Finally, some proper Mexican food!

The citizens of New Orleans are, rightfully so, quite proud of their food. There really is nothing like the Creole or Cajun food in this town, the seafood is incredible, we've had some great pho, and, if the stories are true, the Italian places in town are great. I can stop in a gas station here and get some great fried chicken or a ginormous po' boy, or some Vietnamese food in a strip mall that measures up to anything I might get back in Sacramento or San Francisco. There is one food, though, that this town doesn't do well: Mexican.

In California, you can visit a taco truck, or, as we more affectionately call them, a roach coach, and get a fantastic taco or burrito for somewhere in the range of $1.50 to $5.00, depending on your order. Coupled with jalapeno, radish, and lime, taco truck food is something of an obsession for both me and the wife. We also are regular patrons of the tamale guys who skulk about in the parking lot at Lowe's or Home Depot, or the tamale lady who used to come into one of our favorite bars back in Sacramento, Socal's. Let's just say that we love Mexican street food, so we've been quite disappointed with what we've found thus far in New Orleans. There is some high end Mexican food in town, but that's not what makes us happy. There's nothing quite like taking a drive down the levees in the Sacramento River delta and stopping at the truck by the bridge over the river near Courtland, CA for a trio of asada tacos and a bottle of Jarritos, wolfing them down while watching some guys fishing for stripers or catfish next to the bridge.

My wife and I have tried to continue our tradition of going out on Friday nights, but it's been difficult without a regular sitter that doesn't cost a fortune (seriously - a low cost sitter is $10/hour?!?!?), so we have been taking a lot of drives since we can't always leave the baby with a sitter. On these drives, we never see taco trucks, including the one afternoon we drove some 80 miles down the Mississippi River to Venice, LA. Sure, there are po' boy shops and seafood huts and, of course, the ever-present drive-through bars daiquiri shops along the highway, but there are no stainless steel-clad food trucks with tinny Tejano music playing on a Wal-mart special radio while someone with a tenuous grasp on the English language takes my order, the odors of carne asada, pollo asada, lengua, cabeza, carnitas, and a medley of spices wafting out to greet your nose as you place your order, then wander back to the car to await your food. This has been the sole gap in our food experience since coming to town. Sure, we've been to Casa Garcia, and their food is decent gringo Mexican, but I can't take a Mexican place too seriously that has ribs, burgers, and chicken fingers on the menu. The folks in New Orleans swear it's a great place, and it's decent if you want a replacement for Chevy's, but it's no authentic Mexican.

After our experience at Casa Garcia and trying a couple other places, we figured we wouldn't be able to find good Mexican in the New Orleans area. Color us wrong. Last night, we took a drive after work to the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain, and I suggested we go check out this golf cart shop that I'd seen on another drive before my wife had joined me here. The shop was closed, and we were getting hungry, but there was a place that advertised tamales just a block down the road, so we pulled in. After placing an order, I asked how long it would be to get the tamales, and they said it would take at least 30 minutes. Evidently they had to be thawed, then baked. Yeah, not so great. We turned around and walked out, then saw a sign advertising po' boys at the corner. We stopped at a restaurant called Che Gaucho, and I wondered why a Mexican place was serving po' boys, but I didn't dare try to find something else given that we had a hungry baby in the back seat and I had a grouchy and hungry wife in the front seat, so in the doors I went, and I'm so happy I did.

The first thing that I noticed was the odor when I opened the door: it was not pleasant by any stretch. The smell of a mildewed, long closed seafood display case greeted my nostrils as I opened the door, and I was very concerned about my food choices. The second thing I noticed was that the dining area that greets you when you open the door is, quite frankly, ugly and poorly decorated, and looks like it used to be a seafood retail space that had the sales counter shortened to just be a small hostess stand, the floor painted black, and some tables thrown into the space. Masking my hesitancy, I asked the girl at the register/counter if I could order some food to go and for a menu.

She handed me a menu that looked like a generic Mexican food place menu with enchiladas, tacos, and the like on it, so I asked about the po' boy sign. She then handed me a second menu, and that was when I realized I had made the right decision. This menu had tamales, empanadas, and various other delectable delights, plus a small po' boy menu. I ordered pork tamales, which my wife was craving, three empanadas (corn, chicken, and beef), a quesadilla for V, and a small green salad for my wife. All told, it came to about $17 with tip, which was ridiculously cheap. We took a brief (20 minute) drive around the Robert, LA area to see Jellystone Park and a couple other sights, then picked up our food and started the drive back to our place in NOLA.

As Sexy Wife got the food situated, the smells started to hit me: the masa and the spicy simmered pork from the tamales and the oil and dough scent from the empanadas. The quesadilla was uninspired, but it was for V, so that didn't matter to much to us. It was just a tortilla grilled with cheddar. The tamales, though, were the best we'd ever had. The masa they used was incredibly creamy and smooth, and looked like it was made with white corn, while the pork was tender and wonderfully spicy and delicious! The star of the meal, though, had to be the empanadas. The dough they used for the empanadas was light, airy, and wonderfully chewy, and the fillings just kept getting better. Sexy Wife kept making naughty sounds while eating the beef empanada, and I had the chicken empanada, which was good, and the corn empanada, which was mindblowingly good. Fresh corn and cheese were wrapped in that delicate dough, then deep fried to a golden brown and served just for me! Seasoned perfectly, it made my day.

So hey, if you're looking for some good Mexican food somewhere near NOLA, you can go to Robert, LA, and visit Che Gaucho. While speaking to the owner's daughter, who is also the cashier, she told me that they had just moved to Robert from Miami. The owner himself is from central Mexico, and he can cook. I can't wait to be up on the north shore again to try it.

Things I've Learned in New Orleans (First installment of an ongoing series)

There are some, well, oddities in the New Orleans vernacular and lifestyle. Also, there are a lot of misconceptions about the New Orleans around the country, and I just felt like sharing about about what I've learned.

1.Other parts of the country (read: everyone) call the grassy area in the middle of the road the median, but not New Orleanians. Nope, this is called "neutral ground," which is surprisingly accurate because driving in New Orleans is a lot like warfare in an anarchic country. The people here are really friendly, but once behind the wheel, they turn into a cross between Charlie Sheen, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Roseanne Barr, and Larry The Cable Guy, plus the bumblebee guy from The Simpsons.

Imagine this, if you will: you're stopped at a stop sign on a two lane street, and you're turning left on to a six lane street (three lanes each way). Between the opposing lanes of traffic, there is a 20-foot wide grassy median, and a roughly 100-foot gap in the median for making left turns. As you sit at the stop sign, waiting for traffic to clear so you can turn, a car approaching from the left stops in the "neutral ground" waiting to turn left, away from you. As this car waits to turn left, a car pulls in behind it so it can make a U-turn. Both cars are perpendicular to traffic flow, and parallel to you. As this is happening, the same thing is occurring from the other direction, so now there are two cars facing you and two cars facing away from you, all waiting to turn left or make U-turns. Did I mention that there are no left turns allowed at this intersection from the major lanes of traffic? That's right, they're lining up two or three deep to break the law. While this is happening, a police officer or two might drive by - who knows? All I know is that they won't pull anyone over for this. Finally, there is a break in traffic and all four cars make their turns. You look to go, but the gap is closed. Sighing, you turn right, then make a U-turn (see future installments for the definition of "New Orleans left turn"), continuing the dysfunctional relationship you have with the traffic in this town. This is why I don't try to turn left from my street in the morning, but go to the light. It happens every day.

Oh, I forgot to mention that while this is happening, people will stop in the lanes of traffic in front of you and block the entire intersection. Have I mentioned that I hate my commute? I can't wait to move on June 1 to my home in the Lower Garden.

2. Mardi Gras isn't a one day thing, it isn't just on Bourbon Street, and there is no need for nudity in exchange for beads. I figured I'd wrap all of these into one item, just to make it easy. Like many folks around the country, I thought that all Mardi Gras celebrations occur on a Tuesday, they center around Bourbon Street, and I'd see tons of naked breasts. That would be a resounding "no" to all three misconceptions. Mardi Gras is simply the name generic name the nation has given to the Carnival season that runs from Epiphany (January 6) through Mardi Gras day itself (47 days before Easter).

If there is one thing I've learned here, it's that this town doesn't mess around when it comes to partying. Between Epiphany and Fat Tuesday, there are a multitude of parades, balls, parades, parties, parades, dinners, and did I mention parades? These parades are like nothing I've ever seen, and it seems like there is one every other day up until the last four days before Mardi Gras, when there are 2-3 every day. It's crazy! Each parades features floats, bands, local celebrities, and literally tons of throws. Throws can be frisbees, cups, necklaces, decorated shoes (Muses parade), stuffed animals, or many other things, but the one throw that is always present is beads. If you believe Girls Gone Wild, there are nubile women eagerly removing their clothing in hopes of catching a $0.25 strand of beads, but the reality is that when you attend a parade, you can't help but catch at least a few strands of beads and some other throws because there are just so many things thrown. Don't believe me? Check out Napoleon Avenue after a parade or two on the Saturday before Mardi Gras:

All those plastic bags are the bags from the throws from the parade. Don't worry, though, because they clean that stuff up, too, with a convict crew, some front loaders, some dump trucks, and an army of street sweepers. This is the same street about an hour later:

See? It's not so bad.

So where are the boobs? They're down on Bourbon Street, and that's pretty much where they reside. The vast majority of the events surrounding Carnival are family friendly, and I attended them with my wife and daughter. It's a great time, and a great party on the streets. Because there aren't any open container laws here, there aren't any issues with having to duck into a bar to drink while at the party, nor do you have to buy beer from a vendor. You can bring your own drinks, but, if you have to, you can purchase beers for $2-3 on the street from any number of tents. Sacramento could take a lesson from this town on how to throw a party, for sure.

From where did I come? How did I become the NOLA Husker?

First, let's start with the history of my writing. I haven't posted anything in a while because I've had some major life changes, but I figure it's about time to start up again. My old blog was Sacramento Husker, and I'd just started that before the life changes. You can find it here: http://sacramentohusker.blogspot.com/.

Anyhow, you can see that I used to live in Sacramento before moving to New Orleans. In fact, over the course of my life, I've lived in Sacramento for roughly 23 years, so I consider it my hometown. Actually, I consider Rancho Cordova (or Corclova for you, Brian) my hometown, but no one outside of Northern California knows where that is, so Sacramento works well for most people. Rancho is a suburb of Sacramento, and would be the third largest city in Nebraska if it was up and moved 1500-1600 miles. I had a pretty good life growing up in a solidly middle class family. Not a crapload of money, but we weren't poor, either. My parents were both educated at CSU Sacramento, and I was at both of their graduations from college (well, all three - my dad has two degrees), so I guess you could say they were non-traditional students. They are who I credit for instilling in me a fierce desire to learn and read, and I can't thank them enough for it. I'm the youngest of three and the only boy, which means that I am very humble and never, ever, ever acted like a spoiled little snot while growing up.

After high school, I left Sacramento and went to Lincoln, NE for school. My dad grew up in Missouri, Iowa, and Nebraska, and his side of the family was pretty firmly rooted in Gretna, NE, just outside Omaha. The last time I was in Nebraska, though, I think Omaha had pretty much expanded all the way out to Gretna, so it isn't so much a small town as a suburb now, which is a shame. My aunt designed the Gretna Dragon logo that was on the town's water tower for some 30 some-odd years, my uncle still holds a hurdles record at Gretna High, and I think the cops are still trying to catch my dad for all his mischief from high school. Like I said, his side of the family has roots in Gretna. Anyhow, I grew up a Nebraska fan, and pretty much always wanted to go to school there. When researching schools, it didn't hurt that they have a decent engineering school and that the tuition is dirt cheap. All in all, I have never regretted my choice to go to school there, though I do wonder how my life would have been different if I'd attended a party school. Odds are I'd be dead by now, so it probably wasn't such a bad thing.

During my senior year at Nebraska, my mom told me she had been diagnosed with breast cancer, so I piled on the classes so I could finish a semester early and get back to Sacramento as quickly as possible. Evidently you're not supposed to take 26 credit hours in one semester, but I hadn't learned that lesson yet. All I can say is that I lived school for several months, and I couldn't have been happier to graduate.

When I returned to Sacramento, I started my career in engineering at a mechanical design-build contracting firm designing HVAC and plumbing/piping systems. This was a great company, and I learned a tremendous amount about the industry and the technologies used. The best part, though, was that working there helped me get ready for the Professional Engineer's exam, which I managed to pass on the first attempt after several months of studying. I can't tell you how happy and sad I was to tell my mother just a few days before she passed that I had passed the exam. I really don't know if she heard me, but I hope she did.

I left the design-build firm and entered the world of consulting engineering just before my mother passed, and I've never really looked back. During this time, I met my wife (NOLAH wife) and we had a daughter (Miss V) after our elopement.  I eventually became a partner in a firm, but the dynamic in the firm really just wasn't what I wanted nor was the partnership working out, so I ended up leaving after a couple of years. After some soul searching and job searching, my wife and I decided that we'd move out of California so we could save a lot of money, pay off homes, and retire much earlier than 70, which is the pace we were on in Sacramento. We still have homes in Sacramento, but with the reduced cost of living in other parts of the country, we can bank quite a bit of money and then move back to Sacramento. The job and location search eventually led to Austin and New Orleans as our options, and the money, attitude, and culture of New Orleans was right for us.

In February of 2011, I moved down here to establish myself at my new position and secure a small apartment in which to live until my wife and child arrived. My stepson, J, is staying in Sacramento until June, when he will graduate from high school. Since being here, I've seen and done things that I never really thought I'd see or do, and I have learned so much about this place in a short 10 weeks that I don't think I'll ever be able to write about it all. My goal with this blog is just to talk about Husker football, my experiences in New Orleans and elsewhere, and to make random observations. Enjoy.