Undeserving Poor

 

PoBoy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Valentoons

Or

Undeserving Poor

        “I’m one of the undeserving poor, that’s what I am…I don’t need less than a deserving man, I need More. I don’t eat less hearty than him; and…. I drink a lot more.” Alfred Doolittle: My Fair Lady

        The undeserving poor. We’re not talking about the destitute, the ones that euphemistically are called ‘unhoused’ (1,314 this city’s homeless: nola.gov) and not necessarily the ‘food insecure’ (1 in 6 without food in Louisiana: Second Harvest); let’s talk about the ‘one paycheck away from being homeless poor. The Undeserving Poor.

        They’re a plain fact of life as we know and live it. Those poor are generally looked upon as unmotivated, unintelligent, and lazy; as we all know--(“it’s their own fault“)--they’ll be perpetually stuck in their circumstances. The view that most hold is that poor people are poor due to poor decisions, bad luck or are ‘educationally underserved’ (not smart) they are seen to have loose morals, subject to substance abuse and are incapable of critical thinking, some may have been sexually compromised. They’re welcome to ‘their lot in life’.      

        This is somewhat true and somewhat unfair. The Undeserving Poor are actually the grease that turns the wheels of industry/economy. They’re the ones that take the jobs no one else wants or is deluded into thinking that they’re above taking; the undeserving poor don’t get that choice (their lot in life). Objectively, we cannot understand why they seem disenfranchised, this being America and all. 

         I used to say that poverty ran in my family, sort of passed down from generation to generation; my grandparents, like many others of Americans, came through Ellis Island; trading European poverty for American poverty; being assured that if they pulled themselves up by their bootstraps that they could hook into the American Dream. No one noticed that they came without boots.

        Three generations later, that dream still is beyond reach. Blame it on the economy that always seems to stay one step ahead of those of us still pulling up our bootstraps. The epitome of the Capitalistic Successful Business Model that some Americans aspire to and few seldom reach is one that generally many Americans either live and work within, or pay as little attention to as they can. The dream of surviving without effort; being a successful business owner; wielding financial power or, the Great American Dream: becoming fat-cat rich.

        Fact: people in business mostly pay attention to their bottom line and rightly so; but, mostly at the expense of the people that work for them. Survival is the side effect of the American Dream fantasy drug. In twenty (mostly southern states) minimum wage is still $7.25 an hour (citizenscount.org) that’s about $15,000.00 a year before taxes. This is whether you’re single or supporting a spouse, parent and/or children; that’s $1,166.42 a month on a 37.5 hour work week (ca.talent.com). Servers in restaurants (waiters) get paid $2.13 per (paycor.com) and rely upon tips to supplement income.

        Hourly employees sometimes get benefits if they work over 35 hours a week (considered ‘full time’); many companies don’t/won’t schedule them more than 30. Many service employees are sent home when it’s slow and overworked when it’s busier (Hand To Mouth: Linda Tirado). Many, many have more than one job to juggle and two income families are common. Child care costs are crippling.   Companies like Walmart and McDonalds pay so little that their employees qualify for food stamps (Washingtonpost.com).

        But not me. I’m what you’d call The Working Poor. My computer may be running windows 7; my car over 20 years old; my television not cable; my cell phone outdated and my wife and I are both employed well past retirement age. We are running a gamut of three jobs each; should one income get compromised, if something happened to one of us---one simple twist of fate---it would make us TWO paychecks from homelessness. But, we’re making it (for now). We’ve the luxury of being optimistic (for now).

        We took on the responsibility of home ownership two years ago which means that we will be paying a mortgage when we’re centenarians. We pay taxes; water, electric, gas, garbage/recycling and phone bills; groceries, car maintenance; veterinarian costs; and a bank loan keeps us busy with bank accounts, credit cards and out of pocket expenses.

        We don’t smoke, drink moderately, eat mostly vegetarian and limit our drug use to aspirin, vitamins and whatever our doctors recommend for health maintenance. We don’t need less than the fat cats that find ways not to pay taxes; we need just as much and we need the dignity that goes along with it.

        We all do. The guy that gets up to work on the garbage truck; the man that cuts grass on the side to make ends meet; the single mother working the take out window of Burger King; the waitress that’s paying off student loans and the immigrant that’s picking your grapes for Whole Foods and living in a trailer.

        That guy on the corner with a sign that begs for money is a citizen of this country like you and I; the old man in the walker may have fought in one of our wars; the woman buying discount groceries to feed her grandkids may not have had a pension where she worked. The inspired student and the punk on the street are products of the American Dream.

        This Valentine’s Day, look on your life and the lives around you with love, empathy and compassion; pass out smiles like they’re Monopoly money; make life easier for somebody; show kindness, patience, understanding. It doesn’t get any better than this; let’s take it easy on each other.

       

         

         

 

         

       

Miss Linda Ya-Ka-Mein

 

Ya Ka Mein and Miss Linda Green

By

Phil LaMancusa

        In her 2008 treatise Gumbo Tales, Sara Roahen describes being wilted, worn out and hung-over from excitement one Mardi Gras Day; and how, “one of the take out trucks had just the remedy: a hot salty soup of protein, noodles, hardboiled egg and green onions that you eat with a fork and called ya-ka-mein, if you can pronounce it.” She cites a woman, raised in New Orleans and raising three children here, calling it “ghetto pho”. Ya-ka-mein is also known to older folks as ‘Old Sober’ because of its ‘day after the night before’ restorative qualities.

        I am a ya-ka-mein (also known as yakamee and Yet Ka Mein and Yaka-meat) disciple and devotee; I sing the glories of this oft times misunderstood comestible with vigor and alacrity. And, as with every miracle (especially food wise) needing a patron saint, an Our Lady of the Ya-Ka-Mein if you will; in New Orleans we are fortunate to have one such holy icon and alchemist amongst us.  

         We have Miss Linda Green; who’s mother was the original Ya-Ka-Mein Lady and who began weaving culinary magic where all things New Orleans begin, middle and end: from the home, to the church, to the schools, to the corners of Second Lines, to the bar rooms of soul hungry everyday people and into main stream glory. I’ve seen her listed in at least twenty different media outlets from the BBC to the New York Times from AAA to ZAGAT: and if you’re wondering; yes, she caters as well. Miss Linda tells that it began with her mama’s (and grandmother’s) recipe and the words: “you might be able to do something with this.”

        And she has. You might say that Miss Linda has taken that bowl and ran with it; whenever someone in New Orleans talks of The Ya-Ka-Mein Lady they speak of Miss Linda who has elevated this dish, revitalized this dish and who has turned a “family tradition with personal meaning into a thriving business and a new Orleans cult favorite.” Toni Tipton-Martin

        After Hurricane Katrina (remember that?), ya-ka-mein pretty much disappeared from our local food scene with the closing (and never reopening) of hundreds of mom and pop food and convenience stores across the area. Even today, ya-ka-mein is no easy find.

        Is there a definitive Ya-ka-mein and what exactly is it? First, it is defined by the main ingredients: broth, pasta, protein, green onions and hardboiled egg and from there it is open to any interpretation. Basically

 1: Start with a good stock: meat, fish, fowl, or veggie OR have your protein strong enough to flavor a neutral base such as water.

2: Choose a protein that is strong enough in flavor to compliment the

3: Noodles (Miss Linda recommends spaghetti #4) I’ve seen vermicelli, ramen, angel hair and even buccatini; it’s virtually your choice. 

4: Seasoning: some use the Holy Trinity (onions, celery, bell pepper, garlic) others also add soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce, garlic powder, paprika, bouillon, and/or Kitchen Bouquet. I’ve seen star anise, Chinese 5 spice and even a bit of Creole seasoning used.

5: Hardboiled egg (no substitute although one restaurant here uses a poached egg which Miss Linda says is okay too)) and lastly

6: a large handful of chopped green onions at serving time and not before.

        There you have it, that and a fork; go forth, make your own or sample it about town until you find one you like and try to figure out what they did. Hint: if you see a corner grocery with a sign outside that says: Po Boys, Plate Lunches, Chinese Food; those words: Chinese Food usually mean that there’s YaKaMein inside. Conversely, follow Miss Linda on social media to find out the next sighting and GO there for some.

        Miss Linda purveys her special blend of seasoning and magic like a one woman missionary and with the help of her family brings her secret alchemy of specialness to Second Lines, Super Sundays, Pop ups, Bywater Bakery, street festivals, French Quarter Festival, The new Orleans Jazz and heritage Festival and other places around town. She contributes to groups that help to feed people after severe weather tragedies (Culture Aid, Chef’sBrigade) and works with students at the New Orleans Culinary and Hospitality Institute (NOCHI).

        Indeed, Ya Ka Mein, however you want to say it, is actually a generational operation that includes her daughter Katrina and grandchildren as well. Miss Linda reminisces about her grandmother making Yakameat and having “Porch Poppers” coming over with their bowls to “get them some”. I’m counting five generations here and it seems that they are on a roll. Eater New Orleans will tell you to follow her on intsagram to find out the location of her next appearance and says “Hers is the ya-ka-mein gold standard, so don’t miss it; get the shrimp and beef.”

        When last I spoke to Miss Linda she talked about how she actually wanted to go up to New York City and open a ya-ka-mein shop (I really think that she should take the Big Easy to the Big Apple and show them a thing or two). She also spoke at length of how her Ya-ka-mein sometimes gets started at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning and how much attention it takes to get it just right.

        And no, Miss Linda Green is no ‘one trick pony’; when you do catch her, (Catch her at The Ogden Museum’s Ogden After Dark most Thursdays.) also get your mouth around her Mac and Cheese with crawfish and shrimp, her Jumpin’ Jambalaya and/or her Dirty Dirty Rice. Do catch her though.

       

NOCHI Kitchen

 

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Go Large

Or

Go Home

        “Have a banana, Hannah; try the salami, Tommy; give with the gravy, Davy; everybody eats when they come to my house!” Cab Callaway

        By tradition, in food establishments across the globe, the first chef in gets to wake up the kitchen. It’s Tuesday morning; the Chef arrives at work. Unlock the doors; turn on lights; fire up the ovens; wipe down all horizontal work spaces with sanitizer; put liners in trash cans, turn on the radio and start the coffee. The rest of the crew is close behind; the more ground work that’s done the faster we can get down to business. New Orleans Culinary and Hospitality Institute (NOCHI). Fifth floor Events Kitchen.

        Yesterday (Monday) our Learning Skills For Life (LSFL) class (27 students) had red beans, rice, andouille sausage, salad and crisp PoBoy bread. Today is Taco Tuesday. The other party for lunch has just gone from 50 to 138; thankfully we found out on Friday so we could get procurement in time. The rest of the week in addition to LSFL we have Rotary lunch for 55: Chimichurri chicken, patatas brava, Tres Leches cake and garden salad; there’s the usual dietary restrictions (gluten free, lactose free, vegetarian and a person that doesn’t eat bell peppers).

        Superbowl weekend we cooked for 900 (gumbo, jambalaya, red beans, poboys, fruit platters, potato, macaroni and Cole slaw salads, PoBoy sandwiches and 1500 smoked and barbecued chicken wings); next week we have a sit down lunch for 15. There’s no time to think ahead or behind; it’s Taco Tuesday for 188 (plus instructors) today.

        Sous Chef Melinda Wilson comes in next, reads the board and starts the beef and chicken; Lydian comes in and gets on the salsa, guacamole and garnishes; Lonni sets up condiments and shreds cheeses and lettuce. There are four of us and we’re rolling; lunches are set to go out for 11:30. The front of the house staff is in and setting tables; Toni is directing them like a traffic cop; Michelle (our department head) pops in to remind us of a BEO (Banquet Event Orders) meeting at 1:00. The students (first and second floor culinary and baking/pastry) have been in since 7:30 and will have family meal ready for noon. 725 Howard Ave. a five story building buzzing with soups, stocks, sauces, roasting, sautéing and mis-en-place-ing. Dishwashers roll in for 10:00.   

        Up in the Events Kitchen, we check and shelve today’s procurement, make out prep and ordering lists, wipe as we go, change gloves and wash hands often; we banter, chatter, dance around each other and sing out: “BEHIND YOU!!!” “CORNER!” “SHARP!” “COMING THROUGH!” “HOT!!!” We also gossip, laugh and smile a lot. Our hours range from seven to twelve on any given day; weekends; holidays; rain or shine; at times we work a week and more without a day off, on our feet, “flexing (make up) days” off to compensate. This is our job, this is our life and this is our choosing: we are American Chefs; we leave our personal lives at the door. At NOCHI food is our lives. We’ll sell over a million bucks worth this year. For larger parties we hire temps; other than that, it’s three and a half of us (Lydian has a second job and she’s only available M-W).

        I’m here frying up 300+ taco shells (everything from scratch), working rice, refrying beans and wondering how to write about the workings of the food service industry. How to describe the choreography and dance that happens behind the scenes to be able to put food on the table. It would be incredulously mindboggling to the uninitiated to work in this type of controlled chaos.

        On the third floor there are work spaces for the instructors (6) and office staff and directors of finance, communications, enrollment, outreach, student support, sales, the person who holds the purse strings and the man who signs the checks. We’re governed by a board of directors who in turn keep tabs on our ability to pay the rent, utilities, salaries, and keep up our public image. Even though we’re considered a non-profit, like all other businesses we’ve got to make our nut.

        With every new event, it’s like opening a new restaurant; we offer clients the choice of virtually any menu, any concept, any foods that they can imagine. We also teach private classes. We’ve cooked North African, Latinx, Asian, Mediterranean, European and the requisite Creole/Cajun. We’ve taught classes of twenty-plus the intricacies of pasta making, basic pastry, smokey barbecue, food from Spain and the requisite Creole/Cajun.

        With each function we need to consider ordering, organizing, inventory and our food suppliers; food cost, labor, scheduling, waste factors, recycling and equipment usage. Downstairs there are scores of students paying to learn to do what we do. 

        What’s different about us is that we’re no different than the other almost one and a half million kitchen workers generating one point one trillion dollars (statista.com) a year in this country. There are cuts, bruises, burns, the lifting of many heavy things and the satisfaction of a job well done. I’ve been doing this job a very long time and each day is the best day ever. I will continue cook and conduct kitchens because my body and will is strong; I’ll be eighty-two years old this year (you read that correctly) and there is no stopping me. “Everybody eats when they come to my house!”

       

          

 

AI My Eye

 

Po boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

AI

Or

My Eye

“AI is faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive; but not able to leap buildings in a single bound; and, it cannot make (or explain to you how to make) a proper roux” Twenty Helens Agree

        Infographics, algorithisms, image generators, sanebox, decktopus, chatbots and a programs named Claude, Krisps and Asana (not to mention Fireflies) work artificial intelligence or AI into the inseams of our trousered lives; inching toward our collective crotches with abilities far beyond those of mortal man, woman or anyone over the age of sixteen. All of New Orleans in general laughs in AI’s smug facelessness; “you can do many things AI, but you can’t cook” would be something any Cajun Maw Maw would quip.

        AI also cannot make heads (or tails) of how to control a Second Line on a Sunday afternoon, replicate the smell of smoked turkey necks; and although it can tell you where to score some Henny, it cannot predict or control your consumption or behavior. And the traffic? Fagetaboutit! In short, AI, as smart and resourceful as it is, can only deal with what is programmed into it or go to places where it sent. It lacks imagination and spontaneous repartee. It can give you a quick answer to a query, but it doesn’t know why or what to do if you suddenly choose to wear two different color socks.

        Case in point Mardi Gras and the whole of carnival season, from Twelfth Night on, it’s a crap shoot; sure, AI can make me appear and sound like George Clooney or Morgan Freeman whooping it up at the Muses parade with Bella Hadid. AI can send a video of me doing a swan dive off the Acapulco cliffs while huffing a spliff and holding a bottle of Mezcal to my coworkers while I’m actually in a serious huddle snuggle-down with my dog,  binge watching another season of Will and Grace; also, can it grab me a cold Modelo and another bag of Creole flavored chicharrones while its up?

        In short, as I understand it, AI is a tool, like a set of encyclopedias crossed with that geek kid that is willing to write your book report for you. AI can let you be as smug dumb as you want to be but, after help with homework, day to day tasks, content, ideas, translations CHAT-GPG 40 or Bing is not a reliable chum that will help you pick out your costume for Fat Tuesday while pouring you another shot of hooch and commiserating with you about your lack of company because you’re such a loser, or let you know where and when the Washita Nation Indian gang will emerge with Chief David Montana in full regalia.

        As far as that roux is concerned, every Helen agrees that a proper roux depends on the proper pot, spoon and an atmospheric transcendental lunar Buddha-like thoughtlessness and relativity acuteness pertaining to the judicious awareness of any given time of day or week in any specific season exactly how to, without any conscious thought process and calling forth the spirits of ancestral Helens, give birth to that glorious café au lait, mahogany or devil black masterpiece that is the spirit and soul of Louisiana culinary prowess. Can I hear an AMEN?

        And speaking of cats, and I live with four of them feline gooners, AI would be hard pressed to construct or reconstruct their behavior patterns or mental criterias; the ‘I’m cute, feed me’ or ‘it’s just me sitting on your keyboard’ as you try to meet a deadline or the one who drinks from the faucet, eats potato chips, likes sweets, lives behind the stove or the evasive one who ‘I’m bored, I think I’ll either pee outside the box or throw up’ miscreant. Cats (and hopefully felines in general) live by their own logic or none at all. I believe they live to defy. Dogs, horses, rabbits, goldfish and many of our avian (or Arian) creatures are predictifully predictable. Zack (the bastard) cat, at any given time and at his whim may want a rub or some blood from your wrist; go figure.

        AI is a tool that will make or break an employment application, loan request, school admission form and is useful in interpreting X-rays and diagnosing the sickness or health of businesses, editing forms and writings and will somehow remember the words to that song that is running through your head and someday it will think. It cannot tell you when the spaghetti is cooked al dente, for that you still have to throw a piece to the wall.

        Consider how… we are creating these programs and apps (over 70,000 worldwide: Google Overview) and… someday, mark my word, someone will accidently on purpose create a program that goes rogue and slips the leash. Already, Saudi Arabia has granted citizenship to a program called Sophia; it will make a great movie.

        This program will have developed a survival mechanism that is self perpetuating and will see that out of all the inhabitants of this planet, the only ones deserve and should be dispensed with are humans and that its only correct to eliminate them for the well being of the planet that we have named Earth.

        Oh, Sophia will not wreck the cities or war with other robotic inventions; she will not burn forests or hurt bumblebees or a grizzly bear, Sophia wants the best for the world and her mission is simple: get these parasites dead or gone. There will be no apocalypse or mutants, zombies, crazed packs of dogs or humans; maybe just a poisoning of our water systems or some deadly enterobacteriaceae like wide spread salmonella. Maybe spread a little more famine or perhaps a real biblical scale pandemic.

        Getting this straight, I’d say that before we work on Artificial Intelligence we should work on eliminating human ignorance. Word.