Juxtapostional Journey
Tuesday, 9 May 2006—My Journey
So yesterday I was feeling a few symptoms of cabin fever (read too much internet), so I decided that the weather was nice not so hot, and that I could use a nice walk around the garden district. It doesn’t hut that Jason lives about, oh, a block from the official beginning of the Garden District, which is bordered by St. Charles on the north, Jackson on the east, Magazine on the south, and Louisiana on the west. Usually I’m content to make the loop from Washington and Magazine, up Washington, pass Lafayette Cemetary stop at Garden Street Book Shop (where Anne Rice always does first signings), turn left down Prytania (I love Prytania.), and head to Louisiana and hang a Ralph back down to Mag, and hit my favorite coffee shop, American Apparel, and the best wine shop ever—all in a short trip. Well, yesterday it was hot, but I just kept on down Prytania because I knew that a third, elusive, wine store was somewhere down yonder. So I kept on past Louisiana Ave, past Touro Hospital, past stinky trash cans, past a house with the most fragrant garden imaginable, and, when I finally saw Jason’s dry cleaner, I knew I was close to something. I was so nasty-sweaty by then that I decided I’d need to stop for some iced tea or coffee or—or—ice cream! I saw the sign, for the Creole Creamery, and was like, meh, I haven’t had any ice cream for a while, and should give it a taste. (Not that I don’t say try—trying implies success or failure, and taste implies mere experience.) So I walked in, the staff was very nice, and I took a gander at the dozens of homemade varieties they offer. Then the drool began to drip. Flavors like creole cream cheese, apricot green tea, dulce de leche, the classics, as well as about oh, fifteen other amazingly interesting new juxtapositions of flavor. I tasted a few and settled on the most intriguing poem in dairy—Dark Chocolate Star Anise. Oh, it’s like, it’s like Shakespeare in a sugar cone. The ice cream’s creaminess takes it to almost absurd proportions and I just about passed out from the calories, but, hey, I usually get fat-free frozen yogurt at Jiffy Treet (Don’t knock it.) in Bloomy. Things indeed have changed.
Also, a note on wine stores. The Wine Seller, on Prytania, is a great little wine store, albeit not a crazy great selection, it’s good, and the staff is positioned right at the door and are very nice and helpful. Now, wine stores like this (and Martin’s) aren’t for the newbie or the neophyte, but instead cater to a slightly older crowd who wants someone to help them, which is fine by me. I saw the staff help two women who both came in and wanted something for a specific reason; the staff helped them quickly and efficiently and explained things to them without sounding like they were talking to kindergarteners. They also has lots of half and smaller size bottles. I almost got a little Veuve. Almost. Next time.
So yesterday I was feeling a few symptoms of cabin fever (read too much internet), so I decided that the weather was nice not so hot, and that I could use a nice walk around the garden district. It doesn’t hut that Jason lives about, oh, a block from the official beginning of the Garden District, which is bordered by St. Charles on the north, Jackson on the east, Magazine on the south, and Louisiana on the west. Usually I’m content to make the loop from Washington and Magazine, up Washington, pass Lafayette Cemetary stop at Garden Street Book Shop (where Anne Rice always does first signings), turn left down Prytania (I love Prytania.), and head to Louisiana and hang a Ralph back down to Mag, and hit my favorite coffee shop, American Apparel, and the best wine shop ever—all in a short trip. Well, yesterday it was hot, but I just kept on down Prytania because I knew that a third, elusive, wine store was somewhere down yonder. So I kept on past Louisiana Ave, past Touro Hospital, past stinky trash cans, past a house with the most fragrant garden imaginable, and, when I finally saw Jason’s dry cleaner, I knew I was close to something. I was so nasty-sweaty by then that I decided I’d need to stop for some iced tea or coffee or—or—ice cream! I saw the sign, for the Creole Creamery, and was like, meh, I haven’t had any ice cream for a while, and should give it a taste. (Not that I don’t say try—trying implies success or failure, and taste implies mere experience.) So I walked in, the staff was very nice, and I took a gander at the dozens of homemade varieties they offer. Then the drool began to drip. Flavors like creole cream cheese, apricot green tea, dulce de leche, the classics, as well as about oh, fifteen other amazingly interesting new juxtapositions of flavor. I tasted a few and settled on the most intriguing poem in dairy—Dark Chocolate Star Anise. Oh, it’s like, it’s like Shakespeare in a sugar cone. The ice cream’s creaminess takes it to almost absurd proportions and I just about passed out from the calories, but, hey, I usually get fat-free frozen yogurt at Jiffy Treet (Don’t knock it.) in Bloomy. Things indeed have changed.
Also, a note on wine stores. The Wine Seller, on Prytania, is a great little wine store, albeit not a crazy great selection, it’s good, and the staff is positioned right at the door and are very nice and helpful. Now, wine stores like this (and Martin’s) aren’t for the newbie or the neophyte, but instead cater to a slightly older crowd who wants someone to help them, which is fine by me. I saw the staff help two women who both came in and wanted something for a specific reason; the staff helped them quickly and efficiently and explained things to them without sounding like they were talking to kindergarteners. They also has lots of half and smaller size bottles. I almost got a little Veuve. Almost. Next time.
posted by Marty at 1:54 PM
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