For the entirety of my life, mother nature has demonstrated her mighty power to me through the strength of tornados. Iowa and Texas are both members of the infamous Tornado Alley. This was all I knew. It only took several weeks in Louisana to be introduced to a new type of disaster. My first hurricane was not very powerful and seemed like a manageable event. Life carried on the same the very next day. Little did I know, my next storm would be one for the record books. Katrina is the hurricane we like to use for comparisons. Ida was not as bad, but arguably the worst in quite some time. Many people fled the city in the days leading up to this bombardment. Even though I had not been in New Orleans long, I could not abandon my city. The night before Ida hit, I was in the kitchen holding down the line. Several other chefs decided to stay and brave the storm. We were used to being short-staffed anyways. That night as I walked home, an ominous feeling filled the atmosphere. Luckily my apartment was a fortress, and this building has been around for well over one hundred years. I awaited the storm, and the initial attack was strong. Power was lost throughout the French Quarter. This is not supposed to happen. Candles and whiskey fixed the situation for the night.
The following day I jumped on my longboard and assessed the damages. It was not long until I found old Donny boy biking toward the home base. We headed straight to the kitchen and got to work. There were still many stranded hotel guests that needed nourishment. It was just another day in the kitchen. Later in the evening, we worked under the glow of flashlights. The hotel was a fortress and was in the process of installing a ginormous generator. Luckily, Chef secured a room for me as long as I continued to work. This was undoubtedly one of the safest spots in the city, and there was no place I would rather be. That Louisana summer turned my tiny room into a sauna. The silent streets called to me that night. A breath of fresh air would help in surrendering to my slumber. Bourbon street was pitch black, and there wasn't another soul in sight. I would leave work most nights and walk into a bright, chaotic, tourist-filled mess. That night it was unrecognizable...
The following days included cooking, cleaning, housekeeping, guest management, and more. I loved every minute of it, from the messy rooms to the sacs of spoiled oysters, and even the complaining guests. The best moment was when that Sonesta semi-truck pulled up to the hotel one faithful evening. All of the able-bodied staff members reported for duty, and we began unloading what seemed to be an endless supply of rations. We tossed cases of water and food boxes off the truck and onto pallets. Suddenly, Bourbon was bumper to bumper with big boy trucks. I am talking jacked-up, 900-horsepower, twin-turbo, V8 engine, you fucking name it. Several honks and waves encouraged us to grind even harder. The hotel lights kicked on as we removed the last of the supplies from the trailer! The generator had finally come to life. We all cheered joyously. Bourbon was now full of facial-haired cowboys ripping cigs and throwing around Busch lights. They called themselves linemen and were here to bring power back to the whole city. A majority of them were staying at our hotel.
After a few more days of keeping the hotel alive, we finally got a day off. The city was slowly recovering. New Orleans was not the only place affected by this horrific hurricane. Other parts of Louisiana were completely obliterated. Chef found a group of service industry people heading down to the bayou to provide relief to the actual disaster. We packed up the truck with supplies and rations and headed southbound. I had never seen such devastation in my life. Houses were blown entirely off their foundations, boats were the road, and telephone poles were bent or broken by the intense winds. We dropped the rations off at a local church in Chauvin. Locals were busy clearing debris from their yards. After helping these folks for several hours, we head further south toward the end of the world (that is what the locals called it). Our route took us to Cocodrie, a tiny little fishing village overlooking the gulf. I stood atop the shambles of a former ice facility and watched the sun start its descent. It was getting late, so we reunited with our group for a few drinks along the bayou. We drank the night away in a little shack just a stone's throw from the famous drinkery Fisherman's Wharf (shoutout to all my True Detective fans). Sadly this establishment was closed due to the hurricane and stuff. I vowed to return and drink there one day.
Every passing day brought more and more residents back to the city. The tourists were not far behind them. Less than a month later, the city was starting to feel like its former self. The natural disaster took priority over that whole covid thing that was still lingering. Surviving a disaster during a pandemic was no easy task, but I am undoubtedly stronger for it. The truth is that I never felt more alive. I will certainly never forget it.
