With Vietnamese food off of the lunch menu, Ryan and I headed over to the Parkway Bakery & Tavern. Parkway was closed for eight years and was just reopening as we prepared to move from Mid-City to the Faubourg-Marigny. Had we moved any sooner, we may not have been lucky enough to find this place.

The restaurant is nestled in a quiet neighborhood on the west side of Bayou St. John, a place one might not look for one of the best sandwiches in the city. It's a bit of a surprise when you walk in and the bar is crowded, the patio is packed and the line to pick up your po-boy is out the door.

The Timothy Family operated Parkway from 1922 to 1995, baking their own bread until a flood damaged the brick ovens in the 1970s. [Owner Jay] Nix used some of the retired oven bricks in his renovation -- your feet rest on them when you sit at the bar. The bar itself is a grand wooden structure of dark paint and decorative carvings that appears to have been excavated from some ancient watering hole; Nix actually designed and built it himself ... In its heyday, Parkway served as a cafeteria for workers at the American Can Company, visible and now refurbished across the bayou. The public space was smaller then and was never air-conditioned. The sanitation standards inspired stories of "roach beef" that persist today. In contrast, Nix's Parkway is tidier than your grandma's sitting room. The mustard-yellow exterior shines. The frosty pony glasses are spotless. Employees singing along to Dean Martin wipe even the outdoor seats to a polish.

A few beers and an oyster po-boy later, I was feeling a bit more hopeful about the restaurants that had weathered the storm.

Admittedly, there was one place that had taken precedent over Pho Tau Bay in our trip out to Mid-City: Parkview Tavern (not to be confused with Parkway Bakery & Tavern.) Parkview is by far our favorite bar in New Orleans. To the average joe, Parkview is merely a neighborhood dive. But to Ryan and I, it is an institution. Despite it's hard-hit locale, Parkview doesn't show a single sign of Hurricane Katrina. It is almost exactly the same as when we left it: the same bartenders were behind the bar, the same regulars were sitting in their same spots with their same drinks, and the guy who walks in to spend hundreds on one video poker machine was loading his twenty-dollar bills in, fist-fulls at a time. We ordered a pitcher of Coors Light, our drink of choice at Parkview Tavern, only to find out that there had indeed been a change... the price had gone up from $3.50 a pitcher to $4.50

Feeling confident that Parkview wasn't going anywhere, we headed around the corner to check out Tyler's. Tyler's was always on the verge of closing and consistently changing hands. There was something strange about the place, but NOTHING strange about the fact that they sold fresh cold oysters for ten cents a piece. That's a dozen for a $1.20. In DC, Clyde's on 7th street probably has the best raw bar deals and they are serving a dozen for $21.95. Sadly, but not surprisingly, Tyler's was no longer. The building is for rent.



To be continued...

It has taken me quite some time to deconstruct my experience in New Orleans. Moving through the city evoked waves of emotion - one thought or feeling often contradicted by the next. In some moments I felt as if time had stood still -- we found many old friends in the exact same place we'd left them in August 2005, some in the middle of what seemed to be the same conversation. And while this was incredibly awe-inspiring, so was the fact that other moments left us feeling stranded and unable to grasp how much had changed, or how much had been left to decay.

Our entire trip was an adventure of rediscovery, of tracing old paths and finding ourselves continuously amazed by both the resilience and the frailty of the city and its people.

When Ryan and I first moved to New Orleans in the summer of 2002, we lived in Mid-City in what was formerly the American Can Company; a canning factory that operated from 1970 to 1986. As every neighborhood in New Orleans is markedly unique, Mid-City stands apart with its tropical atmosphere and waterfront properties (Bayou St. John winds its way through the area.) On Saturday, March 22, 2008, Ryan and I woke up early and walked from the French Quarter, up Canal Street, to Mid-City. This isn't a scenic walk, and I wouldn't necessarily recommend it, but it gave us a vantage point of the city that we otherwise wouldn't have had.

The entire time I was in the city I was amazed that three years had passed. So many problems remain, some much more obvious than others. It was on our walk to Mid-City that I was confronted with what was most perplexing - the many people that are living under the I-10 overpass. Hundreds of tents, sleeping bags, and mattresses clutter the cement; with so many people, and no running water, it is no wonder that the smell is unbearable. How is this OK? I understand there are many grassroots organizations working with the homeless each day, but where is the local government?

The remainder of the walk was a fairly quiet one. Many buisnesses have moved from the area, abandoning their old buildings. It was strange to see these lonely run-down places that were once a part of my everyday life. And unfortunately, this trend continued as we came upon Mid-City.

Among the many things I came to love while living in New Orleans including soul food, crawfish, zydeco music, gambling, a block party on any day of the week celebrating anything or nothing at all, I came to love Vietnamese food. I could eat Bun or Pho at any time on any day. Though I knew we were trekking up to Mid-City for many reasons, in my heart I had only one destination: Pho Tau Bay.

Not surprisingly, I was absolutely crushed when we found ourselves standing in front of a boarded-up building.

To be continued...

Thanks for checking in. I am experiencing some sort of writers block. Hopefully this will pass soon!

Each time I put on the Ralph Lauren perfume Romance I am reminded of Italy.  Shortly before my trip there in July 2007, I received the perfume as a birthday gift from my parents.  I left the States with a full bottle (thankfully travel-sized) and arrived without any perfume at all. Sometime during my journey the top had come off of the bottle and the perfume spilled in my toiletry bag.  At the time, I was disappointed and slightly disgusted.  The scent was overwhelming; even my prescription pills tasted of Romance.  But the fragrance permeated my every memory, and now, I am thrilled to be reminded of Italy with a simple  spritz of perfume.

While beautiful photographs are priceless and the taste of local fare unmatched, there is something to be said for the way our noses can launch us back to a very specific time or place. And while the journey amid our memories is sweet, sometimes the smell that takes us there is less so.

How much do you know about garbage juice?  The stuff is so common in New Orleans that a task force was formed to monitor the companies that collect trash and leak the liquid throughout the streets.  It's nasty.  And it has a very distinct smell.  The first hint of garbage juice spun me back to the many nights Ryan and I spent bar-hopping in the French Quarter.

Much closer to our hearts is the scent of Angel's Trumpet.  When we finally cleared the pile of rotting brush in the backyard of our house on Dauphine Street, I took on the daunting task of transplanting a large tree-like plant (we had no idea what it was at the time we moved in.) It was deeply rooted and reluctant to move.  Once in its new spot, I watched it for weeks as it slowly returned to life.  I didn't know it at the time, but it would have been a significant loss if the plant didn't survive its move. During the blazing hot summers, when the sun was setting and the heat started subside, the sweetest smell would float through our yard.  We would sit outside each evening and marvel at this incredible plant.

Our noses were on high alert as we walked through the Marigny and Bywater during our visit. And while many fragrant flowers were blooming, we would have had to wait until dusk for our beloved to reveal itself.