The beat (and eat) goes on

A line outside Vaughan's Lounge snaked down the block, and it wasn't people waiting to get in. They were there to chow down.

Renowned trumpeter Kermit Ruffins performed inside this rustic Bywater neighborhood bar while an enormous barbecue smoker parked outside, blending smoke with the muggy New Orleans evening air.

Ruffins famously used to do the barbecuing himself for this Thursday tradition, but this night he pulled up in an immaculate black Cadillac Escalade while Atlanta transplant Anthony Miller piled sausages and pork chops on the grills.

"I'm actually a painter by trade," Miller said. "I came to town for all the construction work after Katrina, but that dried up pretty quick. People aren't thinking about painting their houses right now when they can't afford gas and groceries. So I went into the barbecuing."

Between Miller's smoky meat and Ruffins' smoking trumpet playing, the scene at Vaughan's painted the perfect picture of the two local commodities -- nay, art forms -- keeping New Orleans afloat: Music and food. Long this city's lifeblood, those two scenes have become its lifeline.

As the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina arrives next week, most of the famous restaurants have reopened, and many new ones have been added. Meanwhile, all the renowned music venues are rocking again, and the musical community itself is a shining example of post-K philanthropy.

But, make no mistake, much of New Orleans is still hurting and you don't have to travel far outside the mostly undamaged French Quarter to see the scars that remain.

A small city of people live in tents under the highway overpasses just north of the Quarter. Boarded-up buildings and empty storefronts mar the Central Business District. Adjacent to the refurbished Superdome, the Hyatt Regency sits dormant, a towering reminder that things are still amiss.

And then there's the Lower Ninth Ward.

A few companies offer guided Devastation Tours of the Ninth Ward for around $60, but we followed the advice of a local: "Just point your car in any direction, and you'll get a devastation tour."

We saw houses that lean precariously and bear the spray-painted symbols left by rescuers. We saw others cleaned up, perhaps in better shape than before the storm. The real eye-opener, though, was seeing the areas -- entire city blocks, miles and miles of them -- where the houses are completely gone, washed away. Crumbled foundations are all that stand where families once lived. As my brother put it when we pulled the car over to gape, "I feel like we're in a Mad Max movie."

Signs of recovery

Thankfully, you don't have to travel far out of the Quarter to see some of the awe-inspiring healing that's happening around New Orleans.

In the same Bywater neighborhood that houses Vaughan's and such can't-miss restaurants as Elizabeth's and the Feelings Cafe, Habitat for Humanity's hard-hammering efforts are on display in bright colors in the Musicians' Village.

A new neighborhood built exclusively for musicians and their families -- with help from benefit gigs around the globe (including the Twin Cities) -- the Village was home to 43 families in May, when I visited, with about 25 more due by year's end. The houses' purple, yellow and red exteriors stick out like tulips rising from gravel.

Two local legends with deep New Orleans roots, Branford Marsalis and Harry Connick, Jr., spearheaded the Village.

"They both come by a lot and roll up their sleeves and get to work," said Aleis Tusa, spokeswoman for Habitat for Humanity's NOLA chapter. "Their managers stand there nervously the whole time, saying, 'Don't hurt yourself!'"

Some of the post-K rebuilding hasn't been for the better. Mid-City Lanes, home to the famous Rock & Bowl music series, got a blasé new strip-mall exterior and cell-phone store for a neighbor. Fortunately, the inside looks the same, with its faded murals, vintage fixtures and scuffed-up linoleum floor.

Another of the city's famous music venues, Preservation Hall, has changed its format to stay alive post-K. Instead of the namesake house band -- whose members are now scattered across the country -- the calendar is booked with outside acts.

Preservation Hall and another New Orleans music institution, Tipitina's, each set up post-K nonprofit foundations that fund everything from instruments to health care around town. Spending money at these venues three years later feels like payback.

There are many similar cases in the restaurant world.

We tried to pay back chef Donald Link, who supported area farmers and led other recovery efforts -- and whose restaurants Herbsaint and Cochon are two of the finest higher-end eateries to open in the past decade. But the reservationists at both his places politely laughed at us when we called two months before Jazz Fest. Good for them.

The number of New Orleans restaurants is down by 30 percent, according to the Louisiana Restaurant Association. But that's less than the population decline (still about 37 percent off). Beyond the numbers, it is easier to see a brighter recovery.

At Felix's, a divey and decadent oyster bar just off Bourbon Street, we overheard our servers talking about a co-worker who finally planned to return to New Orleans from wherever the storm took him. Chalk one up to the po-boys.

The way it was before?

It is also possible to go to New Orleans and forget Katrina ever happened. There's probably no better place for this than Commander's Palace, the Garden District's 128-year-old bastion of haute Creole dining and Southern gentility, which was closed for 13 months post-K.

We went for the Sunday jazz brunch, when a banjo- and clarinet-led quartet strolls through the maze of high-ceilinged rooms and the meals ($20 to $30) are half the dinner prices. Six of us had five different meals, including Bourbon Lacquered Mississippi Quail and Crawfish Boudin & Eggs. No one was remotely disappointed, least of all by the atmosphere. As ever, Commander's harks back to New Orleans' richest days as a port city long, long before Katrina.

One of our waiters -- we had about six of them, it's that kind of place -- happily reported that business has been hopping. Even President Bush ate there a few weeks before us.

"He ordered something we don't serve a lot of around here," our guy reported. "A nonalcoholic beer."

If it's the alcoholic kind you crave, even a stroll down raunchy ol' Bourbon Street could leave you thinking New Orleans remains same as it ever was (for worse or better). The only noticeable difference: Porn mogul Larry Flynt came in and seemingly opened a Hustler Club on every block of Bourbon.

Amid the filth, we found beauty even on Bourbon, in the form of an innovative troupe of street performers: five young black men who combined breakdancing with acrobatic drumline movements. As they neared their big, neck-wrenching finish, the young performers coyly pitched the crowd of tourists with a song parody:

"We are the world/ We are New Orleans' children/ If you don't donate, then we'll start stealing."

Like everything else in New Orleans, dropping a few bucks in the bucket felt less like a donation and more like an investment in a city that always gives back more than it takes.

Chris Riemenschneider • 612-673-4658