One of my fondest Christmas memories didn't happen in December at all, but in the muggy New Orleans summer, an August back in 2007. I'd just locked up my bike outside of a popular bar, Mimi's in the Marigny, to meet some friends. But instead of heading in for a drink, they met me outside to take me a few houses down the block, to a woman's private home. Miss B's, they said. Christmas house, they said.