Good morning, may I interest you in a fresh beignet and some hot coffee we roasted ourselves? Perhaps you can join us later at the crawfish boil and suck the heads clean. Don’t forget dinner prep for tomorrow -- it’s gonna be gumbo for 600 made with homemade fish stock, of course.
From the conversations floating around last week, you’d think we were in New Orleans. Nope. We were deep in the desert, far from any bayou to speak of, but shockingly, right in the middle of the French Quarter.
This year at Burning Man, I camped with The French Quarter, the oldest neighborhood in Black Rock City, and notoriously one of the foodiest. Our village of about 400 people was divided into sub-camps like the Bakery, Brewery, Farmers Market, and Café de la fin du Monde. I was a part of the Santopalato Supper Club, where we threw elaborate dinner parties for guests of honor.
The man hours, logistical planning, heart and soul that go into these gifts of food and drink are shocking, and completely inspiring. My mind is still reeling from the culinary feats that were accomplished out on the hot dusty playa this year. We ate like kings and queens, we did. See for yourself:
All Photos by Stephanie Hua