A Pig & A Dream (Come True)



Becker and Rene at the first Hogs for the Cause in 2009.

You know how some locals like to wax on nostalgically about the infant years of Jazz Fest? They like to talk about how the festival was so much better when it was held at Armstrong Park. How the musical lineup consisted of only indigenous acts like Pete Fountain, Fats Domino, and the Meters. How the crowd was nothing more than a few hundred locals who wandered over from the French Quarter and the musicians themselves. And how the modern era Springsteen-led Jazz Fest is a lesson in that bigger is not always better.

This is not one of those lessons.

In March 2009 I was coasting through my final semester of law school when Rene kept interrupting my internet surfing with talk of this pig roast that he and Becker Hall were hosting at the Fly on an upcoming weekend. So The Folk Singer and I made the drive down from Baton Rouge the night before and then headed out to the Fly to eat some pork (actually, TFS made us stop for lunch at Gott Gourmet on the way) and drink off the free keg donated by NOLA Brewing.

That first year "Hogs for the Cause" was actually a misleading title. There was but one pig, and it had been slowly turning on the battery operated rotisserie since the evening before. If I recall correctly, Rene and Becker had both camped out at the Fly to keep watchful eye over the inaugural cochon, because when you put all of your eggs in one basket you better make damn well sure said basket is delivered.

The crowd numbered probably 50-70 people, if I had to guesstimate. Richard Sutton from St. James was there. The Dread Pirate Robert Peyton was there shucking and chargrilling oysters. The Palm Room Hostess, a long lost blog character, was also present, as were several other friends and acquaintances who came out to support Rene and Becker. Anyone who was there the first year of Hogs will be quick to tell you how they went to Hogs before Hogs was cool.

Once the pig was deemed ready, Rene and Becker ferried it over to a table covered in butcher paper, where several of us began to hack away with our knives. There was no regard for presentation, no final lacquering of special sauce, and I don't remember seeing anyone use a plate or a fork or a knife. We tossed the prepared pork into an aluminum tray, and people just grabbed with their hands.

Hogs 2009 "Thank You" poster from Ben Sarrat, Jr.

A few months thereafter, Rene and I sat down for dinner with our women, and he talked about his big plans for the future of Hogs. His vision involved live music, ticket sales, and a team cookoff. I just kept nodding my head and thinking to myself, "I know that Rene is really bored living in St. Louis, but I didn't realize that he had taken up smoking crack."

Three years later, reality has surpassed Rene's vision by leaps and bounds. He and Becker have created a monster - a pork-centric, pediatric-brain-cancer-fighting monster that continues to grow with every year. The Folk Singer summed it up a few weeks ago, "All of these people are coming up to me and talking about Hogs for the Cause. It's crazy. Hogs is like a thing now."

And why should we be surprised? Who doesn't love pork, beer, and music?

But while the Hogs may get all the glory, it's the Cause which is most important. No doubt that fierce competition among the teams has fueled participants to keep raising the bar, and the quality of the food has accelerated the popularity and growth of Hogs. But porkpourri, Boss Hog passes, and the High on the Hog Grand Champion award are simply the means to support the Cause. The origin of the Cause can be traced back to a 4 year old known as "Pirate Ben," and you can read more about his story here. I have no doubt that on Saturday Ben will help deliver beautiful weather from up above.

Hogs has taken out a bounty on pediatric brain cancer, and the pot just keeps getting bigger. Come out to City Pork on Saturday to help out the Cause.

Hogs for the Cause
Saturday March 24th
City Pork
Gates Open at 10:30am

The 2009 Blackened Out State Dinner

Once or twice a year, the loyal denizens of this cyber dark alley gather at a predetermined spot to drink and nibble on victuals. These events are timed with the New Orleans Wine and Food Experience and Tales of the Cocktail.

Last year's First State Dinner was replete with delicious food, biodynamic wine (it means you get hungover), and a cougar! You can read about last year's juvenile delinquency here and there.

We also dominated the Tales of the Cocktail at Stella!. No embarassment was spared.

This year the 2009 Official Blackened Out State Dinner will take place at La Cote Brasserie on May 20, 2009. Here is the menu. We chose this location based on a variety of factors including but not limited to: GPS proximity to the Red Eye, the passed apps, Peter's ideal restaurant concept, and the ability of most of us to skateboard there from work.

Scheduled to appear are Peter, The Pope, Lindsay, BB Gunner, Palm Room Hostess, Donnie Boy Riguez (with Catfish Erin on the Accordion), and a host of other characters. But most importantly, you. If you would like to join us, just call over to La Cote at (504) 613-2350 and reserve your spot now. Put together your own table or just lurk from the corner, we don't care. Nor do we judge.

This is a really fun night. Plus, there is always the chance for it to turn into an early morning. And it is Peter's last trip to New Orleans until August 1. So catch him while you can.

Limos by A Confidential.

EDIT

LATE BREAKING NEWS: In a stunning announcement some have heralded as "quite dangerous" Legend will be in attendance at this year's State Dinner. Participants are encouraged to gird thy loins.

Kim Son

If a restaurant's quality is measured by its popularity, then Kim Son is the probably the best Vietnamese restaurant in the city. During a recent lunch there with Triple B (the blog character formerly known as the Palm Room Hostess), not an empty table could be found upon our arrival. However, if a restaurant's quality is measured by the number of patrons looking for a taste of home, then Kim Son might be one of the worst Vietnamese restaurants in the city. Unlike some of the other local pho joints, Kim Son is usually filled with customers ordering "the #7" as opposed to "Tôm Càng Kho Tàu ."

'

OK, so how about I just shut up now and talk about the food?
'

We started with an order of springrolls (no surprise there) and a mile-high pile of fried wontons. The latter appetizer is nothing special, but they were delicious - thick and freshly fried.

Triple B had never before eaten Vietnamese, so I suggested she dip her toe in the water with an order of bun cha. There is nothing to it: chargrilled pork, julienned carrots, and bean sprouts over vermicelli, sprinkled with crushed peanuts. But the Vietnamese must have made a deal with a devil, because no one cooks pork the way they do.

I had the "salt baked" fish, a description which left me wondering how they exactly cooked the fish. The crunchy exterior had the texture of deep frying, but absolutely zero trace of oil. Neither the fish nor the coating was spiced, but the addition of a heavy hand of cracked black pepper and the sweetness of thinly sliced sauteed onions provided all of the flavor which was needed. Great dish. Nothing like I had ever tasted before.

The Scene of the Crime Ahead of Time

On Thursday July 17th the Blackened Out State Dinner, The Remix will take place at Stella. This is the menu, if you are scared of jellyfish join the club. I look at this meal as a chance to vindicate the lashing I took by a jellyfish at Navare Beach in 1991. Its called payback, jellyfish, and it is a bitch.

Here is how this works. I can not make reservations for you. If you would like to join us and by all means do; you need to make your own reservation and purchase a ticket from this website. Scroll down and click on the buy tickets link. So far the crew is the following: Palm Room Hostess, MC Hammer and 2 Legit 2 Quit, the BB Gunners, Peter (hopefully), We Won't Get Sick Again(better names coming). We are still waiting to hear back from Le Bucket (who is beginning something called a residency) and The Zanimal.

This dinner will be a lot of fun. When you register for it, shoot us an email so we can call Stella and tell them everyone in our group. That way we can structure tables accordingly.

Seriously, 85 bucks (plus a 15 dollar enrollment fee) for 4 courses with booze at Stella is criminal. Join us readers, I can only promise you one thing: a hell of a night.

NBA All Star Weekend

No other city can throw a party like the Big Easy, and the NBA All Star festivities this past weekend proved just that. Thankfully, there have been no reported violent incidents stemming from the events, but that does not mean that the party went on without scandal. I decided to forego Friday's festivities because I was recovering from the Valentine's Day massacre that occurred in Baton Rouge the night before, but I arrived in town on Saturday well rested and ready to go.

The theme of Saturday night was: it's not what you know, but who you know. My little brother procured me 4 free tickets to the events at the arena on Saturday, and so I saved myself and my friends from spending $1000 to watch Bill Lambeer heave mid-court shots in the Shooting Stars competition. Myself, The Snowman, and The Chalmation drank $7 beers for 3 hours in the Arena while contemplating what would happen later that night at the "real" event: The Crown Royal & Playboy party at The Foundry. The Slam Dunk contest was the best that I had ever seen (Dwight Howard must have been thinking about his dunks for the past year), but the highlight of this pre-party in the Arena was watching Kevn Garnett explain what "andouille" was - "It 's like: me, my boy, 'and Dewey' went to the club last night." Priceless.

After leaving the Arena we joined The Pope at his restaurant. The Pope had used his papal connections with his liquor reps to score passes to the Playboy party, but the problem is that only he and The Chalmation were on the guest list. Problem? Nope. After those two made their entry, The Chalmation returned with a pass for The Snowman and I. We approached the check-in desk, presented our pass, but were then told that because our names were not on the official guest list that our pass wasn't "worth a shit" even after we dropped The Pope's name. Thankfully, the Pontif himself was standing by and talked the doorman into letting us in. Little did we know how lucky we were.

I have never seen a higher concentration of beautiful women in my entire life. There were Playboy bunnies, cocktail servers, and random girls whom The Pope had been told were most likely hired from modeling agencies just to fill the room. The four of us spent the next 4 hours drinking free Crown XR (which retails for around $180 per bottle) and gawking at all of the eye candy. Yeah, we were pretty much "those guys."

Now, I am not one to gossip, but this is just too good to keep to myself. At one point in the night we were talking to a few of the Crown higher-ups who told us that Michael Jordan lost $1.8 million at Harrah's the night before. They may have been full of shit, but they said that it was confirmed by a few of the girls at the party who were also at the casino the night before. Talk about a degenerate - some people just have no self control.

Later on, The Pope got a call from The Sandwich Man saying that he would like to join us. Now after having a hassle getting all of us in earlier, The Pope was a tad skeptical as to whether this would be possible, but after a few more XRs there was no hesitation and he claimed, "If that fucking guy does not let The Sandwich Man in, I am never buying a drop of booze from him ever again." Needless to say, The Pope's strong words were heeded, and The Sandwich Man had no problems.

The room was short of celebrities (or at least if there were a lot there then I did not know who they were, but then again my subscription to US Weekly expired a while back and I am not up to speed on the "who's who" of Hollywood). But one person who I did recognize immediately was none other than T.O. - "Get your popcorn ready!" T.O. walked in with his massive bodyguard and parked himself at a couch so that he could be waited on and entertained by a very striking blonde bunny. At one point, the couch next to T.O. opened up, so The Snowman and I took it upon ourselves to have a seat and relax. For 20 minutes we talked to ourselves and just acted like we belonged there (which, of course, we didn't), till finally our window of opportunity arrived. T.O.'s bunny went to the bar to get him a drink, so I (in all of my social awkwardness) took it upon myself to thank Mr. Owens for visiting my fine city. The "conversation" went like this:

Me (in a drunken ramble): Hey, T.O., I just wanted to thank you for coming down and supporting the city. We really appreciate you being here and hope you come back to visit.
T.O. (while staring at his i-Phone and not looking up): No problem, man. I love it down here.

So that was my one celebrity moment of the night - but hey, at least I had the balls to say something. Oh, I also managed to have my picture taken by The Snowman's fiance (who joined us right before we left) with a gorgeous brunette bunny so that I could commemorate this once in a lifetime experience.

After that exchange, it was time for us to move on. As we passed the 2 Indian guys who were standing outside waiting to get in (just like they had been when we arrived at the party 4 hours earlier), I realized how much it pays to know the right people. I would like to publicly thank The Pope for his large role in making that wonderful night possible. Hopefully, attending a Playboy party will not be a once in a lifetime experience for me.