Tatlo

A place for the witches of New Orleans to convene over spiritually-infused drinks and dishes

by

One recent summer evening, I was walking along Bourbon Street—soaking in the persistent echo of drums on overturned buckets, the smells and shouts of drinking that started hours before and would continue well into the night. I rounded the corner of the Old Absinthe House and waited until 7 pm, when the gate opened and Miles Hunt placed a handwritten sign on the ground: “Witchcraft Cocktails.” Walking through the little side yard and into the low-lit speakeasy, the scents and the noise of Bourbon disappeared, replaced by the earthy fragrance of sage and the crooning of Amy Winehouse. The walls were lined with tributes to the feminine occult and a tarot reader held residence in the corner. Potions lined the shelf above the rows of absinthe and local spirits. 

But this is no French Quarter schtick. Tatlo Divine Cuisine and Absinthe House is infused with genuine—there’s no other way to say it—witchcraft. 

Tatlo, which means “three” in the Tboli dialect of the Philippines, describes itself as a “witchy Filipino” bar, and is the brainchild of Cristina Quackenbush, of Milkfish fame, with longtime collaborator Hayley Vanvleet (of Belle Époque, amongst others), and Anh Luu of Bywater Brew Pub. Drawing from their own commitments to manifestation and spell work, they’ve set out to create a food and drink experience that draws upon ancestry, herbalism, and, most importantly, intention.

“When I come to work, I love coming here, because it feels like my space,” Quackenbush said when she sat down with me at the bar. “We put a protection spell on it.” 

Behind the bar, Vanvleet poured me a Zodiaquiri, a rotating cocktail that changes with the astrological seasons. When I visited, we were in peak Leo season, and the Zodiaquiri on offer was a Beet and Chinese Five Spice Daiquiri, composed with a three-year local barrel aged rum from Atelier Vie and beet syrup made from locally grown beets. The result was balanced and nourishing. 

This venture finds Vanvleet, who typically helms a kitchen, stepping behind the bar for the first time. Quackenbush said, “I’ve never met someone who can put together flavors so well. So, it has to translate over to bartending, let’s try it out!” 

Cocktails are already potion-like. They cast love spells and serve as good luck charms. But the concoctions at Tatlo are designed with spiritual benefits in mind. The Spell Breaker, made with pineapple and calamansi, is meant to nurture endings and rebirth, while Hecate’s Crossroad, with lavender and Prosecco, calls upon the Greek goddess of magic and the underworld. Vanvleet researched the herbs associated with Hecate, as she does for every cocktail, finding only two that were nonpoisonous. 

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When it comes to herbalism, the women of Tatlo are carrying on a centuries-old tradition that goes back to the days when the average person didn’t have access to doctors. The healing practices that resulted out of necessity were largely led by women—whose traditions were carried forth through generations as their gender was continuously excluded from education opportunities in “modern” medicine. Those who still practiced healing by way of natural remedies and herbs were often vilified by society as “witches.” 

“I’m trying to change the mindset of witchcraft being sacrilegious,” Quackenbush said, who was raised on a farm in the Midwest. “My angle is from a completely different point of view . . . I grew up learning a lot about herbs. For me this project is the culmination of all of the different experiences I’ve had with herbs and manifestations and the power of the energy that surrounds us.” 

Many of the herbs and plants Quackenbush grows make their way into the food and drink on Tatlo’s menu. “When you do it yourself, you have such attention,” she said. “You gotta love it. You gotta wait for it to grow.”

Intention is at the core of Quackenbush’s practice, and a principle she has returned to time and again in her life. When it comes to Tatlo’s menu, she spares no detail, drawing on years of research into the healing powers of food.  “I use my experience as a chef to be able to put all these flavors together,” she said. “It’s more than just sustenance, but to help make people feel better.” 

Just like the cocktails, the menu lists the spiritual benefits of each dish. Anyone familiar with tarot readings would guess by the name that the Four of Swords—with a Longganisa sausage patty and fontina cheese—promotes “rest, relaxation, and recuperation.” I was also drawn to the affluence and strength promised by the Peanut Butter & Belly, a cut of pork belly that arrived nestled beside a trio of rolled up strips of eggplant and under glistening bok choy and fried longbean, with a peanut butter sauce that fell somewhere between broth and roux. For dessert, I was transported to the ancestral realm with the ube rice cake—or bebinka—bright purple and with a spell of ginger that added complexity to the sweetness. 

“So [Tatlo is] women running a bar that used to be a secret space for women selling a spirit that was created by women for women. I feel like there’s a lot of power in this space.” —Hayley Vanvleet

Just as soul food calls upon lineage and home, Quackenbush’s connection to her ancestors shines through her tribute to traditional Filipino cuisine. By renaming the dishes she takes inspiration from, she gives herself the flexibility to put her own magic on them, while still invoking memories for diners familiar with, say, kare-kare—the dish the Peanut Butter and Belly riffs on. 

Quackenbush wants Tatlo to be a place of healing. After cooking for guests, she’ll often come out to the dining room and talk to each table. Sometimes she brings out a deck of reflection cards, and more than once a guest has worked through something powerful by the time they’re through talking with her. 

So, I had to ask: how did a place so intent on harmonious connections end up just off Bourbon Street? 

“I would have never thought in a million years that I would have worked on Bourbon Street,” Quackenbush said, but the space seems to have been written in the stars. In the early days of the Old Absinthe House, women were not allowed to drink with the men, so legend has it that they were sent into the back room that Tatlo currently occupies to imbibe. After former tenant Belle Époque closed, Quackenbush pitched her concept. Her son Miles, who previously worked alongside her at Milkfish, got to work transforming the space into a speakeasy for witchy solace. “The connections came together so fast,” Quackenbush said. 

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Serving absinthe also felt cosmically aligned. The origin of the Green Fairy is often attributed to the invention of Dr. Pierre Ordinaire of Couvet, Switzerland in 1792, who then sold the recipe to the Henriod sisters. But other tales say the Henriod sisters created it themselves before he came to town and sold it as a medicine for menstrual ailments (Those potions on the wall, by the way, are tinctures for cramps and hot flashes made by Quackenbush). 

“So [Tatlo is] women running a bar that used to be a secret space for women selling a spirit that was created by women for women,” Vanvleet said. “I feel like there’s a lot of power in this space.”

Not unlike witches, absinthe’s reputation has been tarnished by the lingering stigmatism of government bans, not to mention mishandling in service. But to try absinthe properly is a delightful experience, the complex flavors gently unwinding in the glass after it has been “louched.” Vanvleet demonstrated this French technique for me, placing her favorite absinthe spoon (in the shape of a fairy) over my glass with a sugar cube on top, and then slowly pouring water over it until it dissolved into the absinthe. 

“It’s really polarizing because it’s been done wrong so many times. When it’s not done right it’s not pleasant,” Vanvleet said. I sipped my glass of her favorite New World producer, the Opal by Violet Crown Spirits, and tasted notes of anise and fennel. The flavor of New World absinthe tends to be more balanced against the spirit’s characteristic punchiness and vegetal tones, she explained.

“I’d say I turn people into absinthe drinkers…” She paused to consider. “More than occasionally.”

Vanvleet and Quackenbush hope that Tatlo will be a part in unifying the covens of the Crescent City, and a welcoming space for people to relax and explore. Not everybody who walks in from Bourbon street is game for the concept, and that’s okay with the team. 

“People who belong here find us,” Vanvleet said.

When I walked out of Tatlo and back into the swampy air, I was greeted with the brash cries of a second line marching down Bienville and into the fray of Bourbon. It was almost as if Tatlo, a secret haven in the French Quarter, had blessed me back into the night. tatlo.co