January 25th 2007 - The End of My 30th Year

January 25, 2007

I woke up Wednesday, January 24th to a grey and slightly blistering day, at least for New Orleans. Someone had chosen to bless me with a British fall day; and what better way to celebrate my 30th year than a reminder of Scotland? The rain hung in the air, deciding to fall at times in solid drops albeit infrequently, the sky ashen, the Fahrenheit around 40.
But even at 40 it was cold. It was the type of cold that creeps up and through your clothes; the spindly fingers of Old Man Winter were digging through the flesh and into my bones. Others complained, whereas I was enthralled, to put it bluntly I was like a pig in s#*&%. Perhaps not the most eloquent way to phrase it, but that seems to be the most apropos cliché. Ah, good British weather to celebrate the dirty thirty.
At the office UPS met me with a beautiful bouquet of red tulips from my friend Albert. That afternoon my boss, Scott, sent me on a run to the producer’s house (a gorgeous old mansion, actually owned by Nicholas Cage) from which I returned to two King Cakes, one with a three, the other with a zero candle, and the office singing me Happy Birthday.
That night the digital lab, or as I like to call them, the editing boys, Tyler and Brent took me to what must be the best southern-native-Nawlins food in all of this crazy town: Pampy’s.
Pampy’s is a place I can’t recommend enough. Lying on the fringe of one neighborhood that before Katrina, was an evenly integrated community of black and white working class families but is now three-fourths empty; and the other….gang land.
In the middle of these two ‘hoods it sits alone on a corner surrounded now by abandoned homes and barely lived in ones. This little joint on N. Broad Street, apparently owned by a black Mafioso type who is headed for the big house, and whose main chef perished in Katrina, is now managed by a lovely woman named Deinira “Dee” Angelain.
She serves up an atmosphere in which you feel comfortable, and the chef knows how to cook real down home Creole. It has the best fried chicken I’ve ever had in my life, garnished with a parsley and garlic compote. The gumbo, sad to say, does not hold a candle to The Uptown Cajun but is still hearty and good. Its wine selection is overly sweet to say the least, but cheap (the Menage et Trois isn’t that horrid), however the hospitality, atmosphere and traditional greats (potatoe salad, red beans and rice) are to die for and make up for anything the restaurant might lack.
The service was impeccable, although a bit amused by our little trio. By that I mean, there aren’t too many white people that enter Pampy’s and I think they treated us as a bit of a side-show attraction and an anomaly, going out of their way to be friendly and accommodating to the crazy white folk who chose to enter the establishment. When I ran back in, after leaving, to get their business card they told me, insisted actually, that if I really wanted to get the flavor of the place I had to come back Friday when they would be playing live music and “…having a true house party, where we go all wild” I assured them I would.
Like I said, I can’t recommend them highly enough. If you find yourself in New Orleans, get a car, hire United Cabs, get there anyway you can no matter how far out of the way (in Mid-City). It’s a place you have to try with people who you have to meet.
There are also amazing photos, large black and whites about 2’X3’ of Katrina a few days after the storm that should be seen (I’m sorry I didn’t get the photographers name), especially in the context of them having lost their star chef to the Bayou waters that flooded in when the Levies broke.

Pampy’s
2005 N. Broad Street
New Orleans, LA 70119