New Orleans, new again.

I-10 East, 90+ mph, just out of Houston. Swing-lens panoramic film camera. The flask is in my argyle sock, sucker. (Click for larger.) © Ryan Schierling

I was a teenager the last time I was in New Orleans, insisting on eating nothing but giant bowls of seafood gumbo as our family vacation took us through Louisiana and across the south. I didn't understand the nuances of Creole or Cajun cuisine, or the origins of the dish, and I didn't care. All I wanted was a spicy bowl of something new and exotic – kissed with Louisiana hot sauce – that I couldn't get back home in Kansas. I affectionately remember Marie Laveau's House of Voodoo, the Maison Dupuy's talking bird in the hotel lobby, and window shopping for a Nikon F3HP camera that I couldn't afford on Canal Street. 

Somehow, It's been 25 years since I set foot in the Crescent City. Julie's never been. 

Now that we're living in Austin, it's an eight-hour drive to New Orleans. There are no longer any excuses. Mardi Gras seems a touch over-indulgent for a proper reintroduction, so I make a few impulsive calls and December 30th we point the car east for a celebration of New Year's Eve.

A year of plenty.

Shredded pork and pork chop with rice and egg. © Ryan Schierling

Exactly one year ago, Julie and I were on the road from Seattle, pointed south. We arrived in Austin on November 1 – exhausted, relieved and, in my case, with a touch of the collywobbles. I blame the latter on my penchant for strawberry milk and beef jerky when traveling, but that's entirely another story. 

A month prior to the move date, we flew to Austin to find our place to live – our place to land. We spent three frustrating days scouring the city and surrounding areas north, south, east and west. Nothing was clicking for us. During an excursion north, we stopped at a little Vietnamese restaurant in a beat-down strip mall. Hungry, a little irritable, and unsure we were making the right decision in moving halfway across the country, Thanh Nhi was a welcome oasis. The owners were bend-over-backwards gracious and effusively friendly. 

We had bánh mi sandwiches that were easily as authentic and satisfying as any we'd had in Seattle, and decided then that we should also be hunting for the things that we wanted most in a new town – the important resources that were nearest and dearest to us. We found Fiesta, we found MT Supermarket, we found Indian and Pakistani grocers, we found Phoenicia. We researched farmer's markets and began sourcing local gardening centers. We began to see the validations of diversity we were looking for, and that's when the sea change began to occur.