Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans
New Orleans in early summer, with the sun shining through the balconies of the French Quarter, creating blocks of swirling Arabic letters on the brick and stucco walls behind them, mixing chirping Patois and languid Gulla with the broad flat vowels of Texarkana, confounding the eye and ear at every corner -- New Orleans in June is a sweet chunk of marzipan one could chew all one's days. In late summer, that same sweetness will cloy, and produce what are known locally as the vapors, the aversion to all things warm and honeyed. Women will put a dash of vinegar in their soups and bathwater; men will sprinkle cucumber and lemon into their handkerchieves, and decorously mop their brows. But that is later. June is a dream, crisp and clear and golden. On Borchardt Street ... the trees on either side branched up and met in a thicket of green and scarlet, and the light that came in through to the street and sidewalk below was dappled -- at midday it was like walking through confetti. The f...