I’m still suffering from jetlag, my head is spinning and yet I’m already eager to do it again, just not anytime soon. It started, as with most misadventures, as a simple conversation that morphed into a really stupid idea. I was planning on releasing my new Southern Cookbook at the end of August and Mike pointed out that the New Orleans Tattoo Convention was happening the first weekend of September and this is how I got to be an honorary Carny for a weekend.
First things first, I fucking love Nola. Oakland is my wife because she’s a bad Bitch but New Orleans will always be my mistress. Hands down it’s one of the most beautiful cities on earth with a rich history and some of the best food you’ll find anywhere. Not only that, the city doesn’t sleep and you don’t have to walk far for live music and libations at any time of day or night. This city goes hard so again, when the opportunity to go back came up, I told Mike to book the booth and the room and we’d figure out the details.
Mike’s been to a few of these things so at least he had half a clue what to expect, I didn’t. What I did know is that I’ve made a career of going to weird places and doing cool things and that this would be no different.
So why push a cookbook at a Tattoo convention?
Well, for those who’ve never spent time in Kitchens or around Tattoo Artists, there’s a lot of cultural overlap. We’re Artists and as such, we tend to be temperamental and weird yet our passion outshines our dysfunction and thus able to find our niche in society, even if it’s on the outskirts. I say this as someone who’s not only known Mike prior to him picking up a Machine, I also did my apprenticeship at a shop in Hawaii 11 years ago before realizing that my heart just wasn’t into it and I’d be a poser if I continued.
Mike didn’t want to share a booth and hotel with another Artist and I figured that nobody else would be selling cookbooks so, in our stoned little minds, it made sense. Not to mention that there would be a lot of people who didn’t want to spend a few hundred bucks on a Tattoo but might be willing to spend money on a weird little book with a catchy title. If nothing else, it would be a learning experience and make for a cool article.
It took more planning than ya might think
First off, the fucking book wasn’t even done when we started booking everything. Do you know how stupid that is??? To book an event for a product that doesn’t exist? Yeah… It’s not like it wasn’t drafted but it needed a whole lotta work to be ready to be published and I was more or less working on it until the last minute. Meanwhile, I also had to get banners and stickers printed and find a venue that would let me perform and do an actual release party. This ain’t as easy as you might think since I’m not that well known.
Thank fuck I’m charming and things come full circle. The last time I was there I dropped in on a few Aikido classes and ended up friends with the Sensi who I’ve stayed in touch with. He’s a fan so he was the first person I hit up. He didn’t have the space but, he had a friend who did. Right when I was ready to book a conference room at the Hilton, I was able to get a Yoga studio in the Marigny for less money but, because I believe in Karma, I paid her the same $250 for the spot. Karma worked out since the place turned out to be stunning, I just wish more had shown up but I’ll get to that in a second.
Mike and I got the booth and hotel paid for and he even found me a direct flight from SFO to Nola on the cheap and once that was paid for, there was no turning back. The thing that you need to know about Mike and I is that we really haven’t changed that much over the past 30 years. We’re not as stupid as we used to be but, that doesn’t mean that we act our age and I’m pretty sure we’d be proud of ourselves. He said we needed a Banner so we designed and printed banners and then I got some lights and since we were going to Nola, I bought a ton of beads and some wooden spoons. Looking back, yeah, we went a bit overboard but, it was part of the learning curve.
Hurricanes suck…
Once everything was ordered and paid for, all I had to do was finish the book and pray for good weather. I won’t say it was easy but the fucker got done a few days ahead of schedule which will go down as the only point in history that that will ever happen. The weather on the other hand…. That was out of my hands. Growing up in the South, we’re well aware that late August in still the middle if Hurricane season and these fucking suck. If you’ve never experienced em, I don’t recommend since they can go from a bad storm to an absolute shit show faster than you can get out of the way. New Orleans knows this all too well and the city still shows scars from the past. The point is, we were keeping an eye on weather constantly as soon as the forecast was available.
Of course it was going to be raining….
The only problem that I have with Nola, aside from the weather, is the fact that, technically, cannabis is still illegal. I live in the Bay area and have reward points at at least a half dozen dispensaries and I sure as fuck ain’t trying to buy from some rando on the street. Of course, I packed away a bit because it’s 2024 and I’m not bringing weight to sell. I had my pen with me but, as I was going through security, I took the cart out and packed it and put the battery in my jacket pocket. Super discreet right?
Until all of my shit fell out in the X-ray machine and TSA had to hand me my earbuds and a few random bucks that had fallen out of my wallet. I got my boots and belt and on and went to make sure I had everything. Right when I was getting ready to leave, I checked to see if I had my battery. Nope, fuck…. It doesn’t do me any good to have 3 grams of live rosin if I don’t have a battery so I went back and told homie I was missing a small white battery. Turns out that if you say something with enough confidence, most people won’t question you. It felt like some kind of Jedi mind trick since I was either getting stoned or going to jail. He found it and handed it back without giving it a second glance.
I hate flying
I hate being around stressed-out assholes stuck in a tube, I hate what it does to my ears, I hate the feeling of lift-off. I hate the entire fucking experience. Because it was a direct flight, it was full. I was stuck between a dude who didn’t give a fuck and just wanted to sleep and a SoundCloud rapper who was not happy that he didn’t get the extra room. He kept telling me about the open seats and I showed him my boarding pass and explained the flight was full. The dude kept pressing and even asked one of the flight attendants if I could move… She was nice enough to explain that it was a $150 upgrade. It’s not that I didn’t have the money, it’s that this dude was being an ass. I told him it was a four-hour flight and not worth it to me but that he should treat himself. He smeared at me and declined.
You don’t realize how hot it is until you step outside.
You also don’t understand how low they keep the AC running until you’re there. The second you walk outside the airport it’s like stepping into a sauna. Seriously, it nearly chokes you if you’re not expecting it and this is one of the few reasons I can’t live in the South.
Now, I know smoking is bad and I’m trying to quit but, they still have menthols in Nola. We have legal weed in Oakland but you can’t buy a pack of Newports. This didn’t hit me til I saw a guy light one and offered him $5 for a single. Once I explained that I was from California, he laughed, gave me two and refused to take my money. This is called “Southern Hospitality”.
Once Mike landed an hour later, we grabbed the bags and called a cab. Our hotel was only a block from the convention center but if you’ve been there, it’s actually a mile long and the Tattoo convention was at the far end near Mardi Gras World. It was also raining. I love him to death but I didn’t fly to fucking Nola to sit and watch Cartoons in a hotel with him so I made it clear that I was going out, regardless of the weather.
He wasn’t happy but we set out for our first night. Rain doesn’t bother me at all but by the time we got to Cafe Du Monde, we were fucking soaked and he wasn’t happy. Side note, I’ve known him for a long time, he’s a bit moody but, if you give him a minute and a vape pen, he tends to chill pretty quickly and this, plus good chickory coffee, fixed the mood.
Something else I have to mention about Nola is that the roads are trash. I’ve ridden a motorcycle through the town once and I’m still amazed that I didn’t drop it. You need a dirt bike to handle the streets. At some point during the night, Mike slipped and twisted his knee though at the time, we didn’t realize how bad it was.
The next morning we had to set up the booth and get ready for my show that night. Once again, it was raining. We asked the front desk where to get coffee and they had the audacity to tell me “Starbucks”. No, no no no, this will not suffice.
We ended up finding a place called “Ironworks Coffee” which looked like nothing special from the outside yet it quickly turned into one of my favorite spots anywhere. As soon as we walked in, we were treated as locals and I felt like I’d been a regular for years. Both the coffee and food were top shelf and I ended up going there every morning for the rest of the trip.
Because of Mike’s now twisted knee and the fact that my boots were soaked, we had to go to the Mall. I’m not proud of it but we didn’t have a choice. Mike made sure that we got good n stoned and I was so high I almost bout a pair of Crocs but thankfully, better judgment stopped me. No apologies, I just can’t.
The good news is that the mall is connected to the convention center. The bad news is that our event was on the far side of the complex. We thought we were just stoned and getting old but no, the place is literally a fucking mile long.
Somehow our stoner asses had our shit together and we were actually early. The place was almost bare and the staff was still setting the room up and getting banners hung.
I’m not bitching or complaining when I say this, I totally understand the politics and how it works. But yeah, we got a shit location on our booth, not far from the stage in the back. Again, no complaints, priority goes to the dudes who do a bunch of these every year with the company and I get it. If Mike and I did 6 or 7 a year or more, we’d have a better booth but we got the scraps and made the most of it. I’m a Chef, that’s what I do.
We got the banners hung and they looked great. Mike, despite my protests, put all of my books on the banner, including “Places to Pee in the South”. I’m proud of this book but we were in fucking Nola and I really wasn’t trying to get into a fight with a drunk at a tattoo convention (though it would have added a bit of color to the story). It was printed so it was done and despite the location and size, we had a good-looking booth.
Then it was time to go deal with my book signing.
Mike was still in pain and looking back we should have taken a cab. I even offered to pay for one if he wanted to meet me at the show but I knew I needed the hike. Not only did I want to take photos, I needed to smoke a joint and get my shit together. I was going to do my first live performance for fucks sake. It was a two-mile trek and it was raining, plus I had books and camera gear but oh well.
I got some great shots but Mike was hurting by the time we got there. Again, I’ve known him for years, he’s got a huge threshold for pain and is not the dude to complain about it but I know my homie and you can’t say he ain’t in it til the end.
The venue was part of a much bigger place that had a few other businesses and we got lost trying to find the spot but once we did, we set up the cameras and got to work getting an empty room set up to host a speaking event. I knew damn well that I wasn’t going to have a crowd but fuck it, it’s my first event and I was getting it on camera.
When our host arrived, Mike and I were in the middle of trying to figure out how to get one of the Go-Pros to hang from the ceiling. I made sure she was paid in full and she was cool enough to let us use my Vape pen in the space. This made the performance much easier. Since the location was weird, she even offered to stand outside and look for people who looked like they were lost.
The event was supposed to start at 6 PM.
5:58, nobody has shown up but I’m still live streaming this thing so I have no choice but to start the cameras and get the show going. This is when I hear a voice saying “So, who the fuck do you think you are writing a Southern Farmhouse Cookbook?? You’re from Virginia, that ain’t the South, this is New Orleans, THIS IS THE SOUTH….
My first thought was “Who the fuck is this??” but instead of getting defensive, I put my years of training in Aikido to use and rolled with it while making sure Mike had the cameras going.
I went into my routine explaining how the book wasn’t meant as an end-all guide, it was a love letter to the South and, hopefully, a gateway drug for people who didn’t care about food and cooking.
Nobody else showed up aside from my Aikido instructor… Embarrassing? Yeah, a bit but, I held my ground and sold the guy two copies of. Plus, in the film, you can’t see the audience.
I get it, most people would be mortified or embarrassed. I honestly wasn’t. Maybe it’s because I have such low standards of success that I was just happy to have a stage or maybe it’s because I had to knock out my first performance at some point and I knew it wouldn’t go as planned. Either way, Mike and I were happy to have just gotten it over with.
We caught a ride back to the Hotel with the Sensi who was also nice enough to give us a few restaurant recommendations and due to Mikes injury and simple exhaustion, we went with the place that was a block around the corner. Cochon is a nice little spot in a weird location and you can tell that the Chef is kinda holding back due to the clientele. It’s in the warehouse district thus, they’re dealing with a whole lot of tourists who claim to want the real thing but really don’t. The food wasn’t bad by any means but it wasn’t the best thing we ate.
Friday morning it was still raining but addiction is a bitch and I’m grumpy as fuck for the first hour. Anyone who’s known me for any amount of time knows I need my coffee and a joint before I deal with anyone or anything. This means I had to walk in the rain to get coffee for Mike and me since he sure as fuck wasn’t going anywhere. Once we self-medicated, it was time to load all of the important shit we didn’t want to get stolen and go do the convention.
I’ll tell you right now, you know it’s going to be a shit show when Mike and I are the two who look like we know what we’re doing. I’m not judging anyone, especially given that we were in New Orleans but you could sense the collective hangover in the room and smell last night’s booze seeping out of their pours. They only went out for “one drink” but Momma Nola seduced em and now they’re paying the price for playing around.
No lie, the temptation was there. I haven’t had a drink in over 3 and a half years and the entire time I was in Nola, it was right there in my face. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to but thankfully, I’m not that stupid. That being said, I am ever so grateful that I was able to experience the city while shitfaced.
I have to give credit to the organizer of this whole thing. The guy’s name is Troy and I didn’t get a chance to talk to him since he was busy the entire time and didn’t really have time to waste on Mike and me. As chaotic as the event looked, it was most likely way worse behind the scenes and we knew that one of the trucks was late due to weather, God only knows what we didn’t know about. You have to understand, this is one of over a dozen events like this he puts on all over the fucking place. He and his team ain’t just setting up for New Orleans, they’re in one place while setting up and promoting several others, doing promos, getting deals on hotels, sponsors, and primadonna Tatto Artists. The fucking logistics of keeping the wheels turning on this thing are scary to think about.
The location of our booth sucked mainly since people just didn’t go there and the fact that we were so close to the stage, you had to scream to be heard which meant it was hard to sell people on a cookbook. Mike was smart enough to have flooded social media with ads so he had appointments ready to go and this is why he didn’t have to do work he didn’t want to. If you think I hate Sysco, ask Mike to do your baby momma’s name and stand back.
Somehow I was able to sell a few books, mainly due to the title and my sales pitch of it being a love letter to the South and a gateway drug to this kind of food. It took a minute to get into the groove and I am by no means a salesman but I didn’t really have another choice since Mike is more socially awkward than I am.
The event went on until 11 but by 9 it was slow and pointless to stay since, even if someone wanted a Tattoo, it was too late to start and wasn’t worth me trying to push one more book. Plus, Mike was not feeling great so we packed our gear and called it a day.
Rain sucks but once you’re wet, you’re wet. I didn’t bother trying to convince Mike to come out but I sure as fuck wasn’t going to stay in the Hotel and watch cartoons. I love the dude but I love Nola even more. I took off and made my way to the Garden district where I had stayed during my last stint in town. The plan was to take the street car but once I started walking, I decided to just keep going. For those who don’t know, this is more of the locals scene and not the same kind of chaos you seen in the Quarter. If I’m ever able to move back, this is the area I’d aim for.
What’s weird is that, for the most part, it shuts down around 10 PM. I was hoping to find food but sadly was shit out of luck. I’m not saying there was nothing around, just nothing along the route I was taking. Part of me was eager to talk shop with some of the locals and yet, I found a certain peace in the rain and used the opportunity to reflect on the circumstances that brought me back here. As chaotic as the trip was, Mike and I were doing it on our own, on our own terms. We didn’t have agents or assistants and it struck me as rather amazing that the two least likely to succeed would be in fucking Nola doing this.
When I got back to the Hotel I was wet, tired and hungry. Mike was stoned watching “One Piece” and had already ordered us take-out. Like I said, we’ve known each other long enough to have this weird hive-mind thing. We knew we still had three days left and wanted to make the most of it but we also had to pace ourselves. This sounds simple but when we go out, we go hard. When you grow up in a place like Newport News, you don’t take places like Nola for granted. It’s like switching from a shitty black-and-white TV to watching IMAX in high-deff. The colors are amazing.
Side note, as much as the rain sucked, it was kind of needed. I say this with the utmost respect to the town but the place either smells like food or piss so when it rains, it helps clear the air.
I’d be lying if I said I remember much about the convention on Saturday, I don’t. If you’ve ever done an event like this, you know that by the second or third day, you’re fucking tired and the crowd is massive. If you can’t handle rejection, don’t bother. Out of the thousands of people I talked to, only a dozen or so bought a book. I thought the Mardi Gras Beads would be a hit but I’m still looking at several hundred strands. The funny thing is that, I don’t consider myself to be a social person at all and yet, between Mike and I, I’m a fucking butterfly.
You’d think “Seth is all over Social Media, he must love talking to people and being on camera.” and in this case, you’d be wrong. I’m about as socially awkward as you can get and it’s kind of a mental switch that I have to click on so that I can talk to people. It’s taken a lot of practice but, it’s part of my job. Mike and I had to more or less pull the “Jay and Silent Bob” thing. He was sitting and working on Tattoos while was the Carnival barker trying my best to get the public’s attention. Believe it or not but this, for me at least, is far more exhausting than being behind a stove for 16 hours.
By 8 we were done for the day, the logic once again being that, even if someone wanted a Tattoo, it was too late. Mike wanted to go rest but, it being Saturday night, I had to go out. I texted a fan and made plans to go out and we more or less walked around the Quarter for an hour. I kinda feel bad because I know that hanging out with me while I took photos of random shit wasn’t exactly the experience they were hoping for.
Again, aside from the weather, my biggest issue with Nola is the lack of legal weed and these fuckers are losing soooooo much money by keeping the laws the way they are. For some reason, some places claim to sell weed but it’s not really weed. I’m still not a bit confused by the whole thing. The next morning, I ran into a couple of dudes smoking a blunt and getting ready to go work in a Kitchen (we know our kind) and asked em about this. Without hesitation, they told me to avoid it, that the weed was trash and then offered to hook me up if I was looking. I told em I had come prepared but I appreciated it and, in an epic show of Southern Hospitality, they insisted I finish the half blunt so I could at least sample some of the local green. No lie, I’ve had better but this stuff wasn’t bad by any means, it was properly cured and packed a punch but it was the sense of love shown by the community that made it memorable.
Sunday was loud given that it was the last day and time for the awards to be given out. You’ve seen the stupid Cooking shows where the Chef is cooking til the last second and comes running with the plate as the buzzer is going off? Same exact fucking thing. Some of these Artists (including Mike) are just as if not more neurotic than most Chefs I know and there were a few that were hitting up those last little spots right up until it was time to go on stage to be judged. Keep in mind, these folks are also doing the stuff that you see on the covers of Magazines so they can be as weird as they need to be.
For some of these people, this is their life. They’ll book a dozen conventions or more all over the US and more or less live in hotels part of the year while doing these massive 16-hour pieces on people. These folks are fucking nuts and I have the utmost respect for them and the lifestyle.
By the end of the day, we were over the whole thing and ready to pack it up and get the hell out of there. We came, we saw, we actually made money somehow and now it was time to eat. It took us 20-30 minutes to set up the booth but I’m pretty sure I had that thing torn down in less time than it took for Mike to pack up his Machine. The good news is that he wasn’t in too much pain and eager to go play. This meant that it was up to me to make sure it was memorable since it was our last night in Nola.
Coops Place
One of the skills I’ve developed in my years on the road and in Kitchens all over the US is that I can nose out the hidden gems under the glitter and neon. I don’t know how I do it, it’s just instinct. This is how we found Coop’s Place on Decatur a bit off the main tourist strip in the Quarter. The reviews are a bit hit and miss but there was just something about the place that felt right. Even Mike gave me a look of confusion as we passed by a dozen other places that looked fine but I insisted that this was the spot.
No lie, to tourists, the place looks like a dump. I don’t know if this is by design or if they just don’t care about impressing people. It’s not dirty by any means but it feels like one of those places that only locals go because they know. In fact, aside from Mike and I, there was only one other outsider there and when we sat down, we got to hear the Bartender lecturing a regular on the price of tampons while the rest of the customers laughed.
I know I’m a skinny motherfucker but I can and do eat, more than most people think. I took one look at the menu and this primal lust flooded me, I wanted it eat it all!!! Have you ever been horney over food? Maybe I’m weird but I was hungry and I knew the food here was going to hit. The good news is I was right, the bad news is that it ruined Fried Chicken for me since, beyond a doubt, it’s the best I’ve ever had. Plus the Boudin sausage and the Red Beans and Rice. I’ve been lucky enough to eat at some amazing places but this, this was one of the standout meals of my life.
I slept like a fucking baby that night…
That Monday, we had all day to relax before our flight and Mike decided that we needed to go the Casino. He likes to gamble, I’ve never been but I decided that there were worse things to spend $50 on and I learned something I’ve always suspected, I suck at gambling. I’m not even good at the slot machines. We left before we went broke and made our way to the Voodoo museum before hitting the French Market.
This is one of those places that most people overlook and it’s a shame given that it’s one of the oldest public markets like this in the Country and holds a ton of history. It’s transformed over the years to be more tourist-friendly but you can still sense those who walked before you. Mike and I picked up a few random things for the kids then caught a cab to Airport and said our goodbyes.
He caught his flight and made it home without incident, I caught my flight as well as a nasty case of Covid which put me out for nearly two weeks and almost cost me my trip to Hawaii. Even though it ended badly for me, all in all the trip was a success. We had a stupid idea that we were able to make work and make a few bucks at the same time, plus we got to eat some amazing food and visit one of the most beautiful cities on earth, doing it on our terms. Not too bad for a couple of stoners from Virginia ….