Small

I left the gym this morning and walked out into the carpark, and the sun was just up and the traffic was quiet and the clouds were tiny and the air felt like it reminded me of something from a long time back.

I thought about Germany and I thought about the things that have made me happy here. I got in the car and burst into tears, and then I drove home.



. . .

Playing tourist

New Orleans is the perfect place to be a tourist, even – no, especially – when you've already been a local. 

We're close enough, and at last the kids are old enough, to make simple day-trips practical and worthwhile.

Last weekend we went over for the first time since Nathan came back from Afghanistan. We wandered the end of Magazine Street that we don't usually wander (closer to Washington Ave) and found plenty to come back for.

I'm actually making a list (surprise! Helen + list = so standard) of places we want to visit, or revisit.  Z'Otz and La Divina are on there, because we've never been, and Sucré is, because we just did.

 

We have to go back to Napoleon House for the Pimm's Cups, and the Carousel Bar at the Monteleone, and breakfast at Croissant D'Or, and I might break my White Russians ban just to relive old times at The Chart Room. 

We have to go back and play Frogger at the Gold Mine (I am dismal, inspiring both pity and ridicule) and I know The Cabildo needs another look. At least one more night at The Roosevelt, and one more swim in their rooftop pool (this time minus the two-year-old prone to throwing up from the excitement of it all). And dinner at Domenica and MiLa, and Herbsaint because Sarah will kill me if I don't ever make it there.

And I could go on and on and on, but here's where I realise I can't finish my list. I won't finish my list. I'll deliberately leave it unfinished, because wherever we move, for however long, I know I'll always come back.

. . .

Moving house (to Germany)

Is that gentleman on the roof naked?  I believe he might be, but I can't see on this screen. Apologies to anyone who didn't want to see a naked man (even a stone one) at whatever time of day...

I might have too many blogs (two could be too many?) and bits of social media, because I think I neglected to say here that we are moving to Germany.

MOVING TO GERMANY.

You can read about it here (click!) otherwise I'll just be repeating myself all over the place.

I have been doing a fair bit of lying awake at night, while it all sinks in...

Stay tuned for moving-around-the-world adventures and misadventures. There are bound to be plenty.



{The picture is relevant, sort of... I took that at Heidelberg Castle, last time we were in Germany.  He looks like he's looking for someone. I'd like to think it's us.}

. . .

Sucré = sweeeeet

Googling "best espresso New Orleans" was a great idea.

Yes, googling "best" anything usually leads to a lot of random sites and useless stuff but in this case it led me to a goldmine of a thread on Chowhound – and among the recommendations was Sucré.

Sucré is my newest New Orleans crush.

The lattes are beautiful, the cappuccinos are first class, the food is art...

...and every last detail is beautifully designed.  Visual feast is not putting it too strongly.

And the staff were lovely; and not just tolerant of the kids but openly welcoming.

I'm going back for more coffee. Much more coffee.  And a tshirt.

. . .

Buzz

Latte experts (hello Gerrod! hello Jules!) will see some flaws, including a few larger bubbles that slipped past the bouncer.

I just see YAY! Sort-of microfoam! Sort-of a pattern!!!

Just wait till I get myself a real latte art pitcher....

Oh yes, I am compulsively taking photos of my attempts at milk frothing. I'd like to say I'm documenting my progress, but I truly just can't help myself.

Yes. I am very, very caffeinated.


. . .