The Original Ruth's Chris Steaks.

Daphne Parker Powell is on Spotify. I have no idea how any of this works but Payson looked her up and he listened to the title track of The Starter Wife on his phone. Remember this name: Daphne Parker Powell. Give her a listen. I am told you can find the whole album on Spotify.

Spotify is what people use instead of the radio. I have no idea how any of this works. People want to meet Daphne. I know I am looking forward to seeing her again. Daphne is like a Dada photograph. She both makes sense to me and not. Daphne is a musician.

Happiness loves company. Daphne puts it slightly differently, with emphasis on the pleasure.

I am trying to decide in what direction to take today’s letter to you. Let us just see what happens. I will need to be moving on today and there is a very long article in the Wall Street Journal that is so dense with information that it is going to be like reading a book.

Let me tell you what Paula had to say.

Paula said, “Hi Matthew, your “long rambling letters” have been one of the highlights of my days. You have a style of writing that speaks to my preferences in many books I read. Also I find them so evocative of the city I love that I feel I’m there. They’re fun, informative , and quirky. I especially love the more food centric rambles. I’d love to read more about your connections with other “characters” of the city, I love your descriptions of them, and want to know more.”

Keep those cards and letters coming folks! What is my email address? Let me look it up. It is neworleanslunch@gmail.com. Tell me what you wold like to hear about. I have nothing else to do. This is what a flaneur does.

I need to go to Royal Street. I should have done that with Enid while I was in the French Quarter. I want to see the niddy-noddy at M.S. Rau. I wanted to do that today. I hope nobody buys it before I get to see it. Maybe tomorrow. I have nothing else to do that I know of. Tomorrow looks like a cakewalk.

This is New Orleans.

Everyone always comments on how little I eat. I eat like a bird, which as Daphne loves to remind me, is supposed to mean I eat my weight in worms every day, while I mean it like the chickens. My chickens just peck and scratch the dirt all day.

The one with the brown head, I call that one Brownie. The one with the black head, I call that one Blackie. The one with the white head, I call Whitey. They are handsome hens, each one.

I am making plans for a full-on aviary. Mrs. King has the patience of a saint. You have to to live in New Orleans.

Jo-Jo calls the chickens something different. I hear her cooing to them before I put them in the coop for the night. I know she calls one Gertrude. I think that is Brownie but I do not really know. Jo-Jo ignores my wishes. We get along because of our policy of mutual vice-versa. We only talk when our worlds collide, which is always done with affectionate respect.

We have a lot in common.

I need to get moving. I will continue shortly. I do not know where I am going to end up next. A day in New Orleans is just like life, only more so. I am going to talk about the location of the original Ruth’s Chris Steaks, which is around the corner from my house.

Only in New Orleans.