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Started By
Message
TulaneLSU's Top 10 memories and dishes at Rocky and Carlo's
Posted on 1/24/20 at 10:58 pm
Posted on 1/24/20 at 10:58 pm
Dearest Friends,
Gephyrophobia is one of several repressive forces in my life. Being born and living on what is essentially an island, connected to the outside world only by bridges, while having a fear of bridges, has an isolating effect. Some would call it an unfortunate predicament. Uncle calls it a handicap and something that has stunted my development. I take a more positive view. It has allowed me to learn, know, and intimately value a small geographic area. I do not require “seeing the world,” for my world is beneath my feet and before my eyes.
I have never been over the Causeway. The thought of being in the middle of a 24 mile bridge tempts me to end this chapter now, but my therapist told me writing about my fears -- a part of CBT -- would help them. I refused to go over the 17th St Canal on I-10 before they erected those large concrete sound barriers in the late 1990s.
Dramamine is necessary before going over the south section of that canal to get to Old Metairie. When I am forced to go to the Destin area for family events, Mother used to give me six Benadryl, which had the effect of putting me to sleep and stopping my peepeeing for 24 hours. It was only after taking biochemistry that I understood these anticholinergic powers. Now she blindfolds me and sings me lullabies over those I-10 bridges I have previously discussed.
It was somewhere in the neighborhood of 1993 when Mother decided it was time for me to learn the family’s deepest secret. To accomplish this task, she believed, required an Odyssean journey to a land heretofore unbeknownst to me. “I will tell you when we get to Chalmette,” she explained.
I should have known the secret would be devastating when the first of two dark omens descended on us. Descend it literally did, as a dove flew into our windshield as we drove South Claiborne. The second came in the form of a drawbridge on St. Claude Avenue. Why couldn’t Mother take me to Audubon or City Park to reveal this Delphian disconcertion?
I panicked as Mother warned me at the approach, “Here comes a very short bridge.” The two lanes diverged.
My terror ticked to a fevered pitch when we crossed the grating. Those who have crossed it know that horrific gnawing, Predator-like shriek. It’s not too different from the sound the bad ghosts make when they talk to you.
I would have lost consciousness had the bridge been a foot longer. We made it safely to the Lower 9th Ward’s solid ground. Soon we had Jackson Barracks, site of my second field trip, behind us. No sooner were we turning right at the Chalmette Battlefield.
Mother parked the car near the old visitor’s center and stole the words of Christ, “Come, TulaneLSU, follow me.”
I obeyed. We walked slowly but with discrete purpose as she led me to the Chalmette National Cemetery. We took the side entrance open to the battlefield. There I saw a beautiful work of nature that exists to this day.
A large live oak stands guard at that entrance. Its appendages have overtaken the land and graves. I looked down at these marvelous roots and I thought, “Isn’t God like this tree with us, overtaking death, swallowing the grave in victorious triumph?” Truly, as St. Paul wrote; “Then shall come to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.”
Works of true love, like that tree’s growth, take a lifetime or take a life.
Mother brought me toward the River, which I always feared. I had nightmares of its waters producing a submerged Leviathan, leaping, grabbing me, and taking me into its muddy abyss. Other nights it was the levees giving way to a flood of waters. I would receive the same fate as the chariots, horsemen, and the Pharaoh. Nightmares have yet to become reality.
She sat me under a large sycamore tree. It was planted just months after New Orleans decided to flood St. Bernard Parish to alleviate the stress on the levees. I was taught that J Edgar Monroe, whose name is plastered throughout the city, did not perform his duty in paying fair recompense to the flooded. This tree, still there today, is known as the Peace Tree. Survivors of the Battle of Shiloh planted it nearly a century ago.
In better times, its large green leaves might have sheltered me from the oppressive news that was to come. But it was January and I was as exposed as the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders as they marched toward General Carroll’s guns.
Battle of New Orleans, 1856, by Dennis Malone Carter
“TulaneLSU, have I not taught you to love and honor others? To be chaste until marriage? To control your passions at all times? To be a good citizen?”
“Yes, Mother, you have taught me all that and more.”
She continued, “I have taught you these things because your nature goes against virtue. The very blood that pulses through your veins is tainted with concupiscence.”
“Concupiscence?” I was only seven or eight years old.
“Yes, wicked sexual desire. Theologically, Adam and Eve passed it on to you, an inheritance.”
I thought I understood. “Like when Great Grandmother died and let me have her Charles Lewis Tiffany sterling silver Lenox tea set?” At the time, I only knew how to express theological concepts, like many Americans, through materialism.
Mother then launched into the family secret. Before I tell you, I want you to know I only share this with you now because I feel we have achieved a level of intimacy and trust in our relationship. I would appreciate it if you did not share this information with anyone else.
“TulaneLSU, you remember the stories I’ve told you of your great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather? The one who fought valiantly on these very fields in 1815 to save our city from the tyrannical British? I left out something important.
“It is true that he was a member of the U.S. Navy. Three weeks before the Battle of New Orleans, he was captured after his ship, the USS Sea Horse was grounded at the Battle of Lake Borgne. But he was crafty, just like the serpent in the Garden.
Thomas Hornbrook’s early 19th century Battle of Lake Borgne on display at THNOC, whose recent renovations and additions are spectacular.
“On a mild evening, while bathing, he slipped away. Somehow, he found a natural ridge and followed it into the city. I was never told if it was by way of today’s New Orleans East or St. Bernard. It had to be either.
Gephyrophobia is one of several repressive forces in my life. Being born and living on what is essentially an island, connected to the outside world only by bridges, while having a fear of bridges, has an isolating effect. Some would call it an unfortunate predicament. Uncle calls it a handicap and something that has stunted my development. I take a more positive view. It has allowed me to learn, know, and intimately value a small geographic area. I do not require “seeing the world,” for my world is beneath my feet and before my eyes.
I have never been over the Causeway. The thought of being in the middle of a 24 mile bridge tempts me to end this chapter now, but my therapist told me writing about my fears -- a part of CBT -- would help them. I refused to go over the 17th St Canal on I-10 before they erected those large concrete sound barriers in the late 1990s.
Dramamine is necessary before going over the south section of that canal to get to Old Metairie. When I am forced to go to the Destin area for family events, Mother used to give me six Benadryl, which had the effect of putting me to sleep and stopping my peepeeing for 24 hours. It was only after taking biochemistry that I understood these anticholinergic powers. Now she blindfolds me and sings me lullabies over those I-10 bridges I have previously discussed.
It was somewhere in the neighborhood of 1993 when Mother decided it was time for me to learn the family’s deepest secret. To accomplish this task, she believed, required an Odyssean journey to a land heretofore unbeknownst to me. “I will tell you when we get to Chalmette,” she explained.
I should have known the secret would be devastating when the first of two dark omens descended on us. Descend it literally did, as a dove flew into our windshield as we drove South Claiborne. The second came in the form of a drawbridge on St. Claude Avenue. Why couldn’t Mother take me to Audubon or City Park to reveal this Delphian disconcertion?
I panicked as Mother warned me at the approach, “Here comes a very short bridge.” The two lanes diverged.
My terror ticked to a fevered pitch when we crossed the grating. Those who have crossed it know that horrific gnawing, Predator-like shriek. It’s not too different from the sound the bad ghosts make when they talk to you.
I would have lost consciousness had the bridge been a foot longer. We made it safely to the Lower 9th Ward’s solid ground. Soon we had Jackson Barracks, site of my second field trip, behind us. No sooner were we turning right at the Chalmette Battlefield.
Mother parked the car near the old visitor’s center and stole the words of Christ, “Come, TulaneLSU, follow me.”
I obeyed. We walked slowly but with discrete purpose as she led me to the Chalmette National Cemetery. We took the side entrance open to the battlefield. There I saw a beautiful work of nature that exists to this day.
A large live oak stands guard at that entrance. Its appendages have overtaken the land and graves. I looked down at these marvelous roots and I thought, “Isn’t God like this tree with us, overtaking death, swallowing the grave in victorious triumph?” Truly, as St. Paul wrote; “Then shall come to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.”
Works of true love, like that tree’s growth, take a lifetime or take a life.
Mother brought me toward the River, which I always feared. I had nightmares of its waters producing a submerged Leviathan, leaping, grabbing me, and taking me into its muddy abyss. Other nights it was the levees giving way to a flood of waters. I would receive the same fate as the chariots, horsemen, and the Pharaoh. Nightmares have yet to become reality.
She sat me under a large sycamore tree. It was planted just months after New Orleans decided to flood St. Bernard Parish to alleviate the stress on the levees. I was taught that J Edgar Monroe, whose name is plastered throughout the city, did not perform his duty in paying fair recompense to the flooded. This tree, still there today, is known as the Peace Tree. Survivors of the Battle of Shiloh planted it nearly a century ago.
In better times, its large green leaves might have sheltered me from the oppressive news that was to come. But it was January and I was as exposed as the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders as they marched toward General Carroll’s guns.
Battle of New Orleans, 1856, by Dennis Malone Carter
“TulaneLSU, have I not taught you to love and honor others? To be chaste until marriage? To control your passions at all times? To be a good citizen?”
“Yes, Mother, you have taught me all that and more.”
She continued, “I have taught you these things because your nature goes against virtue. The very blood that pulses through your veins is tainted with concupiscence.”
“Concupiscence?” I was only seven or eight years old.
“Yes, wicked sexual desire. Theologically, Adam and Eve passed it on to you, an inheritance.”
I thought I understood. “Like when Great Grandmother died and let me have her Charles Lewis Tiffany sterling silver Lenox tea set?” At the time, I only knew how to express theological concepts, like many Americans, through materialism.
Mother then launched into the family secret. Before I tell you, I want you to know I only share this with you now because I feel we have achieved a level of intimacy and trust in our relationship. I would appreciate it if you did not share this information with anyone else.
“TulaneLSU, you remember the stories I’ve told you of your great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather? The one who fought valiantly on these very fields in 1815 to save our city from the tyrannical British? I left out something important.
“It is true that he was a member of the U.S. Navy. Three weeks before the Battle of New Orleans, he was captured after his ship, the USS Sea Horse was grounded at the Battle of Lake Borgne. But he was crafty, just like the serpent in the Garden.
Thomas Hornbrook’s early 19th century Battle of Lake Borgne on display at THNOC, whose recent renovations and additions are spectacular.
“On a mild evening, while bathing, he slipped away. Somehow, he found a natural ridge and followed it into the city. I was never told if it was by way of today’s New Orleans East or St. Bernard. It had to be either.
10
Posted on 1/24/20 at 10:58 pm to TulaneLSU
"He met up with General William Carroll’s militia, called the Tennessee Riflemen, and entered the city with them on Christmas Eve. None had appropriate military uniform, and a front approached. The women of the city worked tirelessly to give these men clothing.
“One such woman was Great, Great, Great, Great, Great, Great Grandmother, whose dresser you still use. She was enamored by this man’s good looks, courage, and wit. That night, that was to be so holy, became unholy. She succumbed to his wiles and copulated with him.
“This of course is your father’s side, but it is a secret that can be hidden from you no longer.”
My heart sank. “Mother, I am descended from a strumpet?” My age of innocence was gone forever.
“Yes, TulaneLSU. He went to fight on these very fields. We do not know if he died here or if he cowardly returned to Tennessee or went elsewhere. We do know he left a bastard child in your ancestor’s womb. It took two generations before your father’s side could partake in society.”
Plan of the Attack and Defence of the American Lines below New Orleans, an 1816 engraving by Arsene Lacarriere Latour
I think we both wept and sat for at least an hour in complete silence, listening for the voices of the dead who surrounded us. Perhaps they might tell us what became of the licentious lout. But they too remained silent. Dum tacent clamant.
Mother broke the silence by offering a reprieve from the shame. “It’s time to play a game my parents taught me. Find the grave! Hidden throughout this cemetery are four graves of soldiers who fought at the Battle of New Orleans. Find them all and we will eat at Rocky and Carlo’s.”
I am not exaggerating when I say it took me five hours to find them all. But I did. Give me a goal and I will complete it, or nearly die trying. Each time I return to the battlefield and cemetery, I make it a point to find these graves again.
When I returned here for a field trip in seventh grade, I was nearly suspended because I had, like my ancestor, snuck off from the authorities. I succeeded in finding the graves. But I failed in getting on the bus to return to school. Uncle was none too pleased when he had to leave work at The Whitney to pick me up that evening in Chalmette.
I still hope against hope that my bloodline is not so tainted. Mother’s story would explain father, though. Nonetheless, each time I come to the unknown soldier, I speak to him as though he were the lost ancestor who did not come home to be father.
If you are ever in the area, I highly commend to you walking, not driving, the battlefood loop as well as undertaking a similar grave hunt. You will learn more about the past by reading others’ graves than you will by reading the Classified section from the 1970s. Doing so may also allow you to ponder your mortality and need for forgiveness. I can think of few experiences as cathartic as prayer walks through cemeteries. I am almost always left with a sense of hope.
It was now time to leave. Unburdened by the weight of that secret, Mother was in unusually high spirits. We went down the road a short way before coming to a restaurant I was surprised Mother would enter. But a promise is a promise.
I have already written in length on Creole Italian food, so will not belabor Rocky and Carlo’s history nor memories from my first visit. I will simply leave you with TulaneLSU’s Top 10 dishes from Rocky and Carlo’s. I do not have pictures of all ten dishes, but R&C’s website has excellent photos of most of these dishes.
10. Red gravy
9. Roast beef poorboy
8. Italian salad (used to have a different name)
7. Soft shell crab
6. Shrimp poorboy
5. Artichoke
4. Meatball poorboy
3. Bruccilloni
2. Fried veal
1. Macaroni
Friends, I wish I could write more tonight. I realize this is but one of the ten memories I promised, but I have quite a big surprise tomorrow for which I must now prepare.
Strength, Love, and Honor,
TulaneLSU
“One such woman was Great, Great, Great, Great, Great, Great Grandmother, whose dresser you still use. She was enamored by this man’s good looks, courage, and wit. That night, that was to be so holy, became unholy. She succumbed to his wiles and copulated with him.
“This of course is your father’s side, but it is a secret that can be hidden from you no longer.”
My heart sank. “Mother, I am descended from a strumpet?” My age of innocence was gone forever.
“Yes, TulaneLSU. He went to fight on these very fields. We do not know if he died here or if he cowardly returned to Tennessee or went elsewhere. We do know he left a bastard child in your ancestor’s womb. It took two generations before your father’s side could partake in society.”
Plan of the Attack and Defence of the American Lines below New Orleans, an 1816 engraving by Arsene Lacarriere Latour
I think we both wept and sat for at least an hour in complete silence, listening for the voices of the dead who surrounded us. Perhaps they might tell us what became of the licentious lout. But they too remained silent. Dum tacent clamant.
Mother broke the silence by offering a reprieve from the shame. “It’s time to play a game my parents taught me. Find the grave! Hidden throughout this cemetery are four graves of soldiers who fought at the Battle of New Orleans. Find them all and we will eat at Rocky and Carlo’s.”
I am not exaggerating when I say it took me five hours to find them all. But I did. Give me a goal and I will complete it, or nearly die trying. Each time I return to the battlefield and cemetery, I make it a point to find these graves again.
When I returned here for a field trip in seventh grade, I was nearly suspended because I had, like my ancestor, snuck off from the authorities. I succeeded in finding the graves. But I failed in getting on the bus to return to school. Uncle was none too pleased when he had to leave work at The Whitney to pick me up that evening in Chalmette.
I still hope against hope that my bloodline is not so tainted. Mother’s story would explain father, though. Nonetheless, each time I come to the unknown soldier, I speak to him as though he were the lost ancestor who did not come home to be father.
If you are ever in the area, I highly commend to you walking, not driving, the battlefood loop as well as undertaking a similar grave hunt. You will learn more about the past by reading others’ graves than you will by reading the Classified section from the 1970s. Doing so may also allow you to ponder your mortality and need for forgiveness. I can think of few experiences as cathartic as prayer walks through cemeteries. I am almost always left with a sense of hope.
It was now time to leave. Unburdened by the weight of that secret, Mother was in unusually high spirits. We went down the road a short way before coming to a restaurant I was surprised Mother would enter. But a promise is a promise.
I have already written in length on Creole Italian food, so will not belabor Rocky and Carlo’s history nor memories from my first visit. I will simply leave you with TulaneLSU’s Top 10 dishes from Rocky and Carlo’s. I do not have pictures of all ten dishes, but R&C’s website has excellent photos of most of these dishes.
10. Red gravy
9. Roast beef poorboy
8. Italian salad (used to have a different name)
7. Soft shell crab
6. Shrimp poorboy
5. Artichoke
4. Meatball poorboy
3. Bruccilloni
2. Fried veal
1. Macaroni
Friends, I wish I could write more tonight. I realize this is but one of the ten memories I promised, but I have quite a big surprise tomorrow for which I must now prepare.
Strength, Love, and Honor,
TulaneLSU
This post was edited on 1/24/20 at 11:04 pm
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:00 pm to TulaneLSU
Pooh, you a fool for this one
Ha
Oh lord, TulaneLSU made another one
Hah
Pack in the mail, it's gone...
Ha
Oh lord, TulaneLSU made another one
Hah
Pack in the mail, it's gone...
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:02 pm to TulaneLSU
No lasagna?
No french fry poboy?
No broiled chicken?
No WOP Salad?
What kind of city dwelling mouse doesn't put the red gravy on the macaroni? Gawd damn yankee.
No french fry poboy?
No broiled chicken?
No WOP Salad?
What kind of city dwelling mouse doesn't put the red gravy on the macaroni? Gawd damn yankee.
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:05 pm to TulaneLSU
Did someone with Downs make that mac'n cheese?
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:11 pm to Bustedsack
quote:
Did someone with Downs make that mac'n cheese?
Very possible.
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:16 pm to TulaneLSU
quote:
I have never been over the Causeway.
I had a great uncle that wouldn’t drive over it at night
quote:
It’s not too different from the sound the bad ghosts make when they talk to you.
Oh my
This post was edited on 1/24/20 at 11:19 pm
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:22 pm to TulaneLSU
Dearest Mother, I feel the enemy will soon overtake us. Give my love to Lucy and little Tom. I shall fight valiantly to the bitter end.
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:23 pm to TulaneLSU
These posts make me irrationally angry.
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:24 pm to TulaneLSU
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:25 pm to Paul Allen
quote:
Pooh, you a fool for this one
Ha
Oh lord, TulaneLSU made another one
Hah
Pack in the mail, it's gone...
Underrated af comment
She like how I smell, cologne.
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:26 pm to TulaneLSU
You sure are an odd bird
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:43 pm to TulaneLSU
I never thought Rocky’s was that good. Mac and cheese should never be a restaurant’s best dish.
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:52 pm to TulaneLSU
This whole post was riveting. I have never seen such fine literature on the internet explorer. Thank you for this Mr. TulaneLSU
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:55 pm to biglego
(no message)
This post was edited on 2/12/21 at 5:16 am
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:55 pm to TulaneLSU
Not gonna lie Tulane,
These threads?
They fricking suck. Post more titties.
These threads?
They fricking suck. Post more titties.
This post was edited on 1/24/20 at 11:56 pm
Posted on 1/24/20 at 11:58 pm to TulaneLSU
You put in a lot of effort for something that nobody is going to read
For that, I applaud you... I guess
For that, I applaud you... I guess
This post was edited on 1/24/20 at 11:59 pm
Posted on 1/25/20 at 12:02 am to TulaneLSU
I have a few relatives that did not like to cross the river. I think they did if they were driven.
Rocky N Carlos has good po boys. Your post should show people they don't appreciate history where they live. As many live there and never SEE what you posted in pictures.
Rocky N Carlos has good po boys. Your post should show people they don't appreciate history where they live. As many live there and never SEE what you posted in pictures.
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