For me this past weekend was generously bittersweet. I spent both Friday and Saturday in Houston for a family function, had a blast, but like clockwork, I constantly pined to be back in NOLA. I have a love hate relationship with not only Texas, but any other place I visit. Each destination new or old, I always ponder why would anyone not want to live in New Orleans? Why is stucco so much better than 100 year old shotgun pine? Is it really worth that 2 hour train ride everyday back and forth to work? Does Chicago really have the best pizza? All I know is that when that plane lands at MSY or I pass over the Bonnet Carre Spillway, I can feel NOLA like a magnet pulling at my soul and I can’t wait to be back.

Making good time, I found myself speeding along I-10, going faster and faster to the pace of Bobby Hebert’s voice on the WWL Radio Saints pre-game show. I was making my way to the 3rd Annual Po-Boy Preservation Festival, when I got the call. My dad called to inform me that my Aunt had passed away that morning. I paused the music and everything began to float. The cars beside me gelled to a blur. With all the emotion that came, I started to remember bits of pieces of my past.

Most of my life’s memories were created in and around the restaurant business. Without going into a sort of six degrees type story, let’s just say I’ve been around po-boys and the like for most of my life. My grandparents started the tradition and my mother and my aunt carried on the tradition for most of their adult lives. We are no longer in the business, my family as well as my Aunt played a huge part in my love for the city and it’s indigenious food.

I finally made it to the fest in the early afternoon, and found myself walking out of the fog. I started down at the Monroe end of Oak Street and made my way through the masses. As I walked around, the atmosphere was mystically energetic. People lined historic Oak Street standing, leaning, siting indian style, all while cocking their heads at just the right angle to bite into one of the 40+ po-boys available. New Orleanians, in my opinion we are the most efficient fest eaters on the planet. Come on, anyone who can eat a roast beef po-boy with one hand while holding their beer in the other, and not spilling any gravy on their shoes is a pro.

The highlights for me included the Pulled Pork Po-Boy and spiked ice tea from Squeal which was both spicy and sweet to perfection, the grand opening of the New Fleurty Girl store, and one of my favorite local bands, My Name is John Michael. The news of my Aunt’s death has yet to sink in, but I could not have found a better way to help ease the pain.