New Orleans and Memphis were the cities of my childhood. Memphis for the Christmas parade, shopping at Goldsmith's for Easter outfits, and the occasional Cultural Event my mother thought we needed. New Orleans, on the other hand, was where we went to have fun, even as teenagers. Or younger, if truth be told.
So today I opened The House on First Street by Julia Reed. She grew up, as I did, in the Mississippi Delta, and her memories of trips to New Orleans could well have been mine. The Blue Room of the Roosevelt Hotel was legend in our house. Our dad had gone to Tulane and loved everything about the city, especially dancing at the Blue Room. Like Julia Reed, we always stayed at the Monteleone and ate our oysters at Felix's. And I have my own Cafe du Monde late night beignet story, never to be shared. Never. With anyone. Unless one day I write about New Orleans. For now, I'm content to read abou it.
We used to be what Reed calls "regular out-of-towners," visiting often. Sadly, our trips have all but disappeared, but reading her book makes me long for dinner at Commanders or Upperline, or even alligator gumbo at Coop's. Ah, that was the life...
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