You hear it before you see it. The clop of hooves on asphalt. The bell. The rhythm of wooden wheels on a brick street. You crane your neck and there it is, painted red and white, a hand-built wagon from 1915 being pulled by a real live mule, and there is a man inside pulling taffy by hand the same way his grandfather pulled it. Welcome to Roman Candy New Orleans. The city's sweetest secret handshake has been rolling through Uptown since before your grandparents were born.
A Sicilian Grandmother, a Streetcar Accident, and a Boy with an Idea
The Roman Candy story starts in a Sicilian kitchen in the Lower Garden District. Angelina Napoli Cortese came over from Sicily, brought her family recipe for taffy with her, and made it for the holidays. Her son Sam Cortese, the man who would eventually become the Roman Candy Man, sold the leftovers from his produce cart the next day.
Sam Cortese lost both his legs below the knee in a streetcar accident when he was twelve. The kid did not slow down. He kept the produce cart going, kept selling his mother's taffy, and started thinking about a way to make and sell the candy on the move. In 1915 he walked into the shop of a wheelwright named Tom Brinker and the two of them designed a custom wagon: hot and cold running water, a hook for pulling taffy, a marble slab for wrapping it, room for one mule and one man to do the whole job at once.
That same wagon is still rolling today. The wheels get replaced every so often (Amish-built, ordered out of Pennsylvania), the sanitation standards have been updated, but the bones of the thing are the same wood and iron Sam Cortese drove out of Tom Brinker's shop in 1915.
He named the candy "Roman" because he figured it sounded more American than "Sicilian." Sam Cortese died in 1969. The cart did not stop. His grandson Ron Kottemann took over and, more recently, his great-grandson started riding along too. There are exactly three flavors: vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate. Mr. Kottemann hand-pulls 700 to 800 sticks a day. From 1915 until 1970 a stick cost a nickel. Today it costs a dollar.
How to Find the Roman Candy Cart in the Wild
There is no app. There is no schedule. There is no Instagram account telling you to be at the corner of Magazine and Napoleon at 3:00 sharp. The cart rolls through Uptown, sometimes downtown, occasionally out to Metairie or Algiers. The mule sets the pace. The route changes. If you live in New Orleans long enough, you will be walking from your car to your house, hear the bell, and stop everything you are doing to chase a wagon down the block with a dollar in your hand.
This is the part that confuses out-of-towners. They want to know where it will be. They want a tour stop. Locals understand that you do not find the Roman Candy Man, the Roman Candy Man finds you. The closest thing to a fixed location is the permanent stand inside the Audubon Zoo, parked just outside the primates exhibit. That one does not move, but it is also not the same as catching the cart on Prytania on a Tuesday afternoon. (Official site: romancandy.com.)
If you want the full story, the Southern Foodways Alliance oral history with Ron Kottemann is worth your time. And there is a great piece in Atlas Obscura that captures why visitors lose their minds when they see it.
Why a Mule-Drawn Wagon Still Works in 2026
Most cities have lost this kind of thing entirely. The horse-drawn knife sharpener disappeared. The milk truck disappeared. The neighborhood ice man, the rag picker, the tamale wagon, the produce cart, the Roman Candy Man. New Orleans held on to one of them. We are not great at preserving streetcar lines or repairing potholes, but somehow this city kept a one-mule taffy operation alive into the twenty-first century, and once you understand why, you understand a lot about New Orleans.
It works because New Orleans rewards slowness. The Roman Candy cart is the opposite of efficient. It is the opposite of scalable. There is one wagon, one mule, one man pulling taffy on a marble slab. You cannot speed it up. You cannot franchise it. You have to walk up to it on the street while it is rolling past your house, and you have to buy what is there, and you have to eat it in the heat watching the wagon roll on toward whoever is next.
That same logic is why a sno-ball stand built into a shotgun house can outlast every Pinkberry that ever came through town. It is why Hansen's Sno-Bliz, opened in the 1930s, is still in the same building with the same machine running the same way. It is why the Roman Candy man is not on DoorDash. New Orleans is a city that believes some things should stay analog, and the people who live here defend that with the kind of religious feeling other cities reserve for football.
For the long version of the cart's first hundred years, nola.com's 300 for 300 entry on the Roman Candy cart's 1915 debut is the best one-stop history.
How Dirty Coast Celebrates the Cart
We started Dirty Coast in 2005 because there was a whole shadow city worth of cultural details that nobody was making shirts about. The Roman Candy cart is one of those details. You do not see it on a tourist map. It does not show up in the welcome brochures at the airport. It just shows up on your street one day and rearranges your afternoon. That is the kind of thing we make shirts about.
If you are walking around the city listening for hooves and a bell, you are already wearing the right thing in spirit. Our Be A New Orleanian Wherever You Are design is for people who carry New Orleans with them through the world, mule-drawn taffy cart and all. The Periodic Table of New Orleans maps the whole ecosystem of weird little institutions that make the city the city. And Eat Lunch Talk About Dinner is what you put on before you go chase a wagon down the block for a dollar piece of taffy three hours after lunch.
A Moment That Keeps Happening
There is a moment that happens, sometimes, when you live here long enough. You are walking home with groceries, the air is heavy, the sun is doing that low gold thing through the live oaks, and you hear hooves. You look up. The wagon comes around the corner. The mule is in no hurry. You stop walking, dig out a dollar, and your day shifts a little. That is Roman Candy New Orleans in one moment. A 110-year-old business model that should not work anymore, still working, still pulling taffy on a marble slab, still rolling somewhere on the Uptown grid right now.
The Roman Candy Man does not need our help to keep going. He has been at it for over a century. But every dollar that crosses that cart is a small vote for the version of New Orleans that lets a mule-drawn wagon outlast Blockbuster, Borders, and most of the venture capital class.
If you hear hooves this summer, go get one. Vanilla, strawberry, or chocolate. Eat it on the porch while the sun goes down. That is the trick.
FAQ
Where can I find the Roman Candy cart in New Orleans?
There is no fixed schedule. The cart rolls through Uptown, downtown, and occasionally the suburbs on a route the mule helps decide. The only permanent location is a stand inside the Audubon Zoo near the primates exhibit.
How much does Roman Candy cost?
One dollar per stick. It was a nickel from 1915 to 1970, then went up. The flavors are vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate.
Is the Roman Candy Man really pulled by a mule?
Yes. A real live mule pulls the original 1915 wagon. The mule lives in a stable behind owner Ron Kottemann's house and works the streets a few days a week, weather permitting.
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