I read this morning in the New Orleans Times-Picayune that oysters in the off-season are on the brink. Regulators could be shutting down restaurants from serving the Louisiana staple - how many times have I had a dozen at Acme, Casamentos, Pearl! - from April to October. Same goes for Florida, the Carolinas, the Chesapeake, and onward. In an effort to cut down on a rare bacterial illness from bad bivalves, the new FDA sterilization rules means big time losses for oystermen, restaurants, and consumers. To put it in perspective in New Orleans, Lousiana harvests one-third of the nation's oysters. If the FDA plan happens, the new rules will likely take effect in 2011.

Read the full article here.

Shreveport icon, Strawn's Eat Shop, is best-known for its strawberry pies topped with smooth domes of whipped cream.

But this little restaurant (featured in SL's November mega-story "Secrets of the South's Best Diners") also serves a mean meat-and-three lunch. The daily menu is so stone-sure, it's painted on one of the walls...

Sure, Grand Isle is a famous fishing village in South Louisiana that has endured more than its share of hurricane misery, most recently from Gustav. It's also the name of a new dining spot in New Orleans that captures some of the soul of the Lousiana coast in all its funky appeal.

Houma, Louisiana is true Cajun country, home to some outstanding down-home food. But on a fishing trip a few years ago, I discovered Cristiano's, one of the best restaurants I've visited anywhere in Louisiana. It's a great surprise and worth a drive.

Yesterday I hit the red leather-bound volumes of Southern Living, starting at the top left corner of the shelves in 1966. What I found felt very much like a time capsule.

He's become so famous, so significant, so normalized in everydayspeak, John James Audubon's name has eclipsed its birth purpose. He's become a brand, as marketing minds would say.

Born the same year the United States chose the "dollar" as its currency (1785), Audobon led a naturalist's dream-life; he was a Daniel Boone of bird watching, snaking along the South's backwaters and tromping in its woods, all in effort to complete his inspired project he called Birds of America. Though he didn't find and paint all the feathered species (he came close, taking more than 400 to show off in Paris), Audubon left indelible marks on the region as we now know it.

***Above, Audubon's "Mourning Dove," originally called "Carolina Pigeon"

The Blue Dog artist shouldn't feel blue this week. Today Governor Bobby Jindal announced George Rodrigue, the man behind the wonderful motif, as Louisiana's Artist Laureate. Well done George! George hits the road this month on book tour for Blue Dog Speaks. To find the Louisiana Laureate somewhere near you, starting October 5th in Texas, click here. 

Recently, Time Magazine (a publication owned by our parent company) published a story titled, "50 Authentic American Experiences." These huge types of magazine articles always intrigue me. Rarely do I not grab the magazine or click on the story to see what editors spotlight as the best BBQ in Texas, the greatest songwriters of all-time, or America's favorite beaches. I love the breadth of expertise and the narrowing down of opinions.

Time, though, missed the mark, especially in the South. I'll offer my thoughts and you can decide.

This was big-time college football at its best. No. 6 LSU at No. 10 Auburn. Tigers vs. Tigers.

Tonight (Tuesday, September 2) James Beard-winner John Besh's New Orleans Brasserie Lüke reopens after Hurricane Gustav. Quite a turn-around. It's the first of Besh's four restaurants to turn the lights back on, and it's a good sign for the city post-storm.

Doors open at 5 PM, no reservations are necessary, and guests are invited to walk in at their leisure. The menu will be limited, but shall include some of Lüke’s signature dishes - Lüke Burger with Allen Benton’s Bacon; Carmelized Onions and Emmenthaler Cheese; Pressed Sandwich of Whole Roast “Cochon de Lait” with Cherry Mustard; and Croque Monsieur Croque Madame et Frites with Emmenthaler Cheese.

Also, try the French "75" cocktail. A friend described it as "like kissing a ruddy-faced, blonde-haired boy on the beach." I'll take her word on that one, but i tried it. Perfect summer drink. 

(Photo courtesy of Galatoire's Restaurant)

The New York Times published a story this morning about the return of Times-Picayune restaurant reviews for New Orleans, a missing part of the daily since Katrina nearly three years ago. First up for hometown scrutiny: Mr. B's Bistro in the French Quarter. The look in the mirror for NOLA means much more than an extra column in the paper. It means normalcy.

photos courtesy of Cochon

I see a menu with things like "bacon," "pork belly," and "fried pig's ear," and, friends, I become giddy. I am aware that there are others (bless their hearts) who don't share this enthusiasm. But I'm a little zealous. So when I recently sat down to lunch at Cochon, chef Donald's Link's porcine ode and one of New Orleans' most buzz-worthy restaurants, I whipped out my cell phone to immediately text all of my friends about the feast they were missing. Pork cheeks with a cornbread cake! Oyster and bacon sandwiches!  Pork ribs with watermelon pickle! The vegetarians weren't amused. But, my dear carnivores, get thee to the Crescent City.

(Photos taken by TB)

In the July heat that seems to rush up and down the Mississippi River and hover over New Orleans, I find respite at Hansen's Sno-Bliz on a boring corner of Tchoupotoulis Street. The crowds gather here like someone's golden retriever is telling spiritual secrets. Summer days, the masses line from the corner, stand inside a beaten screen door, and shuffle along the sunflower yellow line leading to Mr. Hansen's handmade, U.S. Patent-ed ice machine. Ten thousand aging photographs tell you the story you are standing in. The people in them testify to how worth it your wait will be.

(Inside the Spotted Cat, as seen from the back wall.)

"It's the best 100 feet of live jazz on the planet." I tell my friends this, relishing the hyperbole, a no-no for a writer, but convinced that if you gave me a jetplane for an evening I'd fly here, the 600 block of Frenchmen Street. Snug Harbor, dba, and the subject of this post, The Spotted Cat, puts out  jerk-your-head, smile-to-your-neighbor, tap-along music every night. The nine-year-old club, a former oysterhouse, ranks easily as my favorite.

It's often said that the word "cocktail" originated in New Orleans. That it is derived from the French word coquetier, an egg cup that was used to serve spirited beverages in the Crescent City in the early 19th century. Whether New Orleans is the official home to the "cocktail" or not, a visit to NOLA (as the city's affectionately called) proves, if anything, that they take their drinks seriously. And now, the city has been honored with its own official cocktail--the sazerac. Laissez les bons temps rouler!

(Image by Jason Langley via Flickr)

Over the next few days, TALES FROM THE ROAD will post musings about one of the South's most treasured towns, New Orleans, the Crescent City of saints, trumpeters, magicians, French Creole recipes, and weatherworn wrought iron. The resurgence is evident to any traveler to NOLA, whether eating barside at Clancey's or strolling down Chartres, catching the streetcar on St. Charles or stopping by the new Musicians' Village.

Even in the summer warmth, there is no city in America quite like New Orleans. So, check in through the weekend to learn where, what, who and why we love this city of endless lagniappes.

(South Carolina's 1,500-year-old Angel Oak. Photo credit.)

When I think of trees, I think of the four spring-flowering Bradford Pears that made a square in my childhood backyard. How the trees formed a lane perfect for pitching baseballs (to my mother mostly). How I watched them, unknowingly, grow from weak treelings to wonderful, burgundy-leafed adults. And how they sort of watched me rise as well. Trees are markers of the changing seasons, givers of shade, reminders of time, and anchors to place.

Here are a few famous ones in the South that bring to mind the words of William Cullen Bryant, "The groves were God's first temples."

(Photo courtesy of the Weinstein Company)

Shreveport? Really? Kevin Costner loves Shreveport? Jack Black craves the poboys at Cush's Grocery? Denzel chose here to film a project near and dear to his moviemaking heart. Head's up, Shreveport is making real waves. This former oil man's hub is winning over Hollywood bigtime. One newpaper writer gives us the scoop.

I was standing in Natchez--Under The Hill, to be exact--when the sky went pastel as the sun set behind the far banks of the Mississippi River. Cross that bridge, and you'll find yourself in Louisiana. Vidalia.

"It's another beautiful day at The Bluffs."

That's what you hear when telephoning the charming resort on the outskirts of St. Francisville, Louisiana. And it's not just a good public relations ploy. The whole world seems to shine brighter when you visit this blooming spot.

George Rodrigue's Blue Dog paintings and silkcreen prints have nosed their way into our American visual iconography. Ask anyone anywhere if they know the Blue Dog and chances are you'll get a bright-eyed yes. In recognition of such a colorful, distinguised, and massive career, the New Orleans Museum of Art and Rodrigue gather a 40-year retrospective "Cajuns, Blue Dogs, and Beyond Katrina," showing until June 8. What visitors realize when roaming the multiple rooms and viewing the 200 plus original works: this man treasures Louisiana. And, judging by reception in NOLA, the feeling is certainly mutual.