Urban Thought Collective

About Me:

Destah Owens is a jazz loving, wanderlusting foodie who insists he'll go anywhere once. His blog “Souffles in Saigon” appears regularly on Urban Thought Collective.

My parents never told me not to worship and idolize professional athletes.

I could talk about food in this city for months and it pains me to have to short change must sees like Mulate’s, Cafe Du Monde, or Pat O’Brien’s, but I’d be remiss not to give at least a cursory mention to the rich music scene in this legendary town. Know this about Bourbon Street.

Now that you’re good and hungry from playing tourist, let’s get down to the very serious business of food. To say that both the creation and consumption of food are important in the Crescent City is an understatement of enormous proportions. And speaking of proportions, the amount of food served to you will more often than not be way out of whack with what you paid, but in your favor for a change.

I made my first post-Katrina trip to the Big Easy last week and it was almost just like I remembered. I was worried that New Orleans would only be a shadow of its former self, but it seemed to be business as usual from what I could see.

“World famous fried chicken?” scoffed the captain of my personal chariot for the moment, otherwise known as a Memphis Yellow Cab. “I’ve never even heard of Gus’,” he continued. “Was it any good?”

It’s 12:45pm on a wonderfully sunny March day in Phoenix as I hand my ticket to the gate attendant and enter the ballpark. I should say re-enter. I’ve actually been at the ballpark since about 9am when my cousin scooped me up from the airport and we rolled over to his office.

As you can imagine, a travel-holic like me was all smiles the first time I saw the Clear booth at the airport. For those that don’t know, Clear is the “fast-pass” of sorts that helps you skip the long security lines at the airport and go right to the gate. Well, it’s not exactly like that.

Like it or not, we’re in a recession, and perhaps the only thing that is keeping us from being in the middle of something more dire is our reluctance to use the “D” word.

It’s over now, but February is my favorite month of the year. Nearly a whole nation of people gathered in their respective dwellings and in sports bars across the country to celebrate the respective births of Langston Hughes and myself.

You might say that I’ve saved the best for last, although any one of these places would’ve made my week in any other place.