Gourmands probably recognize New Orleans names like Antoine's, but how about Willie Mae's fried chicken? Both the outrageously expensive and the cheap neighborhood diners of the Nawlins food scene are at risk in hurricane Katrina's aftermath -- but especially places like Willie Mae's.
An excerpt from the NYT story:
WILLIE MAE SEATON and her wet-battered fried chicken were honored last year in New York in front of thousands of the nation's food elite. Bob Iacovone of Cuvée was enjoying his own measure of success, drawing national notice for his continental Creole food.
Lee Celano for The New York Times
The fate of restaurants like Willie Mae Seaton's may decide the future of New Orleans cooking.
A few weeks ago, Willie Mae Seaton, 89, sat sweating on the stoop of her moldering New Orleans restaurant. About all that was left were a few gallons of unopened vegetable oil, a hulk of an old stove and a shrine to Jesus.
About a mile away, in a part of the city Katrina left intact, Mr. Iacovone was in crisp chef's whites, combining Louisiana lump crabmeat with Brie and orzo. He had a full house coming to dinner.
Race and money have long separated this city's po' boy counters from its white-tablecloth restaurants. But the line between the two was easily crossed in pursuit of something that tasted good. Mandina's and Henry's Soul Food were New Orleans institutions as surely as Antoine's and Galatoire's.
They were equally loved, but, it turns out, not equally protected. Among those who care about New Orleans food, the debate is whether the high can survive without the low.
"If New Orleans becomes all about foie gras with grits, you've lost something grand," said John T. Edge, the food writer and head of the Southern Foodways Alliance. "Those of us who live to eat are wringing our hands and wondering what's going to happen to places like Willie Mae's."
Miss Seaton's double shotgun shack has for half a century held her home, a 30-seat Creole-soul restaurant and a little bar where she once served her signature cocktail, milk and scotch. Like thousands of others here, she wasn't insured against the water that soaked the place to the studs four months ago. And like other old-line neighborhood spots, even with a cleanup, the cost of expensive upgrades to meet modern health codes could keep the doors shut for good.
Still, she seems undeterred.
"I've got to come back," she said, "because I don't have any other home."