Grits -

by Emily

Big Eats in the Big Easy

Editor’s Note: Food writer and new-to-ES-blogger Emily Teachout checks in with a look at one of America’s craziest — and tastiest — food destinations.

In honor of my birthday, I decided to check a long-time goal off my bucket list and head down to New Orleans to experience Mardi Gras. Let’s be real, though; while beads and booze were on my radar, I was most excited for a no-holds-barred culinary tour of the Big Easy. I figured if I’ve lived this long, I might as well test the limits of what my body can handle in greasy, spicy, cholesterol-ridden creole specialties. New Orleans did not let me down, and surprisingly, neither did my arteries.

The first “morning” in the city, after waking up at 12:45pm in our cramped yet exorbitantly expensive hotel room, two of my friends and I dragged our hungover selves out of bed in search of a belated breakfast in the French Quarter. Our prayers were answered thanks to a little alley cafe called Green Goddess. We had to wait 45 minutes for our outdoor table, but since drinking in the streets is allowed (and seemingly encouraged) we downed some $7 beers to pass the time.

To start, we shared the truffled manchego cheese grits you see above. With that sheen of grease, you know heaven is inside. My friend literally licked the plate. No shame!

A Small Southern Town in Northwest Washington

D.C. has a long list of traditional southern-style restaurants, so you’d be forgiven for wondering why it needed another. But you shouldn’t wonder after seeing Eatonville‘s unorthodox starter above — a single fried hushpuppy the size of a baseball filled with leek fondue and rock shrimp. It is seriously effing delicious.

Set on the same 14th Street corner as sister restaurant Busboys and Poets, Eatonville is named in honor of Zora Neale Hurston, the Harlem renaissance author and playwright. Hurston grew up in Eatonville, Florida, one of the first southern towns created by African-Americans after slavery ended. The name really made an impression on me as I realized how thoughtful they’ve been in putting the place together. From picket fences and rocking chairs flanking the bar to drinks served in mason jars, this was more than another DC restaurant with southern fare… I felt like I’d hopped a train to a small town in the Deep South.

Shrimp and Grits (and Buttermilk too)

There are few times when the BF and myself have an opportunity to cook together. Either he’s cooking a pasta dish or grilling some chicken which needs no more than one person, or I’ve taken over the kitchen and he doesn’t dare come near me, which is a shame really as the BF can actually cook.

On this occasion our cooking together was brought on as we were hosting a birthday brunch for our friend Butter, who has recently moved to DC from Jersey. Butter and I were having a cocktail at our local haunt and there were two women dining at the bar. Butter couldn’t quite determine what they were eating but was intrigued — so she asked. It was shrimp and grits. Butter had heard of grits but never tried them, so I figured shrimp and grits would be a nice surprise for her birthday brunch.