Minister close to finishing quest to sample every restaurant
Minister Ray Cannata’s mission is almost complete. Four years ago he set out to eat at every restaurant in New Orleans. By mid-September, he’d already checked 719 eateries off his list and only had 10 meals to go before the ceremonial conclusion of his quest on Oct. 21, when he’ll have dined in 729 establishments.
Ray Cannata is a Presbyterian minister who has dedicated himself to eating in every New Orleans restaurant including Cafe Nero in the Marigny in New Orleans, where he's seen checking out "Not Yo Mama's Cornbread."
Ray Cannata is a Presbyterian minister who has dedicated himself to eating in every New Orleans restaurant including Cafe Nero in the Marigny in New Orleans, where he's seen checking out "Not Yo Mama's Cornbread."That last meal will be a celebratory steak-house dinner he refers to as “the last supper.” Which is an interesting choice of words considering that Cannata, a 42-year-old with mutton-chop sideburns and not nearly the belt size you’d expect for someone with his hobby, is a Presbyterian minister.
Here’s the back story in fast-forward. Cannata, who grew up in New York, says he got the calling from God while in college, later attended the seminary at Princeton University and then set out for a career in the ministry. Within a decade, he was pastor of a thriving suburban New Jersey church with 300 dedicated parishioners and working on his doctorate degree. It was a success story. The downside, he said, was the dullness. Then, Cannata said, a New Orleans minister called, hoping to interest him in taking over a modest church on St. Charles Avenue with only a few dozen members. What the heck; it was worth a look. As so often happens, Cannata and his wife, Kathy, a school librarian, instantly succumbed to that old Crescent City magic. It didn’t hurt that Kathy’s father was originally from New Orleans. This was summer 2005. Before the couple could pay a second visit to their possible new home, their possible new home was battered by Hurricane Katrina and swamped by floodwater.
It looked like the move was off. After all, Cannata already had gotten another attractive job offer in sunny San Diego.But, as Cannata explains, “Christianity isn’t supposed to be about moving away from the pain; it’s supposed to be about moving toward the pain.” And there was plenty of pain in New Orleans in winter 2006, when Cannata bought an Uptown shotgun house for his family — he and Kathy have two kids — and dove into Redeemer Presbyterian, his new New Orleans church with fewer than 20 members.
“God loves an underdog,” Cannata said of the congregation’s struggle to rebound.
Though angst was in abundant supply, Cannata was buoyant; he felt he’d found the place he belonged. At Tipitina’s one night, in the defiant blare of the Rebirth Brass Band, Cannata remembers saying to himself, “I’m never ever leaving.”
In addition to helping steady the post-Katrina congregation, he also pitched in on rebuilding his adopted city. Here’s where we get back to the restaurant quest. As Cannata explains, he had a steady stream of Presbyterian missionaries coming to town to help repair damaged homes — he says they’ve worked on 500.
And when dinner time came, those missionaries, who’d been swinging hammers all day, wanted to know where to get some of that great New Orleans food. To help offer a broad range of dining options, Cannata began keeping a list of his favorite spots. Week after week as the city began to rebound and he added restaurants, the list just seemed to take on a life of its own.
When someone casually suggested that Cannata continue until he’d eaten everywhere, a quest was born. Naturally, Crescent City natives who heard of Cannata’s goal volunteered restaurants recommendation to the snowballing list. “To love the people in New Orleans,” Cannata said, “you have to love the food.”
But maybe not all the food. To keep the number of dining establishments from becoming too daunting, it was necessary to impose certain criteria. First, he decided to confine his self-imposed challenge to Orleans Parish. To further thin the herd, he excluded national chains. To distinguish real restaurants from saloons, he declared that every eatery on the list had to have more chairs at tables than at the bar. Finally, a meal doesn’t count if he eats alone, Cannata said with a laugh, because “that’s just binging.”
The total number of New Orleans restaurants is a moving target, of course. Weekly, some open and some close. “To be honest,” he said, “I may have missed one or two.” But Cannata has been as thorough as possible. Needless to say, his can be an expensive hobby, so he sticks to lunches when possible. He’s begun writing a book about his dining adventure.
The pinnacle of his culinary quest, he said, was the 11-course feast served at the special table in the kitchen of Commander’s Palace on his 20th wedding anniversary. He was a bit chagrined, he said, at not finishing the dessert course. The waiter reassured him, however, that no one does. The portions in New Orleans, Cannata has found, are customarily large. He theorizes that, in the Crescent City, serving size is based on lavish hospitality, not profit.
Too much high-calorie hospitality could be a waistline hazard, of course, so Cannata always leaves a bite or two behind. Though he initially gained weight as he checked restaurants off his list, he’s since dropped the extra pounds by abstaining from soft drinks and giving up his car. As if Cannata didn’t already have enough on his plate, so to speak, he’s become a champion of the pedestrian-friendly New Urbanist ideals that, to some extent, have helped shape post-Katrina New Orleans. The energetic pastor was — until last month — the president of the Audubon Riverside neighborhood association.
Naturally, there have been culinary disappointments. Cannata said the bottom rung of Crescent City cuisine may have been the burned pork chop he was once served that, oddly, was still frozen in the center. Worse yet was the roast beef sandwich with the slices of meat that glistened with an unhealthy oily sheen and the suspiciously colored mayonnaise. “I’ve had some terrible meals,” he said, “but no regrets.” Except maybe that he has trouble finding time to revisit restaurants he really likes.
On a recent outing, Cannata checked out the elegant lunch restaurant at the New Orleans Museum of Art, where he found the soup and grilled sandwich to be most satisfactory. He declined a spiced pecan from a pear-and-bacon salad because of his allergy to nuts, which is one of his few eating impediments. He also confessed to a hot-dog phobia that can be problematic when, say, dining at a hot-dog restaurant. And he doesn’t much like green peppers — he picks them out when possible.
These days, when Cannata unfurls a napkin and takes up a new menu, there’s liable to be a documentary movie crew capturing the moment. One of those house rebuilding missionaries, Michael Dunaway, turned out to be a filmmaker who took an interest in Cannata’s quest.
What was going to be a short video subject has morphed into a full-blown 90-minute documentary movie titled “The Man Who Ate New Orleans,” complete with a cast of Crescent City celebrity chefs. The “Last Supper” will be the climax of the movie that may be shown by fall 2012. Proceeds from the film will benefit the ongoing post-Katrina rebuilding effort, Cannata said.
The membership of Cannata’s congregation has grown to 160 on Sundays, and he says he’s never been happier. He considers his quest to conquer New Orleans’ restaurants as perfectly compatible with his faith. Food is central to many of the Bible’s teachings, he says. “I’m just doing what God wants me to; I’m eating a lot.”
Doug MacCash can be reached at dmaccash@timespicayune.com or 504.826.3481. Follow him at dougmaccashTP on Twitter.
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