Every day in New Orleans offers more glory to be bitten and savored. Even before the sun comes up, the swallows start to twitter in the trees. The breeze blows through an open window. The gauzy curtain’s corner cuts a tickling curlicue in the air. A bare thigh shivers. It is time to make the donuts.
I do not understand why bakeries in New Orleans do not open before 7:00AM. Most do not open until 8:00AM. This is New Orleans. In any other place, bakers wake up early, in the dead of night, at hours when I am at Aunt Tiki’s, and they are kneading the dough and baking the loaves well before 7:00AM. What baker worth his or her salt opens at 8:00AM? Young people who do not want to roll out of bed.
Fly your freak flag.
When was the last time you drank champagne out of a woman’s shoe? I am not going to tell you when I last did it. A gentleman does not sip and tell.
My intention was to write a long essay on the difference between the muffuletta bread sticks at Ayu, that new hipster bakery on Frenchmen Street, versus the ham and cheese pretzels at La Boulangerie, that old, shopworn petite bourgeoisie bakery on Magazine Street.
Mrs. King and I both agree that the pretzels are the better deal, both cost-wise (they are more expensive than the breadsticks) and taste-wise (They are more than an amuse bouche).
I was going to write about that and burrow deep, deep down into the details of the differences, but, guess what! Something just happened and, so, once again, today’s train of thought has been derailed.
More to follow after the paywall.