New Orleans

Thursday, March 8.  Les Bon Temps Roulez (but watch out for the jello shots)

Properly sated with french coffee and beignets from the justifiably famous (if not bashful) Cafe de Monde, I am taking advantage of the free wi-fi supplied by the French Market in New Orleans.

I was so starved, this picture only shows half remaining of this delicious and quintessential NO treat.

Yesterday took me from Meridian, MS under four hours to New Orleans.  I decided to keep my speed just under the allowed 70 MPH, which seems to have been a good idea since in the last hour there were many state police about.  With a nice car and NY plates, I figure I'm real cop bait in these parts.  Interestingly, unlike just about any other place I traveled, the rest of the traffic also kept it at or under the speed limit, even the trucks, no doubt reflecting the unhappy consequences that lie at the hands of the state police.  One could argue their deterrent effect is worth it and, since I was not in a hurry, I burbled along at 68 until the Louisiana border.  There, it seemed as though drivers felt liberated and upped their speed almost immediately.  A sign of things to come in the Big Easy.

As I traveled over the long Lake Ponchartrain bridge, I felt a frisson (see, I'm in character already) of excitement, and called my brother and my folks, who seemed suitably impressed that I had made it 1400 miles from NY.  I checked into my hotel and got the concierge to recommend lunch and dinner places and I was on my way.  First stop was Acme Oyster Bar in the French Quarter.  Raucous, crowded and full of both tourists and locals.  While worried initially about the line, I was shown straight to the bar (do they know something?) where I met Pam, who clearly ran her section of the place.  Oysters first, of course, half dozen regular and then a half dozen grilled.  The regular oysters were the size of dessert plates, plump and very fresh.  In size and quality, they reminded me of the lunchtime oysters I used to enjoy at Lexington Market in Baltimore almost 35 years ago.  But I digress . . .  The grilled oysters, which had been drizzled with a garlicky sauce before grilling, were stupendous.  Here they are in all their wonderfulness.

I enjoyed a local Arbiter Purple Haze beer with them and, just because I could, I followed up with half a po-boy sandwich.  The po-boy is a local or regional favorite, comprised of souddough french bread with fillings that can include fried shrimp, fish and/or oysters, along with a tartar-type sauce, pickles and other mystery components.  There is a lot of compeition in NO over which place has the best po-boy, the local equivalent of Philly arguments over cheese steaks and NY debates over pastrami.  I can definitely recommend the Acme version.

After a well-deserved nap and further trip planning (Austin is off the schedule since the SWSX event, which would have required more planning to attend, has taken over the city and hotels)  I ventured out for the next meal.  Yes, there is a theme.  Yes, I will need to exercise and diet even more.  Yes, it is worth it.  I went to NOLA, one of two of Emeril's restaurants in NO.  There are many who feel he no longer serves the best food in town but others claim NOLA has made a come back.

I was seated at the "chef's table," a bar-like counter in front of the cooking area, where orders were being shouted about and multiple line cooks firing up the next diner's meal.  After fried green tomatoes (ok, a cliche but when in Rome), I had pork shank and a glass of red wine.  Sitting next to me was who I will call "Sammy" (to protect the guilty), a visiting Boston-based investment manager on his last solo night before his wife joined him for the remainder of the conference.  Sammy and I chatted and he invited me to join him later at "Crazy Katz" on Bourbon Street, which he claimed had excellent music.  After a stroll, I did and in fact Crazy Katz had an excellent soul/top-40 group, not what you might expect in NO but in fact just right for the mixed crowd.  We had the obligatory one drink minimum and pressed on down the street, stopping at another well known place with a competent, but uninspiring rock group.  After strolling down Bourbon Street, which was packed with visitors clutching beers and "Hand Grenades" (don't ask), we decided to try another area for some more traditional jazz.  I leave you with this enduring image of Bourbon Street.

Frenchman Street, a pedicab ride away, was mostly locals and we enjoyed very traditional (almost curated) jazz, which I enjoyed but, I think, bored Sammy.  So back to Crazy Katz, where waitresses were pushing jello shots in test tubes they carried around in racks.  This had no appeal to me but Sammy decided to press the issue, buying two on the sly and then getting the waitress to do what she could to get me to have my first jello shots.  I will not trample on the sensitivities of my gentle readers to describe how she did this but suffice it to say that within short order, I found two "jello shots" rapidly descending my throat.  My throat, having more sense than I, promptly closed down for business when it encountered the harsh and utterly un-jello like rocket fuel, leaving more jello shot on me than in me.  That literally dampened my interest in Bourbon Street for the night and I left Sammy as he turned down a side street in route to the Penthouse Club.

The next day saw my breakfast at Cafe du Monde, a pleasant fish lunch and, later, more oysters.  Many street bands were out and I listened to several; here is one that was camped in front of the Louisiana Supreme Court building.

 I went back to Frenchman Street in search of more music and wound up listening to Chapter SOUL, which was a superb funk and soul band that really got people moving.  A great night of music, and a perfect ending to my stay in New Orleans.  And, as I got back toward the French Quarter, I came upon this unusual juxtaposition of the shadow of a statute of Jesus against a church under the night's full moon, capturing some of the more mystical and melancholy aspect of this old town.