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.

(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!

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.