Twenty years ago, Katrina changed everything overnight. I left my home when the mayor said the storm would be catastrophic. My car was packed with some of my most valuable possessions, including my sterling silver. Pumpkin rode shotgun like the devoted little companion he was. The time I spent in Memphis was surreal, standing in a hotel lobby with other New Orleanians watching CNN, shocked, crying for the people stranded on their rooftops. There was a collective terror and also a shared sense of home and place. We all wanted to go home. We all wanted to reach out to our friends. Where had they gone and when were they coming back? For years afterwards, a common greeting was, “How’d you make out?” My boyfriend at the time moved to Knoxville, a loss that probably wasn’t as much of a loss as I thought it was at the time. My office building was indefinitely shuttered so I worked in the kitchen at Andrea’s until I sliced off the tip of my finger into the salad greens and the chef got mad. My collection of Dunn cabernet was cooked. My golf foursome was gone with the wind. My finances were wrecked. I flew to St. Thomas for a job interview but didn’t go to it when I got there. I realized I wanted to stay in New Orleans come Hell or High Water. New Orleans is a tough place to be sometimes but I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. The food, the music, the art, the sort of musty smell that seems to be everywhere — you either feel it or you don’t. I wasn’t born in this city but it has really seeped into my blood. On August 28, 2025 I found myself dining at Antoine’s, a place that holds so many memories. I felt lucky. I am lucky. Things haven’t turned out quite the way I planned. Still, I’m glad to be here.
