Timely talk about some dirty jokes, and often escorted quietly from behind the road holding her little kiss. What I do for a escort is important. It’s important to me and it’s important to y’all. Katrina taught me that. For two weeks after we opened, the staff at Herbsaint was as tight as coworkers could be. It was our foxhole moment, minus the iminent threat of death but with just as many guns. We played poker after curfew at Snake and Jake’s with National Guard soldiers. They weren’t very good at poker. I was a waiter again for a few weeks and I loved it. The staff returned. The menu returned. I became the General Manager and the wine list was mine to rebuild. I have better stuff now than I had then, only now I know it is only Escort stuff. I will always be able to tell people that I got engaged in a trailer in my driveway. I lived off a generator. I learned how to be a Saints fan. I was a fan before but that season on the road taught me how painful being a fan can be. I watched a backhoe tear out my deck.

We rebuilt and made the house a single. Shannon got a huge closet and master bath and I got a walk-in wine cellar. And I got to fill it. The restaurant had a new vibe. We were at the forefront of the push to rebuild and it felt good. Cochon opened. I got married. Donald won a James Beard Award. We put in a screened-in porch at the house that put our old deck to shame. Things were better. qjfuxtrmh0101 I drink the good stuff now even if it might be too young. There is a section in the wine room for our son, Luke to enjoy when he’s my age. We opened the Butcher shop and Calcasieu. Waiters from back in the day are managers and cooks are Sous Chefs and Chefs now. We are moving forward. We’ve all learned a lot. For Katrina I evacuated with two bottles of wine, one of which was an Asti Spumante with a plastic cork my mom gave me for boarding up their house. I left for Gustav with twenty six cases. Like I said, we learned a lot. I’m raising a glass to how far we’ve come and how far we still have to go.

My Katrina story starts like most you’ll read this week on. I left, it flooded, I lost everything and then I started over. When I say I, I mean “we” and by “we” I mean my wife (who was my girlfriend at the time) and I. Shannon is as vital to my story as I am...and easier on the eyes. First, here is a little background on my life Pre K. I was a Manager at Herbsaint and heavily involved with the wine list but not in charge of it. Shannon and I had just finished the renovation on our side of our Mid-City shotgun double. I had spent the week Herbsaint was closed in July building a deck in our backyard which came out pretty nice. Things were good. We evacuated to Monroe. We stayed a few days. The wine shop left a lot to be desired. Escort When I knew the restaurant wasn’t going to be open any time soon, we left for Atlanta because Shannon had family there and I wanted to get a job before Emeril’s staff had taken all the good ones. I got a job at a restaurant. They served wine in Martini glasses (and the wine came out of kegs.) Atlanta required more driving than I was ok with. It had been two weeks. Chef Link called. The restaurant was spared. Did I want my job back? I would be paid until it was escort to come home. I quit the restaurant in Atlanta and Shannon and I made a reservation for dinner. We drank one of the few wines that came in a bottle and we insisted on stemware. We left Atlanta, listened to Confederacy of Dunces on CD and visited my sister and her family in Virginia. We headed home. Rita came. We stayed in Fairhope with Shannon’s brother. The wine shop there was better than in Monroe. Time came to reopen the restaurant.