Where Dreams Live by Chris Rose

This we have learned: Extraordinary tragedy begets extraordinary generosity. Listen to the story of one couple's dream, wiped out by The Flood, then resurrected with a random act of kindness.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Chris Rose

Luis Bernhard and Sandra Bahhur, husband and wife, were chasing a dream. He is a retinal angiographer in the ophthalmology department of the Veterans Affairs Medical Center, which, translated into English, means he's a highly specialized photographer of the eyes. She is an operating room nurse at Tulane Medical Center.
That's what they do for a living, and a good living it is. But it's not their dream or their passion, really. What they really wanted out of life was to be New Orleans restaurateurs.

They're foodies, Luis and Sandra. They eat out a lot and they talk about what's good and what's bad and what they would do if they could have a real New Orleans restaurant of their own.

“Any time we go out to dinner, we critique everything," Sandra says. "We talk about things we could do better. It's been a dream of ours for 15 years. It was something I really wanted to try before I turned 40."

They took small steps toward their dream many years ago, when they opened a lunch and breakfast joint called Arabesque in the medical district of downtown New Orleans, next door to their day jobs.

But that was just eggs, sandwiches and Middle Eastern appetizers. It wasn't the dream -- a bustling, eclectic destination bistro with daily specials and cool furniture, fancy lighting, art on the walls and all that intangible stuff that makes a restaurant great, gives it that magic, sensual allure of the fine dining world.

They got real close to the dream in the fall of 2005. A year and a half earlier, they had bought a funky, dilapidated shotgun house on Carrollton, right by Canal, the site of a former sign shop.

"Truth is, it was ugly," Sandra said. "It didn't say 'restaurant' at all." Nevertheless, they bought the place and poured all their sweat, energy and savings -- and loans -- into it. Luis, a very capable carpenter and artist, did all the physical renovation himself.
They were set to open in November of that year. But then.

But then, in one afternoon, the new restaurant, the old restaurant, their home in Lakeview and their jobs were wiped out. You know the deal. "It's the same miserable story everyone else has around here," Sandra says.

Luis was transferred to the VA in Miami. The dream -- just one of a million dreams around here, really -- was over. They bought a place in Miami. Started over. Moved on. But then.

But then that uncanny and imperceptible New Orleans virus bloomed in their blood, their brains, their souls.
"How do we leave?" Sandra asks. "We had unfinished business here. I mean, Miami is gorgeous; really gorgeous. But when we'd go out to dinner, we'd realize how much we missed New Orleans, how much we missed the friendly environment of the city's restaurants, and the variety of life here. In Miami, every restaurant is high-end Italian. And, truthfully, Miami is pretty high strung."

So they came back. They got their old jobs back. Took out more loans. Gutted the house and the new restaurant; lost the lease on the old one. Started over, moved on -- sure. But started over and moved on here.

"We wanted to be part of the rebuilding," Sandra says. "We wanted to be pioneers."

Luis rolled up his sleeves and renovated the building at 127 N. Carrollton Ave. for the second time in two years. They developed an eclectic menu that merges Middle Eastern, Cuban and Louisiana cuisine. They got cool furniture and fancy lighting and nice art on the walls. They poured what was left of their physical and emotional selves into the dream, a one-of-a-kind bistro called, again, Arabesque.

But then.

But then they ran out of money. And this time for good. They had maxed out their loans and tapped their in-laws for everything. This fall, just weeks from opening their restaurant, still refurbishing their Lakeview home and still sitting on a fat bank note in Miami, they hit bottom. Flat broke and busted.

They were desperate. "We got laughed out of four banks," Sandra says. "We began to feel pretty stupid for thinking we could do this."

But then. A quick back story:
In September 2005, Dr. Toney Russell and his wife Gina, residents of Houston, had heard about everyone in trouble over here in New Orleans and decided to do what they could to help. Toney tracked down Dr. Kyle Dickson of New Orleans, a colleague in arms, who along with his wife Susan had been wiped out by the storm. The Russells wrote a check to the Dicksons for $10,000. No strings attached. Rise up and fix yourself, with a little help from a stranger.

About six weeks ago, just when Sandra and Luis had reached the end of their road, the Dicksons tried to repay the Russells. But Tony explained that it wasn't a loan, it was a gift. He advised the Dicksons, now back on their feet, to pass it along to the next guy who might need it.

Kyle and Susan had once lived next door to Luis and Sandra. And I think you know what happens next.

At the very moment Sandra and Luis pondered closing down the whole New Orleans operation and going back to Miami with their tails between their legs -- what were they thinking when they tried this, really? -- Sandra showed up with a check. For $10,000. No strings attached. Rise up and fix yourself.

In truth, $10,000 doesn't get you far in the restaurant business. But it bought Sandra and Luis a month and that's all they needed. With the help of a local printer who refused to take their money, they ran off their menus and dusted off the tabletops with enough capital to open 10 days ago, enough capital to get butts in the seats and start serving meals, start being real New Orleans restaurateurs.

"He decided to give it to us because he heard that we were helping rebuild the city," Luis says. "And it came at such a desperate time. We didn't know how -- or if -- we were ever going to open our doors. We were despondent."

And folks have been pouring in the door ever since, and with the cash register ringing and capital coming in, they have survived, so far, thanks to the kindness of strangers, a strange pipeline begun by a man in Houston who simply gave a damn and then a couple in New Orleans who clearly understand the concept of karma.

And the story doesn't end there. Or, at least, hopefully not. You don't break a chain like this.

Sitting in his hip new bistro a week ago, Luis acknowledged that, ultimately, the survival of his restaurant is up to market forces -- and whether the food is actually any good. But he smiled and said: "We're going to make this happen. And we realize what a helping hand we had. And when we get an extra $10,000 -- whenever that may be -- we're going to pass it along. We're going to pay it forward to the next person who might need it."

And somewhere down the road, a dream awaits salvation, Katrina-style.
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Columnist Chris Rose can be reached at chris.rose@timespicayune.com, or (504) 826-3309, or (504) 352-2535.