225BatonRouge.com

Katrina kicked my food-writing butt. As a New Orleans food and restaurant writer, I live for and make my living dining out, cooking, seeking and tasting. I'm always hungry for a meal, food conversation, the latest dish, trend, or written word on food.

I collect food and cook books, food related jewelry (I'm almost never without my blue crab necklace or gumbo charm bracelet), and at Mardi Gras I only wear beads with food icons - the café-au-lait set and red beans and rice are my prize possessions. I am a person obsessed by anything and everything food related. And I never, I mean never tire of it. August 29 changed that, at least for a time, until I landed in Baton Rouge.

When people lose someone or something important in their lives, they grieve. Grief counselors tell us victims experience grief in six stages. My grief as a food writer is food and dining related. And for me, that has been in four stages, or what I've dubbed "The Four Stages of Eat."

Stage 1 No appetite whatsoever. Food in fact nauseates me, and I am existing solely on Saltines and Aquafina bottled water.

Stage 2 Feeding the need for familiar dishes, places and faces. My appetite starts to return after about a week and I'm craving familiarity. I make a bee-line for PF Chang's, even though I'm not overly fond of chain restaurants. It's great. The chicken lettuce cups meet all the requirements for texture and flavor - cool, warm and crunchy all at once; a hint of woodiness from mushrooms, that sweetness from carrots and other wok sauteed vegetables.

Next it's off to Whole Foods Market, where I find friends and one thing our New Orleans branch doesn't have--gelato. I taste every flavor and fall for the green tea, which I tell the gal behind the counter, would be even better studded with large tapioca balls like those slurped through giant straws in Bubble Teas. She loves the idea as well as my other flavor suggestions (lavender sorbet and Vietnamese coffee). She even quietly asks if I want a job. I'm beginning to get my food-writer energy.

The first Saturday after the storm I head to the Red Stick Farmers' Market and there's Papa Tom with his spectacularly deep-flavored corn meal and zippy spices, and the Smiths of Smith's Creamery to slake my thirst with icy-cold and rich chocolate milk. Yep, things are getting better. Now it's time to "go local."

Stage 3 Going to restaurants recommended by Baton Rougeans. This is the stage where I totally get my Mojo back. I start with Zeeland Street Market--a hit. The owner is sharp as a tack and friendly to everyone as she circles the room, clearing tables or saying a quick "hello."

The recommended Friday lunch special of griddled crab cakes have a crisp exterior, moist interior and are loaded with sweet crabmeat. The lemony dill sauce is light and tangy withy citrus--perfect. Sides of green beans, black-eyed peas, sweet potatoes and more are bursting with homey flavors. More corn bread muffins, please. I love this place.

At Di Giulio's, the darkness and noise are unsettling but our server is adorable and efficient. The Italian salad is not what I expect, and is drenched in a balsamic vinaigrette; balsamic vinegar being the only Italian nod there. The pizza is satisfying, if slightly undercooked, and the topping of meatballs pieces are so small we mistake them for herbs. The tiramisu recovers for the pizza by being spot-on in taste--not too sweet or heavy with mascarpone. The espresso is strong and good.

I also go to George's where the kitchen kicks out a mean burger but a weird rendition of crawfish etoufee that is spiced with copious amounts of cumin. My "recommendations" list is long, but must save those thoughts for another time.

Baton Rouge is engaging my hunger for more; I start seeing the food in everything, scarfing down my usual glut of food mags and books.

Stage 4 I begin exploring the dining landscape on my own. I've been teased by what I can taste in Baton Rouge and I head out for my own discovieres.

I drive way out on Florida Boulevard and stumble upon the Hong Kong, Le and Vinh Phat Markets. I cry tears of joy at the cache of Asian goodies I find. I look at Little Saigon, but it's closed. I will return. I pass by Dang, but there's a scene and I opt out. I wind up at Pho Hoang Anh and luck out with reasonably priced, down-home, un-Americanized Vietnamese food. My plate lunch of rice, egg-cake, pork chop and shredded pork with glutens (Com bi suon cha) is filling my soul. The play of textures (soft, toothy, chewy) and flavors (perfume, garlic, dust) are just what I adore. The killer-strength iced coffee (café su da) is tempered by the sweetness of condensed milk. Curious about the local fascination with hash browns, I try them everywhere. That too is another story. I've eaten scads of pizza but have not yet found my "jewel." The boudin balls at Tony's rock my world. And I haven't even hit the fine dining establishments yet.

I'm baaack, and I have Baton Rouge to thank. I'm empathetic to the locals' ambivalence towards the ridiculous number of chain restaurants. But I feel certain that Baton Rouge's burgeoning culinary savvy, and desire to become more, is powerful. Let's not forget that the Capital City is only an hour from the Crescent City (named by Bon Apetit Magazine as one of the top 5 food cities in the United States). And many of those New Orleans foodie folks are now here, so dining can only get better.

Now, I'm really hungry.

Lorin Gaudin is a New Orleans-based food writer and critic whose work has appeared in the New York Post and New Orleans magazine.