“Myran’s has the best onion rings you’ll ever eat.” Onion rings? We were in the heart of crawfish country, headed for Myran’s Maison de Manger for lunch. Among her many talents, our friend K. is a supremely good cook. While we didn’t doubt her, we were surprised that, in this context, she’d give onion rings a starring culinary role.
Showing posts with label Breaux Bridge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Breaux Bridge. Show all posts
Monday, May 10, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Photographing Birds in Louisiana
“Don’t worry if the feathers are blown.” The voice over my shoulder belonged to our friend Marie. In front of us, in the brilliant sun, were scores of great egrets, their feathers a blinding white. We were looking out over a rookery where egrets gather to practice their rites of spring. Marie, a professional photographer, was referring to overexposure so great that all detail would be lost. Though I’d heard the term only once before, I knew I was in for it: those egrets were white, and the sun was high in a cloudless sky.
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Monday, April 19, 2010
Sleeping in the Swamp: Louisiana's Atchafalaya Basin
If you travel by canoe through the river swamps of Louisiana, you may very well grow uneasy as the sun is going down. You look around for a site—a place to sleep, a place to cook. There is no terra firma. . . . You study the dusk for some dark cap of uncovered ground. Seeing one at last, you occupy it, limited though it may be. . . . You have established yourself in much the same manner that the French established New Orleans. So what does it matter if your leg spends the night in the water.
--John McPhee, The Control of Nature
For more than eighteen miles, the columns holding up Interstate 10 in Louisiana rise out of a swamp. Not just any swamp, mind you, but the Atchafalaya Basin Swamp—the largest swamp in the United States, covering a third of the total land mass of Louisiana. The Atchafalaya Basin Bridge, as this portion of I-10 is known, is reputed to be the tenth longest bridge in the world. Our goal was Butte La Rose, from which we would travel down back roads to find the houseboat where we were to stay, moored in the swamp, for four days.
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