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drinking Barq’s. One says, “Because it cools the blood and tones the system, we call Barq’s ‘bottled health’ and drink it morning, noon and night.” Many still do. Two men who saw the brand’s popularity and potential were New Orleanian John Koerner III and his business partner, Texan John Oudt. In 1976, they bought the rights to Barq’s formula from his family, launching an ambitious growth plan that franchised the manufacturing and distribution rights to hundreds of bottlers nationwide. They marketed Barq’s to younger customers and introduced a Diet Barq’s in 1991. In 1995, they sold the business to Coca-Cola for a reported $91 million. At the time, the great-grandsons of the founder were still involved in the company, overseeing the mixing of the secret root beer formula at the company’s syrup plant in Biloxi. “It’s really something to think that the root beer that my great-granddaddy produced in this little building would go on to become America’s best-selling, and even be sold in other countries,” great-grandson Edward “Sonny” Barq IV told the Associated Press in 1998. To borrow from the slogan: Barq’s — it’s very good indeed. Angelo Brocato, 3rd Generation After apprenticing at a sweets shop in Palermo, Angelo Brocato immigrated to New Orleans in the early 1900s and opened his own ice cream parlor in the French Quarter. He introduced the city to Italian-style desserts. When Angelo passed away in 1946, his wife and children carried the business forward, expanding into local groceries and restaurants with their Italian ices and signature cuccidati — fig-filled Sicilian cookies. In 1981, they moved the bakery to Carrollon Avenue in Mid-City. Now in its 3rd generation,

Blue Plate Special by David W. Brown No one agrees on where mayonnaise first originated. No one even knows where the word mayonnaise came from. (It may have come from France, but no one is really sure of its etymology.) Still, there are some surprisingly strong opinions on what real mayon naise contains: eggs, oil, vinegar and water — and the proportions matter; they’re what separates mayonnaise from mere “dressing.” There are actual laws that govern this. But while the recipe’s beginning is lost to time, we know exactly where the sort of shelf stable mayonnaise you might find on a shelf at Rouses was born: at a church fair in Pennsylvania in 1907, sold by a lady named Amelia Schlorer. Once people got a taste of it, Mrs. Schlorer’s mayonnaise became the cat’s pajamas in the U.S. But, I mean, c’mon, it was made in Pennsylvania, so there was an upper limit on how good it could taste. Then, in the 1920s, a businessman in New Orleans decided it was time to do it right, and Blue Plate was born. B ut the story of Blue Plate and the Great Condiment Wars of the 1900s goes back a lot further than that, and has more in common with Game of Thrones than Ratatouille . Friends become enemies, enemies become friends, alliances are forged, and sandwiches get delicious. It all began with a byproduct of cotton processing called cottonseed oil. Until the late 1800s, cottonseed oil was considered worthless. It was too hard to extract in any meaningful quantity; even if you could, the stuff tasted terrible. You could light it on fire, though, and it would be great for fueling lamps. But by the time someone

invented a machine to hull cotton seed, freeing the material within for pressing, the petroleum industry had emerged and conquered the lamp oil market. As a result, the market for the stuff initially exploded (“Cottonseed oil is possible!”), then quickly collapsed (“…but we don’t know what to do with it!”). You couldn’t give cotton seed oil away — which, it turned out, was the perfect price. In 1899, a food chemist named David Wesson found a way to make cottonseed oil palatable, and with it created a cooking oil called Snowdrift. More widely, however, people just called it Wesson Oil, and it

the Brocato family continues to share their sweet traditions.

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