Many businesses have large grease dumpsters that are serviced by vacuum trucks, but there are also smaller grease traps that are beneath dishwashing sinks or held in tanks that have to be manually emptied.
When they aren't, that grease flows into the sewer system. But storm water drainage systems are typically only connected to catch basins and other drainage features -- not restaurant sink and dishwasher drains. As city officials began investigating the source of the grease globs, they soon discovered that several businesses along Bourbon Street had somehow gained access to the storm water system and were dumping the water, and the grease with it, into the storm drains.
Unlike sewage lines, storm water drains are open. They have to be to allow storm water to drain into the system, meaning that the odor wafting off the grease can easily pass through grates and into the air and noses of passersby.
Back to that smell: Grease that is produced from cleaning dishes and pots and pans stinks to high heaven. Resembling the most disgusting grey peanut butter you can imagine, it is packed with decomposing food particles, including animal fats and proteins, giving it a distinct odor. Now imagine globs of it building up under Bourbon Street. Most of whatever else that causes tourists to wrinkle their noses is water soluble. It can be scrubbed down and rinsed away. Spilling more smelly fluids and unshoveled horse manure can make the smell return, but ultimately, it can all still be washed into the storm water system and get pumped out into Lake Pontchartrain.
There is a reason that there are regulations against dumping what's known as "grey water" -- the water that comes from sinks, showers and baths but not toilets -- into the storm water system, Lott said. Sometimes it can contain cleaning chemicals that shouldn't make it into rivers, lakes or streams. If you live in New Orleans, people are going to come visit you as they completely should! Directions are thus: Uptown, Downtown, River, Lake.
Since people tend to get upset when their deceased loved ones literally rise from the grave, we inter them in above-ground mausoleums, which make our cemeteries unique and beautiful places that are fascinating to explore. So flat, in fact, that NOLA has only two hills, both of which are man-made. Phonetics have no place in the Calliope St? Yes, there is crime in New Orleans, and it can be pretty bad, but it's been getting steadily safer. Just don't treat it like Disneyland for drunks.
Use a little common sense, and you should be just fine. This being the tropics -- you can tell by the banana trees and flying cockroaches the size of Volkswagens -- July and August in NOLA are pretty much insufferable. Because it happens. And not just because of the giant, amphibious, orange-toothed rodents that call our part of the country home.
In fact, New Orleans, as experienced purely in an olfactory manner, is one of the most wonderful -- and sometimes terrible -- places on the planet.
And yet, for some reason, people tend not to focus on this fact. For me, it all starts with the trinity and the Pope. The base for all great Cajun and Creole dishes is our local version of mirepoix, a classic combination of chopped carrots, celery and onions used to start stocks, stews and so forth in traditional French cuisine.
Proust had his madeleines; I have the holy trinity. That smell immediately ushers forth countless memories of youth, my mother dutifully sauteeing the trinity to begin something that, inevitably, would be enjoyed by the family with unsparing alacrity and glee.
I have friends from college who to this day still ask me for her recipe. And it all starts with that inimitable punch to the smell center of the brain There is no small coincidence there, friends. I spent my latter high school years studying in local independent coffee houses, long before the advent of venti iced mocha pumpkin-spiced skinny frappuccinos.
0コメント