Best of the Visual Vamp

Mad Men Emmy And New Nola Style – Brian Batt

Citizen by Choice — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 20:03:07 +0000

Monday, September 22, 2008

Mad Men won the Emmy for Best Dramatic Series last night. It’s one of my favorite shows for all the reasons it’s one of yours too: Great Mid Century set design and fashions, and a good soap opera story set in an era that makes it very interesting to look back on.
New Orleans Mad Man Brian Batt was on stage, and it got me to thinking about some photos I have in my clipping file.
Brian owns a very popular shop called Hazelnut on Magazine Street in New Orleans, filled with wonderful things for anyone who lives and loves decorating. Brian is very much the personification of New NOLA Style!
The shop has small furnishings, textiles, gifts, everything you could possibly want.
His own New Orleans home is very spiffy. His avocation is interior design. Maybe he’ll be like another actor turned decorator, Billy Haines!

One Thing

Citizen by Choice — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 21:07:37 +0000

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Sunday, March 15, 2009

	Isn’t there just one thing in your house that you would really really hate to see destroyed? Maybe a gift from a loved one, or a family piece you inherited; a gift celebrating a milestone, or some special thing you scrimped and saved for. Perhaps it’s the first piece of furniture you bought as a newlywed, or that first antique settee, or that piece of art that took two years to pay off.
There’s always something, that in the midst of a party you are always a little bit aware of. What if it got ruined or broken? Would you be cool about it? Burst into tears? Throw a fit? Throw everyone out of the party? Would you pretend it’s no biggie until everybody was gone, then spend hours trying to put it back together, or get the stain out of the sea grass rug that weathered years of family use?
	After Hurricane Katrina when we first thought everything was gone, we each had a moment of mourning something that was lost. For Alberto it was our archive, our body of historical research on the Argentine tango, years of collecting music, video clips of orchestras and dancers, books, DVDs, photographs, posters, back issues of the magazine we published for eight years, thousands of CDs, his desktop computer and all the back up hard drives.
For me, well I couldn’t think of one thing among all the beautiful things that I have accumulated and collected over the years that I would really miss.I was numb with shock.
	They say as we grow older that our stuff holds more meaning. We become emotionally attached to it. So over time, these “treasures” are worth more in our emotional bank account than their actual value. They represent pieces of our lives. Even in the midst of the parties we throw, or devastating hurricanes, we can’t help but have one eye on that most precious thing. To lose it is unthinkable. It would be heartbreaking, or would it?
Movers have lost my things, the most regrettable was a box filled with all my family photos. Misfortune has forced me to sell off some very prized possessions. After Katrina I sold tons of my things on eBay, a kind of purging to help me let go of things I thought I had already lost. Of course my heart sank when I thought our house was lost. But I also felt a small relief from the burden of taking care of things. I had Alberto with me. We had our tango shoes and a way to make a living. And I always know I can create a home again.
	I never felt seller’s remorse on eBay. By the time I sold a Chanel jacket, or my entire collection of couture Geoffrey Beene clothes, I was ready to let them go. I had long ago let that part of my life go that required those things.
You know sometimes something I own gets broken, and I always have the reaction, oh well, it will be fun to hunt and gather again, or that I had the thing for as long as it was meant to be. I have never yelled at anyone for breaking anything in my house.	.
	Alberto gets very upset for me and always tries to glue it back together
He is surprised that I can just sweep up the shards and toss them in the trash can.
	As money gets tighter I don’t feel so easy peasy about being able to replace things. I did cringe a little when a visitor was roughing up my Ghost chair (though I wouln’t call the One Thing ha ha).
It was just one of those things I always wanted, and I sold my mother’s bamboo arm chair at the height of the Hollywood Regency craze so I could buy that Ghost chair.
	When the visitor noticed my look he asked why I was so worried about a plastic chair.
When I said that chair cost several hundred dollars, and it would be a hardship to replace it, he laughed and said several hundred for a plastic chair???? One woman’s treasured designer chair is another man’s idea of cheap plastic ha ha.
	So what do you have that would just kill you to lose, or get ruined, or have smashed into a million pieces?

The President Gets A Zulu Coconut

Citizen by Choice — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 15:53:50 +0000

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Wednesday, March 4, 2009

The president of the Zulu Social Aid and Pleasure Club presented President Barack Obama with a hand-painted, personalized Zulu coconut in the Oval Office on Monday afternoon, marking the 100th anniversary of the black Carnival club and the election of the first African-American president. Read the entire story HERE

Okay, okay, I know most of you are not familiar with the exotic and quirky customs of my beloved New Orleans. In fact I was not familiar with them either, and as a damn Yankee I still do not understand everything.
And yes, our President Barack Obama was lovingly given a Zulu coconut by a delegation from New Orleans.
Now what may you ask is a Zulu coconut? Well, it’s the most prized Mardi Gras favor bestowed upon you by a rider on a float in the Zulu parade, the first parade that rolls on Mardi Gras morning.

Zulu is a prominent organization here, and since this year it celebrates its 100 year anniversary, there is a big exhibition mounted by The Louisiana State Museum at the Presbytere, a beautiful exhibition space in The French Quarter.

Our friend Jessica, who is a prominent textile restoration expert, installed the exhibition, and invited us to see it with her.

The Presbytere is one of three major buildings facing Jackson Square, the other two being St. Louis Cathedral and The Cabildo.

Jackson Square is charming park, with fixtures from early last century still in use.

Anyway, back to Zulu and those coconuts.
You can see how they hand make each one of them.

Zulu’s members mask wearing black face. It’s an interracial club, so everybody wears it.
In a racially charged and aware city like New Orleans, the idea of black face was very confusing to me, not to mention the horseback riders in other Carnival parades who wear hoods and masks that look very KKK to a Yankee know-nothing. But everyone here assures me it’s all in good fun, and perfectly acceptable.

In fact the NAACP tried to disband Zulu in the 1960′s, but its members stood fast and the club prevailed. You can read all the history on the Zulu web site and figure it out yourself.

The costumes they wear are fabulous, and the show featured many great ones.

Even the footwear is ingenious and beautiful.

The costume that White House Social Secretary Desiree Rogers (and New Orleans native) wore when she was queen (1988 and 2000) of Zulu is a highlight of the exhibition. You can read more HERE.

It is a wonderful exhibition, something you will see only in New Orleans.

The President was very happy to get his coconut, and knew a great deal about the history of Zulu Social Aid and Pleasure Club. Of course the delegation was even more thrilled.

President Obama expressed his gratitude for the coconut, commented on its smaller-than-expected size, said he would find a “real special place for it” in his office, and said that he would love to come to New Orleans for Mardi Gras.
Who knows, maybe he’ll be king of Zulu one year!

And Michelle his queen!

Nine Eleven

Citizen by Choice — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 07:05:51 +0000

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Thursday, September 11, 2008

What can you say on this seventh anniversary? You can read a ton in The New York Times, though there’s no 911 story on the front page, at least not on line HERE
Maybe people are sick of remembering. Maybe we’ve moved on.
I had already moved from New York. In fact it had already been six years. I got back there two or three times a year, but still when you don’t ride the subway everyday, you lose touch no matter how well you know your city.
That morning, 9/11/01, I was making coffee in our French Quarter apartment. We were on the ground floor overlooking a beautiful brick courtyard with a fountain. I had the cutest double door window that opened onto it, and every morning a fellow tenant and friend named Jamal came to my window for a cup of coffee before he went to school. I was like Mrs. Madrigal in Tales Of The City except I didn’t have a sex change.
The photo below is that French Quarter teeny kitchen; Jamal is not in the photo. The two woman who are not Jamal are: Me (the brunette), and my sister (the redhead).
Alberto was still asleep. Jamal came flying down the stairs. He was yelling and banging on our door, and nearly flew into the kitchen window. “Mama Val! MamaValMAMAVALMAMAVAL”!
It did not compute. Jamal barged in and turned on the TV, and pointed his finger – “Look Mama Val it’s your New York burning”.
I went back later that year. Everything felt changed. A dear friend almost jumped down my throat when I said nine one one, instead of nine eleven. Apparently New Yorkers say nine eleven. I felt left out, even though it happened to all of us. But I was a New Yorker who wasn’t there when it happened, and now my friends were treating me with that you couldn’t possibly totally understand the experience since you didn’t live through it vibe. I was terribly hurt. Hurt that it happened, and hurt that I wasn’t there, and hurt that everyone was hurting so much.
But then I got my personal hurt too. And sometimes I feel like screaming YOU HAVE NO IDEA BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT FROM HERE. But then I shut up my angry and hurt mind, because everybody, every single one of us, has their own personal hurt and shame. All we can do is offer a shoulder and a hand and an ear, and our good and giving hearts to one another. And all we can do is accept the shoulder, the hand, the ear, the heart.
Seven years is a long time. And no time at all. When will they rebuild something at Ground Zero? When we will they find Osama? When will the hurt and fear and anger and shame go away? Three years is a long time. When will they help us rebuild a great American city? When will the hurt and fear and anger and shame go away. Tick tock. Tick tock.
Movers lost all my family and personal photos, but every once in awhile I find one stuck in the pages of a book I haven’t looked at for a long while.
They’re like little lost treasures, whether you lose them in flood waters or through neglect…

… whether you post them in the street as a small ray of hope when you are searching for a lost one, or hold them at a memorial, or put them in an album, or post them on a blog.

This is the only photo I have of The World Trade Center when I lived in New York. It was one of those stuck in between the pages of an old book.
I’m standing up there with my niece Michelle, who is now a grown woman in her 30′s, a mother of two beautiful daughters. She was ten, and spending Summer vacation with Auntie Valorie. I took many, many out of town people up to the top. I dined at Windows on The World, and did events there too. I used the subway station at The World Trade Center several times a week. I am thankful I was there then.
So what’s left to say on this day of remembering, of any day of remembering at any memorial?
Prayers for the living and the dead. Prayers of hope. Prayers to get us through another day, another year.
And even if you don’t pray, that’s okay too. Good vibes abound, and will come all of our way.
And I’m sure you send out your good wishes and good feelings to everyone. Prayer is just another word for caring.
Peace Out.

Merry Majolica Christmas and How To Make New Orleans Cafe Brulot

Citizen by Choice — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 03:16:53 +0000

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Sunday, December 7, 2008

The colorful Majolica in my kitchen always looks festive, and this year I put the little kitchen tree in my favorite pitcher.I’m kind of corny in that I spread a little Christmas decor around the house. And even more corny in the kitchen where I have fruit ornaments on a vintage feather style tree.
The stockings are kind of corny too. My dear friend Miss Anne made two of them, and gave me the third. I can never part with them for more sophisticated ones. I fill them with little toys and English crackers. I strung the fruit garland years ago.
This is last year’s version.
I have decluttered the mantle quite a bit this year, and also cleared and painted the second wall filled with majolica and the rooster plaques. The chairs also got recovered.
I’ll get out the antique Limoges plates with the crawfish on them, and the Cafe Brulot cups too, to set the table for Christmas breakfast.

Cafe Brulot

Ingredients:

1 orange peel, cut into 1 by 1/8-inch strips, plus 1 orange, peel cut into 1 long, intact spiral
1 lemon peel, cut into 1 by 1/8-inch strips
4 sugar cubes
6 whole cloves
1 (2-inch) cinnamon stick
1/2 cup orange flavored liqueur
2 cups hot, freshly brewed, strong black coffee

Directions:

Light the burner under a brulot bowl or chafing dish and adjust the flame to low. Into the bowl place the orange and lemon peels, sugar, cloves, cinnamon stick and orange liqueur. Cook for 1 to 2 minutes, stirring constantly with a long-handled ladle, to dissolve the sugar and warm the ingredients.

When the mixture is warm, stir in the hot coffee, and ignite with a match.

Quickly, while the mixture is still flaming, hold the spiraled orange peel with the prongs of a fork over the bowl, and ladle the flaming coffee mixture down the peel several times into the bowl for a spectacular presentation.

Ladle the Cafe Brulot into brulot or demi-tasse cups, being careful to leave the flavorings (peels, cloves, cinnamon) in the bowl. Serve immediately while hot.

The coffee is prepared in and served from a special decorative bowl positioned over a flame, and the finale consists of the flaming coffee being ladled down a long spiral of orange peel back into the bowl. A Brulot ladle is specially designed with a small strainer at the end so that the bits of peel, cloves and cinnamon do not get served to guests. The finished beverage is served in tall, thin, footed mugs, often decorated with a full-length portrait of the devil, reference to the drink’s other name, “Cafe Diabolique” or “Devil’s Coffee,” perhaps so named for the punch it packs!

My Brulot Pot and Ladle and Cups

Stop by and I’ll make you a cup!

Queen Antoinette

Citizen by Choice — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 01:54:02 +0000

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Sunday, March 1, 2009

We are quite comfortable with royalty in New Orleans. Some of us make ourselves queens or kings by simply buying a tiara or crown and placing it upon our heads. Others like Antoinette K Doe are so loved, endeared, and revered that they become our royalty. Antoinette was our queen.

She passed away on Mardi Gras. Today a most important newspaper with a huge global readership ran her obituary in a prominent way HERE.

Her funeral was yesterday, and as funerals go in New Orleans, it was a jazz funeral. Musicians played, and hundreds of people came out to second line behind the band, and to say goodbye and pay their respects.

The most beautiful antique horse drawn hearse is brought out for a queen.

Antoinette had a great and generous life. Besides being the wife of the Emperor of The Universe, the late and great Ernie K Doe, she was the keeper of Ernie’s legacy and of many New Orleans traditions, like the Mardi Gras revelers called The Baby Dolls.

She revived this Mardi Gras walking parade of grown ladies who dress up in Baby Snooks garb, a sisterhood of naughty babies making merriment all over town.

She also kept extensive archives of New Orleans ephemera from her personal collection of things, including rare photos of Baby Dolls of yesteryear.

She herself costumed as a Baby Doll many times.

But the most important museum she rebuilt after extensive flood damage from Hurricane Katrina was the nightclub and lounge she and her husband Ernie built, called The Mother In Law Lounge.

It’s famous world wide, and music lovers, and lovers of the unique culture of New Orleans make regular pilgrimages there.
It’s a friendly place, and you could always count on Antoinette to make you feel welcome.

Antoinette passed away there around 3 AM Mardi Gras morning.

We had lived in New Orleans for about a year, when Sabina took us to our first jazz funeral.
It was for Antoinette’s husband Ernie. The year was 2001.

New Orleans was so exotic to us. We never really knew about jazz funerals, never had seen one, and certainly never had walked in a second line.
At first I was concerned that we would be intruding on a personal family ritual.
Then I saw the thousands of people come out for Ernie K Doe’s funeral, and I accepted how a city can be personal.

Sabina showed us how to do it.
Sabina shared so many things about her New Orleans.
We met Antoinette after Ernie died every year at his tomb in St. Louis Cemetery on All Saints Day. Sabina and I made this our yearly ritual HERE.
Queen Nette always set up a little tent and some chairs so you could get out of the sun, and visit awhile. She always had a huge pot of gumbo there too, and some soft drinks.
Funerals and cemeteries are part of New Orleans social life in a very positive way.

And I can tell you that even though we didn’t know Ernie or his family, we became a part of the greater family that is New Orleans the day of his jazz funeral.

So now we say goodbye to our dear Queen Antoinette.

Antoinette with a life size mannequin of the late Ernie

Ernie was brought out for her jazz funeral and rode in the hearse