The St. Roch Market: The More Things Change, The More I Stay The Same

My whole adult life in New Orleans, I have lived within 10 blocks of the St. Roch Market. I lived walking distance away pre-Katrina when it was still Lama’s, I lived walking distance away when it was an abandoned symbol of a recovery going nowhere in the years that followed, and I still live walking distance now that it is a vibrant international showcase for local chefs. Only one thing has been steady: I’ve liked all of its eras. Oh, and even though it is walking distance, I always biked.

The $3.00 Po-Boy Era: Life Before Katrina

Sometimes people say to me they wish they lived in the Bywater when the rents were $300 for a shotgun house. I don’t argue; I nod. But the real answer is, “No you wouldn’t.” The rent was $300 because your unrenovated house was dilapidated. You’d have to worry about bathroom floors falling in from filled bathtubs. Houses did not come with fridges and stoves—when you rented a new place, you lugged your fridge with you, or just abandoned it and had a new one delivered by the used fridge stores that lined the upper end of St. Claude Avenue.

One year we lived a whole summer in a house with no A/C. In New Orleans. You can bet we whiled many days away sitting at the tables in front of the market, sipping beers and enjoying the cold air and the occasional $3.00 French fried potato po-boy.

So I remember Lama’s. And I remember it fondly. 65 years was a lot for a single family to run it, and they sold a lot of crawfish.

The Expendable Era

Then, like almost everything in my neighborhood, it took on water. The Lamas moved on. Even as the residential neighborhood was picking up, the building was not. As opposed to the houses surrounding it that were owned by motivated residents, the Market was owned by the City of New Orleans and if anyone does not know what that means, they have not talked to a New Orleanian, whose every other story is about our city’s incompetence and corruption. So, the building stagnated. I didn’t mind—I'm not in a hurry, and stagnation can be a life choice here.

I remember in 2010, the building next to the market was used as a set for the movie The Expendables. The crew needed a location that looked like a shop in a Latin American war zone. They actually had to paint the building just to bring it up to that standard.

Then arguing began over what the building—the visual entranceway to my neighborhood—should become. Community market? Organic local veggies? I wouldn’t argue, I like everything… but nobody could make the math work. The famed French Market used to be for fruit and vegetables, but that stopped. Not because anyone said "No Food Vendors," but rather because they made so little money they couldn’t afford to keep doing it, so they changed with the times. Similarly, a pure veggie market wasn’t going to be workable here. If it was to become a modern version of the public market, featuring independent restaurant vendors. I wasn’t gonna argue. I like everything.

Opening Day: "Too Fresh, Too White" But I’m talking about the paint, y’all.

I went the day it opened. Probably because they were giving away free food.

At first glance, it felt too bright. Too white. My Lama’s trained eyes were shocked. The paint was too fresh. I turned to my girlfriend and said they needed about 10 years for the paint to fade—it needed more grease and grime to feel like New Orleans. But the food was good, the vendors were local, and the customers were a great cross-section of the neighborhood.

There are two unbearable things in this world: older people who say “Everything was better when I was young,” and historians correcting stories with facts. I try to only be the second of those. As a historian fascinated by the Bywater, Marigny, and St. Roch of 150 years ago, 50 years ago, and the history I have witnessed myself, I know change. These areas have had many incarnations.

Heck, when I moved to the neighborhood in the year 2000, I never heard the term "St. Roch"—it was called the 8th Ward. Then, post-Katrina, I was at a party with people who had moved here after the storm, and they were complaining that the area was being called the “New Marigny.” They were aghast at the ‘gentrificators’ using that term. (Gentrification is always fascinating because, as long as I have studied it, only ‘those other people’ are gentrifiers… never anyone themselves.)

Anyway, I nerdily chimed in: “Actually, that was the original name from 1810… actually it was called Faubourg Nouvelle Marigny, in the original French, since Bernard de Marigny wouldn’t have approved of any Americans in his suburb. We wouldn’t even be here if it never changed. The New Marigny is not a real estate name, it is on residents housing assesments ” It was an angry crowd. I am surprised I didn't get jumped. No one likes historians.

The Present: Still enjoying. And bringing people to enjoy.

The complaints are old, and to me, played out as they didn't pan out. Today, the St. Roch Market is a vibrant, living symbol of the neighborhood. The vendors are from all over the world, or were raised down the block. Asia, the Middle East, Cajun Country, and the Marigny are all represented. Black and White. It employs a lot of folks in a neighborhood without many jobs. The customers.like the vendors, are from all over the world and down the block

And as for the price complaints? In a world where my local corner po-boy shop—beloved by everyone, including me—charges $18 for a shrimp po-boy, the prices here are simply what prices are in the modern world.

I love that our New Orleans Culinary Bike Tours stop here. Chef Tiger has been taking care of my customers for yeas as the Salted Pearl. Aritza sadly just moved on, and we miss her Cuban food, and of course we miss Charley when he moved his Haitian Fritaii booth to a restaurant location (and earning two James Beard nominations with the same dishes we would get from him at the market) but with the low overhead of locals getting to try out new ideas, we have enjoyed the new places opening up, like the Catfish from Not You Maw’s and the crawfish bread from Charles Bistreaux. Our neighborhoods swing, like I say, if you don’t like it, just wait 30 years. Pretty sure whatever the building, 180 years old at that point will be, some folks will be saying it doesn’r belong in the neighborhood and I will be rolling up from wheelchair distance away and will enjoy whatever it is. Photo From The New Orleans Blight Blog, 2010.