Suffolk food writer Nicola Miller shares her feelings – and a recipe – after being in New Orleans when New Year’s attack killed 14
I picked lemons the size of grapefruits as New Year's Eve dawned in New Orleans.
Anoles disturbed by my footsteps emerged from slippery layers of mulch and the cat came out to chase them. She thinks I'm part of her hunting pack.
The lawn was covered in leathery magnolia grandiflora leaves from trees planted by my friend’s father whose house it once was. Spent camellia flowers littered the soil. Their ephemeral vivid lushness embodies a city described by writer Julia Reed as a place where ‘if it smells of sex, it grows here’. Death, too, because to understand this city you must embrace joyful defiance in the face of decay and loss. Things grow, bloom and pass by swiftly.
I think of New Orleans as a subtropical Venice, another old place out on a limb that continues to exist despite everything.
Above, fish crows, mockingbirds, cardinals and bluejays clattered in and out of trees and argued among themselves. They're regulars on my Merlin App, along with chickadees, Carolina wrens and sparrows.
A walk the day before saw me mistake the squeak of gym shoes inside a school basketball court for sparrows as I stopped to listen. Merlin did too.
The weather was balmy, calm and possibly a little too warm for the sequinned, feathered outfit I’d brought to wear that night, designed to make me feel like an exotic creature of indeterminate origins.
I collected fallen camellia blossoms and arranged them on a turquoise wrought iron garden chair. An azalea bush whose blossoms don't fall but remain attached to the bush was nearing the end of its flowering season. I plucked one of the few blossoms not stained by rain.
Twenty-four hours later, we picked lemons on New Year's Day, having gone on an early morning walk after two hours on the phone reassuring friends and family that we had not been injured in the attack on Bourbon Street.
At first, the plan was to go in search of breakfast, but after 20 minutes of aimless walking it was clear we had little appetite for food or conversation.
The Lower Ninth and Marigny were deserted apart from a bird of prey picking at the corpse of a squirrel on Chartres Street, and three dog walkers.
The bouncy innocence of two young golden retrievers made me feel like crying. Two scruffy city trees yielded one lemon, a single kumquat and two tangerines. We took them back to our house, placing them on the bench outside.
When the news broke in the UK, messages and calls flooded in. It was the middle of the night in New Orleans so I ignored my suddenly agitated phone like I ignored the blaring horns of trains negotiating the tangle of tracks bisecting the Lower Ninth Ward. I was accustomed to bicycles, mopeds and golf carts blasting out music from sound systems roped to their fronts, emergency sirens and – because there’s always someone celebrating something in this city – fireworks and the occasional gunshots fired into the sky. It is rarely quiet.
My last post on Facebook had been a photo of a building on Bourbon Street lit up with the word ‘JOY’ and a short ‘Happy New Year’ message to my friends, posted at 2.26am, NOLA time.
Maybe there were far more sirens than usual, but I wasn't unduly concerned. It was New Year after all, but the vibe on Bourbon Street had been unusually mellow. Earlier that night we’d left our regular bar at around 1.30 for Bourbon Street so I could film my walk along its length to show friends back home what it was like. I stopped to talk to state troopers and police. They confirmed my impressions; it was mellow. I thought about this and fell asleep.
I still can’t bring myself to watch the 12-minute-long footage. I know it will brim with noisy, mad, joyful life: I remember a trumpeter playing on Bienville Street and the crowd of young women dancing around him; a drag queen rushing down the street, white and grey gown billowing around their body like the ghostly apparition in Spielberg’s Poltergeist; several incredibly camp and muscled Louisiana state troopers standing on street corners in campaign hats no doubt aware of their resemblance to a troupe of strippers en route to a party; skeins of beads raining down from balconies and starling-like crowds of youngsters clustered around bar doors.
I can bring myself to cook though – a minor miracle in itself because unlike most food writers I do not turn to the stove when in need of comfort; ordering in or going out to eat is how I roll. But I had lemons that needed to be used. This is what I did with them.
Lemon Chiffon Pie with a ginger biscuit and cardamom crust
A chiffon pie is as light as air with a mousse-like filling. It’s a classic diner-style pie popular across the United States yet is rarely seen in the UK. Why this is the case is a mystery.
Make this the day before you want to eat it because it needs time to set.
To make the base:
200g ginger nut biscuits
80g unsalted butter, melted
1 tablespoon golden caster sugar
Seeds from 8 crushed cardamom pods
Heat the oven to 190C (170C fan)/375F/gas 5, and butter the base of a 20cm shallow-sided tart/pie tin.
Lightly crush the cardamom seeds. Crush the biscuits until you have a fine crumb with a few small rubbly pieces. I usually put the biscuits inside a sturdy clear bag and use a rolling pin to roll/bash the hell out of them. I use the end of the pin to crush the seeds. Pour the crumbs into a large bowl and add the melted butter, crushed cardamom seeds and sugar. Stir with a fork, ensuring everything is blended. Now press the biscuit mix into the base of your tin using your fingers. Put it in the fridge for ten minutes to chill, then bake for 10 or so minutes until it’s starting to brown around the edges. Keep an eye on it - ovens vary. Take it out and place it on one side to cool.
To make the filling:
3 leaves of leaf gelatine (I use the Costa brand)
5 large eggs, whites and yolks separated, at room temperature
155g golden caster sugar
130ml fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon finely grated lemon zest
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons double cream
To serve:
120ml whipped double cream (soft peak)
Put the gelatine leaves in a bowl of cold water. Soak until you have a soft mass which should take around 8 minutes.
Zest and juice your lemons.
In a medium-sized metal bowl whisk the egg yolks, sugar, lemon juice, zest and salt.
Pour a few inches of hot water into the base of a bain-marie or wide saucepan and bring to a simmer then place the metal bowl containing your egg yolk mix on top.
Cook slowly, whisking until the sugar melts and the mixture begins to thicken to the consistency of egg white.
Squeeze the gelatine leaves to rid them of excess water and put them into your egg yolk mixture, whisking until they are perfectly blended. Make sure your mixture is still warm when you add the gelatine (at least 35C or it won’t set). Beat in the double cream.
Leave to cool at room temperature, stirring occasionally while you prepare your egg whites.
Beat the egg whites until they have formed stiff peaks. You can do this by hand or stand mixer/handheld mixer. Make sure your equipment is scrupulously clean; any traces of fat and the egg whites won’t stiffen.
Take a wide rubber spatula and fold the stiff whites into your cool yolk mixture. Make sure no traces of white remain then pour the tart filling into your crumb pie shell, smoothing the surface with a spatula if necessary.
Refrigerate overnight before decorating with softly whipped cream in whatever style you like. Feel free to scatter lemon zest or candied peel on top.
Note:
The music will never die in New Orleans but if you have a few pounds to spare, the charity Make Music NOLA helps disadvantaged children in the city claim their musical heritage, makemusicnola.org
Follow Nicola on Twitter: @Nicmillerstale
Winner of the Guild of Food Writers Online Food Writer Award 2020
Fortnum & Mason Cookery Writer of the Year 2022
