Saturday, October 4, 2015
Prohibition Returns To Antoine's; So Do Cocktails.
Prohibition brought about a lot of lawbreaking across America, with every place developing a different style. In Chicago you had gangsters. In the Appalachians were the hillbilly whisky stills and white lightning. In California the many Italian winemakers saw a tremendous increase in the amount of sacrificial and medicinal wines and brandy.
[caption id="attachment_49125" align="alignleft" width="320"]
Police keep Prohibition going in New Orleans.[/caption]And in New Orleans. . . well, near as one can tell, the alcoholic beverage consumption was hardly diminished at all, didn't vanish. It just went into hiding, most notably in the better restaurants around town. Most of these were owned by second- or third-generation French Creoles, who laughed at the idea that there would be no wine or spirits. The histories of the grande dame restaurants--Antoine's, Arnaud's, Galatoire's, and Broussard's--all have fascinating chapters on how the hooch was brought into the building, and how it was disseminated to the customers. Most of the smaller French restaurants like Maylie's, La Louisiane, and Tujague's also have funny tales to tell.
[caption id="attachment_49121" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Fifth-generation Antoine's descendent and boss Rick Blount and Mrs. [/caption]
Antoine's continued its 175th anniversary celebration tonight in a gala with Prohibition as the theme. The restaurant closed for the night and filled its rooms with regular customers and other friends. Food was everywhere in the building, with nothing held back. I personally consumed about a half-cup of jumbo lump crabmeat ravigote, a half-dozen each of oysters Foch, Rockefeller and Bienville, and only one soufflee potato. I lubricated that with a Sazerac made for me by a man in a phramacist's jacket.
[caption id="attachment_49124" align="alignnone" width="320"]
Jimmy Maxwell and singer Julie Jule at Antoine's. [/caption]
Jimmy Maxwell's excellent big band played the music of the era (and later ones) while some professional dancers familiar with the moves of the period swept through the big red dining room in the back. A picket line of sour-looking women carried signs in favor of banning the evil potion of alcohol. "Lips that touch liquor will never touch mine!" said the sign carried by a demonstrator who looks to have never touched any other kind of lips, either.
Elswhere in Chez Antoine was a gambling room where you played the games, but no money changed hands. Mary Ann said that was a lot of fun. She doubled her chips, then lost enough hands to bring her back to where the started. A dessert hall was busy flaming cafe brulot and dispensing a baked Alaska, whose size approached that of a small blimp. All the private dining rooms were filled with people taking advantage of the tables and chairs there. (It is one of those events in which guests are encouraged to mingle.)
But there are a lot of people to talk to. The event is a fundraiser for the Historic New Orleans Collection, a fascinating research museum around the corner. I have no doubt that the HNOC contributed a lot to the history project Antoine's performed for its anniversary. Its director Priscilla Lawrence and her husband John Lawrence were all over the place, along with longtime researcher John Magill, who I haven't seen in decades.
This is the kind of party we should have more often. It wasn't just food, drink and loud music, but an interesting energy, full of stories to be told and recalled, unique to this night. I man I don't know but who knows me said, "This is the kind of party that will never be this good again." He's right. If they try to repeat it, it would be a parody of itself.
[caption id="attachment_49120" align="alignleft" width="320"]
Margarita Bergen, whose presence makes it a real party.[/caption]We were supposed to dress in period costume. What did people wear in the 1930s? Pretty much the same clothes I still wear all the time, but with one addition: the fedoras that men wore universally until JFK made them taboo. I wore mine, and quite a few other men did, too.
The party wound down at ten. Mary Ann's parking-witch powers brought into existence a legal on-street parking spot a block and a half up St. Louis Street from Antoine's. But it may have had bad gris-gris. Four young men were closing in on us after we crossed Bourbon Street into the relative darkness. The biggest of these guys seemed to be giving quarterback calls to the others. I stepped into the street, opened the driver's door for Mary Ann, and kept moving as she jumped in, slammed the door, and turned the lights on, and started the car. I crossed the front of the car, opened the passenger door, jumped in, and slammed the door. By that time the group was on the other side, seeming puzzled about where the two of us went. If I knew the football jargon for this move, I'd take credit for--if not the move itself-- my metaphoric telling of this moment.
How nice it is to be married to a designated driver!
Police keep Prohibition going in New Orleans.[/caption]And in New Orleans. . . well, near as one can tell, the alcoholic beverage consumption was hardly diminished at all, didn't vanish. It just went into hiding, most notably in the better restaurants around town. Most of these were owned by second- or third-generation French Creoles, who laughed at the idea that there would be no wine or spirits. The histories of the grande dame restaurants--Antoine's, Arnaud's, Galatoire's, and Broussard's--all have fascinating chapters on how the hooch was brought into the building, and how it was disseminated to the customers. Most of the smaller French restaurants like Maylie's, La Louisiane, and Tujague's also have funny tales to tell.
[caption id="attachment_49121" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Fifth-generation Antoine's descendent and boss Rick Blount and Mrs. [/caption]
Antoine's continued its 175th anniversary celebration tonight in a gala with Prohibition as the theme. The restaurant closed for the night and filled its rooms with regular customers and other friends. Food was everywhere in the building, with nothing held back. I personally consumed about a half-cup of jumbo lump crabmeat ravigote, a half-dozen each of oysters Foch, Rockefeller and Bienville, and only one soufflee potato. I lubricated that with a Sazerac made for me by a man in a phramacist's jacket.
[caption id="attachment_49124" align="alignnone" width="320"]
Jimmy Maxwell and singer Julie Jule at Antoine's. [/caption]
Jimmy Maxwell's excellent big band played the music of the era (and later ones) while some professional dancers familiar with the moves of the period swept through the big red dining room in the back. A picket line of sour-looking women carried signs in favor of banning the evil potion of alcohol. "Lips that touch liquor will never touch mine!" said the sign carried by a demonstrator who looks to have never touched any other kind of lips, either.
Elswhere in Chez Antoine was a gambling room where you played the games, but no money changed hands. Mary Ann said that was a lot of fun. She doubled her chips, then lost enough hands to bring her back to where the started. A dessert hall was busy flaming cafe brulot and dispensing a baked Alaska, whose size approached that of a small blimp. All the private dining rooms were filled with people taking advantage of the tables and chairs there. (It is one of those events in which guests are encouraged to mingle.)
But there are a lot of people to talk to. The event is a fundraiser for the Historic New Orleans Collection, a fascinating research museum around the corner. I have no doubt that the HNOC contributed a lot to the history project Antoine's performed for its anniversary. Its director Priscilla Lawrence and her husband John Lawrence were all over the place, along with longtime researcher John Magill, who I haven't seen in decades.
This is the kind of party we should have more often. It wasn't just food, drink and loud music, but an interesting energy, full of stories to be told and recalled, unique to this night. I man I don't know but who knows me said, "This is the kind of party that will never be this good again." He's right. If they try to repeat it, it would be a parody of itself.
[caption id="attachment_49120" align="alignleft" width="320"]
Margarita Bergen, whose presence makes it a real party.[/caption]We were supposed to dress in period costume. What did people wear in the 1930s? Pretty much the same clothes I still wear all the time, but with one addition: the fedoras that men wore universally until JFK made them taboo. I wore mine, and quite a few other men did, too.
The party wound down at ten. Mary Ann's parking-witch powers brought into existence a legal on-street parking spot a block and a half up St. Louis Street from Antoine's. But it may have had bad gris-gris. Four young men were closing in on us after we crossed Bourbon Street into the relative darkness. The biggest of these guys seemed to be giving quarterback calls to the others. I stepped into the street, opened the driver's door for Mary Ann, and kept moving as she jumped in, slammed the door, and turned the lights on, and started the car. I crossed the front of the car, opened the passenger door, jumped in, and slammed the door. By that time the group was on the other side, seeming puzzled about where the two of us went. If I knew the football jargon for this move, I'd take credit for--if not the move itself-- my metaphoric telling of this moment.
How nice it is to be married to a designated driver!
