke, I talked about how excited I was to get crawfish bread.  As we biked for an hour to the fairgrounds, I extolled the virtues of crawfish bread to Matt and Patsy. As we locked our bikes and entered the park, I mused earnestly how psyched I was about the pending crawfish bread. Matt and Patsy then deliberated about how to acquire both the rosemint iced tea and the crawfish bread, and before I could do anything, poof! Patsy disappeared, Matt disappeared. Luckily I found Matt at the ice tea stand, but when we found Patsy she had bought crawfish bread for Matt and herself, but not for me.

“Oh, did you want crawfish bread?” she asked, mildly surprised.

Patsy was more self involved that I had thought.

Happily I soon procured my own crawfish bread and mandarin iced tea, to be eventually followed by fried alligator po boy, BBQ oyster po boy, bread pudding, sweet potato pone, seafood au gratin, spinach artichoke casserole, crawfish beignets and mango freeze. The music had a tough time competing, even if it was Cassandra Wilson, Santana, Ray Charles, Rockin’ Doopsie and the Zydeco Rollers and Cowboy Mouth. But the best surprise was the final act of the day in the Gospel Tent. The show was behind schedule, but the energy in the air made it clear that this was going to be a BIG show.  Every time the crowd caught a glimpse of the “band” backstage, they screamed.  Not just cheered, but screamed. When Fred Hammond and his 12 teenage Radical for Christ ensemble finally came on, the place exploded. Every single person leapt to their feet and started belting out the lyrics to an infectious blend of gospel, hip hop, R&B and pop. I was swallowed by the music and I allowed it to eat me whole.

That night we hit Reginelli’s for a muffaletta and, for old time’s sake, Pat O’Brien’s patio where the theme was banana cocktails. Matt drove us around trying to find the Saturn Bar, but despite cruising St. Claude to Chaumette, no joy. But so the night should not be a total failure, our last stop was Fleur de Lis, a new bar on Lee Circle opened by one of Matt’s friends.

Lingering over my Abita turbodog, I realized how much I had missed New Orleans, and that no matter where I would go in the world, it would always retain a piece of me.

Let’s see if Florida has the same effect.

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