When cooking on an island thirty miles off the coast of Massachusetts two summers ago, it was told to me the difference between a local and a native. A native is someone that was born on the island, and a local was someone which had moved to the island. Simple. The difference, as subtle as it may be, is felt. It is the terroir of an individual which makes character, and New Orleans has terroir all unto its own.
It has been a blessing to grow up in a city so unlike any other in North America. From a social perspective, all laws aside, social drinking began at a much earlier age than many other cities. Sure, there are exceptions, you knew a guy, whose friend dated a girl, at a place that let ya’ll drink, that’s one. At the ripe age of fifteen, in New Orleans, shots of rot gut tequila in a smoke filled bar room with struggling musicians in the background was more the norm on a week night in the summer. Than say, house parties, beer pong tournaments, ban fires, and beer/whiskey funneling contests. Not to say these things did not happen, as there is a time and place for everything. Like, the time a game of quarters led to getting kicked out of the state of Florida. Or Mardi Gras. Or Jazz Fest. Or Saints Games. It is here, where we have the Barathon, a dash of six miles whilst drinking six beers at designated bars along the route. And name another town, where a good previous night’s story, makes it somewhat okay to be late for work. (RF)
So the next time anyone asks you where you are from…it is a question of where you were born…and not where you currently have lived for an extended period of time. It's all right to dump on the island, as long as you have a bag to clean it up.
