A Drunkard's Progress through New Orleans
I decided Julian and I needed to go on vacation before the end of the year, partly bc he gets holiday blues, partly bc he'd failed at going on vacation twice in 2 weeks, and possibly bc I'd been looking through pictures of our last (amazing) vaca for a week straight. I originally suggested we hop a same-day flight to New Orleans, but he argued against that, which is probably for the best, as, with less than a week's notice, he put together another of his amazing itineraries.
From the first blast of humid air as we walked off the plane, to walking down Bourbon St and seeing redheads handing out free cans of Monster Rehab, I immediately knew we'd picked the right last minute destination. I was a little disappointed that we had our first meal at Coop's, bc how could we eat better than that? And honestly, their rabbit jambalaya is one of the best things we ate all trip. And it's next door to Molly's at the Market, which has the apotheosis of coffee, large Irish coffee in to-go cups. Seriously, I'd fly to New Orleans for that meal.
Julian gave me my choice of the Historic New Orleans Collection (house-museum) or the Lestat & Louis house. The former turned out to be a shrine to a wealthy couple that did a lot for French Quarter preservation. The only really inherently interesting part is their house looks like what my father's house looked like when I was very young, which made me realize that even by the standards of his own generation, my dad was a dinosaur.
The Voodoo museum was less creepy than expected, even though the founder was sitting with a snake in the lobby, and helped me understand that voodoo as practiced in New Orleans is a synthesis of African paganism with Catholicism. Next stop was Jean Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, where I ordered an egg nog daiquiris and stole Julian's hurricane, which was a strong contender for best drink of the trip. We had dinner at Napoleon House. I coulda sworn we had a duck po' boy. Julian thought I was crazy when I suggested we have a muffaletta salad, but lettuce turned out to be just as good a substrate for meaty yumminess. We stopped off at Pat O'Brien's to kill time: I know it's a "classic" New Orleans experience, but I have very high standards for piano bars. We went to Preservation Hall to hear jazz after, but it felt very formulaic: they all play together, then each performer does a solo. I don't have a sufficiently developed ear to be impressed: I liked the synthesis the street performers in Jackson Square come up with better.
We went kayaking on Bayou St. John on Sat morning. It was so windy (35mph gusts!) that we couldn't go all the way to Lake Pontchartain: even where we were, there were white caps and there was a moment where I paddled hard just to stay in place. Our guide talked as much about college football as the city, but it was nice to do something more active that stumbling between bars.
The European sections of the New Orleans Museum of Art are impressive, with good descriptions and organization. They have 1-2 paintings by every artist they ought, which is impressive for a subnational museum. And of course, touring art museums with Julian is the best, as he makes comments like, "I don't even have to look at the sign: St. Sebastian, the twinkiest saint in all of Christendom." The African and Asian sections were less well curated and my feet hurt, so it was time to go. We stopped at Angelo Brocato's, then rated by TripAdvisor as the #2 of 1015 restaurants in New Orleans, where I discovered my new favoritest dessert, tortoni. Which Julian better take me for in New Jersey, if he knows what's good for him ahem.
I'd packed two dresses for the trip, the classy one and the slutty one: I think the slutty one was too slutty for Bourbon St. I got a few unfriendly looks as we were seated in Galatoire's, possibly bc I had an immature moment and decided to wear all the makeup. ah well. We had chosen the reveillion menu - one of everthing! - including escargot Yvonne, sauteed shrimp, duck & foie gras lentil soup, fancified redfish, and bread pudding. Julian was pondering the wine menu when an older gent from the family table next to us came over and said, "If you're still looking at the menu all this time, you need my help. I've eaten here about a hundred times and I recommend..." It was such a terribly sweet gesture in a restaurant overly full of local families.
Before this trip, the only strip club I'd ever been to was the Penthouse Club in NYC, so I groaned a little that we went to the Penthouse Club in New Orleans. Apparently all the best strip clubs in NoLa are the chain ones, so. We smoked a cigar, watched some dances, and pondered which young lady we'd most like a dance from. This was my fifth? time in a strip club, but my first time with Julian, and it was just... different. We had to talk about economics the whole time. For example, we discussed the different looks of the dancers in New Orleans: fewer Hispanic or African-American girls, less differentiation in looks. There was one young woman with pale skin and black hair, who I was much too shy to approach; I told Julian not to talk to her, but he did anyhow and I'm so glad. Her "name" was Rogue, i.e. she's going for the nerd demographic. Teehee. It was until a day or two later, thinking about her observations about New Orleans enduring bc the people protect their culture, compared with her hometown of Memphis, that I realized how clever she was. Unfortunately, I also decided a few days later that I should've gotten another dance with her. I thought it was very interesting that she would give me a floor dance, but not Julian, whereas the next young lady would not give me a floor dance, but would give Julian one.
The next morning, we woke to the most spectacular thunder and lightning I've ever heard, so we punted our cemetery tour. Instead, we had lunch at Cochon Butcher, formerly S'wine Bar, which was as good as I remembered, which is impressive. I was falling asleep on my feet at the Cabildo, but it's an awfully good museum and a great counterpoint to Ned Sublette's The World That Made New Orleans. We went to Cane & Table in the French Quarter for drinks, but I was kind of out of it for that and for dinner at Three Muses on Frenchmen Street. Julian commented that Frenchmen Street might be where locals prefer to hang out, but I can do that any night in the East Village: Bourbon Street I cannot.
Monday morning, we drove out to the Laura Plantation for what Lonely Planet calls the "Best History tour in the US." It was in fact, very good, and uses the house to tell the story of a typical white family of the time, with some good props. In retrospect, given that they chose that plantation to restore bc of its connection to the Br'er Rabbit stories, I wish they'd talked more about the African residents of the plantation. I was chilled when the guide mentioned that the uninsulated slave quarters we were sitting in were still used until the 70s. Egads.
We stopped at B&C Cajun Deli for lunch, where we had a tray full of crawfish, alligator po' boy, and fried okra. You'd think the way my fiancé talks about it that my boyfriend would know not to eat the second to last fried okra, but no. *sheesh* On our way back, we decided to stop at the Old New Orleans Rum Distillery for their last tour of the day. I almost wish we hadn't, bc trying pure rum-distilled alcohol has ruined me for all straight liquors for ever. Well, except then I drank all the samples. We liked their pre-mixed ginger cocktails and I enjoyed their 10yo rum very much, except it costs 2.5x what my 12yo house rum costs, so yeah. We then stopped in the French Quarter for absinthe frappes where Lafitte and Andrew Jackson had them, except Old Absinthe House now hangs football helmets :( We drunkenly wandered into the Tabasco store, Evans praline shop, and Pepper Palace. The last had yummy stuff to try, including delicious peach and mango salsas, but I'd rather have gone to Slow Burn in Monterey.
The reveillon menu at the Commander's Palace probably would've killed me - during the trip I tweeted that "I'm hungry" now meant "I'm no longer full to bursting". For the life of me, I can't remember what we ate, except I had the foie gras "du Monde" as my entrée, which is the bestest idea evuh: foie gras with beignets! served with foie gras infused café au lait!!! It would be nice to know if I had the turtle soup, but I think I had the shrimp & tasso hennican. Bc beurre blanc should be made with Crystal hot sauce. Just writing this is giving me a little foodgasm. Dessert was creole bread pudding soufflé, which was every bit as tasty as I'd hoped. I now wonder why I ever ate again after this meal.
We went to Rick's for our last Bourbon Street entertainment, but it took only one drink before I safeworded and we went back to the Penthouse Club. It was less crowded than it had been on Saturday night, but the dancers were less athletic/attractive - one of the prettiest convinced me to never, ever get a boob job - and they closed at 2. Which was ok, bc we had a morning flight, made more palatable by shrimp etouffee. It's a tribute to how amazing New Orleans is that their airport shrimp etouffee is still better than any in New York. I need to go back, in <2 years.
From the first blast of humid air as we walked off the plane, to walking down Bourbon St and seeing redheads handing out free cans of Monster Rehab, I immediately knew we'd picked the right last minute destination. I was a little disappointed that we had our first meal at Coop's, bc how could we eat better than that? And honestly, their rabbit jambalaya is one of the best things we ate all trip. And it's next door to Molly's at the Market, which has the apotheosis of coffee, large Irish coffee in to-go cups. Seriously, I'd fly to New Orleans for that meal.
Julian gave me my choice of the Historic New Orleans Collection (house-museum) or the Lestat & Louis house. The former turned out to be a shrine to a wealthy couple that did a lot for French Quarter preservation. The only really inherently interesting part is their house looks like what my father's house looked like when I was very young, which made me realize that even by the standards of his own generation, my dad was a dinosaur.
The Voodoo museum was less creepy than expected, even though the founder was sitting with a snake in the lobby, and helped me understand that voodoo as practiced in New Orleans is a synthesis of African paganism with Catholicism. Next stop was Jean Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, where I ordered an egg nog daiquiris and stole Julian's hurricane, which was a strong contender for best drink of the trip. We had dinner at Napoleon House. I coulda sworn we had a duck po' boy. Julian thought I was crazy when I suggested we have a muffaletta salad, but lettuce turned out to be just as good a substrate for meaty yumminess. We stopped off at Pat O'Brien's to kill time: I know it's a "classic" New Orleans experience, but I have very high standards for piano bars. We went to Preservation Hall to hear jazz after, but it felt very formulaic: they all play together, then each performer does a solo. I don't have a sufficiently developed ear to be impressed: I liked the synthesis the street performers in Jackson Square come up with better.
We went kayaking on Bayou St. John on Sat morning. It was so windy (35mph gusts!) that we couldn't go all the way to Lake Pontchartain: even where we were, there were white caps and there was a moment where I paddled hard just to stay in place. Our guide talked as much about college football as the city, but it was nice to do something more active that stumbling between bars.
The European sections of the New Orleans Museum of Art are impressive, with good descriptions and organization. They have 1-2 paintings by every artist they ought, which is impressive for a subnational museum. And of course, touring art museums with Julian is the best, as he makes comments like, "I don't even have to look at the sign: St. Sebastian, the twinkiest saint in all of Christendom." The African and Asian sections were less well curated and my feet hurt, so it was time to go. We stopped at Angelo Brocato's, then rated by TripAdvisor as the #2 of 1015 restaurants in New Orleans, where I discovered my new favoritest dessert, tortoni. Which Julian better take me for in New Jersey, if he knows what's good for him ahem.
I'd packed two dresses for the trip, the classy one and the slutty one: I think the slutty one was too slutty for Bourbon St. I got a few unfriendly looks as we were seated in Galatoire's, possibly bc I had an immature moment and decided to wear all the makeup. ah well. We had chosen the reveillion menu - one of everthing! - including escargot Yvonne, sauteed shrimp, duck & foie gras lentil soup, fancified redfish, and bread pudding. Julian was pondering the wine menu when an older gent from the family table next to us came over and said, "If you're still looking at the menu all this time, you need my help. I've eaten here about a hundred times and I recommend..." It was such a terribly sweet gesture in a restaurant overly full of local families.
Before this trip, the only strip club I'd ever been to was the Penthouse Club in NYC, so I groaned a little that we went to the Penthouse Club in New Orleans. Apparently all the best strip clubs in NoLa are the chain ones, so. We smoked a cigar, watched some dances, and pondered which young lady we'd most like a dance from. This was my fifth? time in a strip club, but my first time with Julian, and it was just... different. We had to talk about economics the whole time. For example, we discussed the different looks of the dancers in New Orleans: fewer Hispanic or African-American girls, less differentiation in looks. There was one young woman with pale skin and black hair, who I was much too shy to approach; I told Julian not to talk to her, but he did anyhow and I'm so glad. Her "name" was Rogue, i.e. she's going for the nerd demographic. Teehee. It was until a day or two later, thinking about her observations about New Orleans enduring bc the people protect their culture, compared with her hometown of Memphis, that I realized how clever she was. Unfortunately, I also decided a few days later that I should've gotten another dance with her. I thought it was very interesting that she would give me a floor dance, but not Julian, whereas the next young lady would not give me a floor dance, but would give Julian one.
The next morning, we woke to the most spectacular thunder and lightning I've ever heard, so we punted our cemetery tour. Instead, we had lunch at Cochon Butcher, formerly S'wine Bar, which was as good as I remembered, which is impressive. I was falling asleep on my feet at the Cabildo, but it's an awfully good museum and a great counterpoint to Ned Sublette's The World That Made New Orleans. We went to Cane & Table in the French Quarter for drinks, but I was kind of out of it for that and for dinner at Three Muses on Frenchmen Street. Julian commented that Frenchmen Street might be where locals prefer to hang out, but I can do that any night in the East Village: Bourbon Street I cannot.
Monday morning, we drove out to the Laura Plantation for what Lonely Planet calls the "Best History tour in the US." It was in fact, very good, and uses the house to tell the story of a typical white family of the time, with some good props. In retrospect, given that they chose that plantation to restore bc of its connection to the Br'er Rabbit stories, I wish they'd talked more about the African residents of the plantation. I was chilled when the guide mentioned that the uninsulated slave quarters we were sitting in were still used until the 70s. Egads.
We stopped at B&C Cajun Deli for lunch, where we had a tray full of crawfish, alligator po' boy, and fried okra. You'd think the way my fiancé talks about it that my boyfriend would know not to eat the second to last fried okra, but no. *sheesh* On our way back, we decided to stop at the Old New Orleans Rum Distillery for their last tour of the day. I almost wish we hadn't, bc trying pure rum-distilled alcohol has ruined me for all straight liquors for ever. Well, except then I drank all the samples. We liked their pre-mixed ginger cocktails and I enjoyed their 10yo rum very much, except it costs 2.5x what my 12yo house rum costs, so yeah. We then stopped in the French Quarter for absinthe frappes where Lafitte and Andrew Jackson had them, except Old Absinthe House now hangs football helmets :( We drunkenly wandered into the Tabasco store, Evans praline shop, and Pepper Palace. The last had yummy stuff to try, including delicious peach and mango salsas, but I'd rather have gone to Slow Burn in Monterey.
The reveillon menu at the Commander's Palace probably would've killed me - during the trip I tweeted that "I'm hungry" now meant "I'm no longer full to bursting". For the life of me, I can't remember what we ate, except I had the foie gras "du Monde" as my entrée, which is the bestest idea evuh: foie gras with beignets! served with foie gras infused café au lait!!! It would be nice to know if I had the turtle soup, but I think I had the shrimp & tasso hennican. Bc beurre blanc should be made with Crystal hot sauce. Just writing this is giving me a little foodgasm. Dessert was creole bread pudding soufflé, which was every bit as tasty as I'd hoped. I now wonder why I ever ate again after this meal.
We went to Rick's for our last Bourbon Street entertainment, but it took only one drink before I safeworded and we went back to the Penthouse Club. It was less crowded than it had been on Saturday night, but the dancers were less athletic/attractive - one of the prettiest convinced me to never, ever get a boob job - and they closed at 2. Which was ok, bc we had a morning flight, made more palatable by shrimp etouffee. It's a tribute to how amazing New Orleans is that their airport shrimp etouffee is still better than any in New York. I need to go back, in <2 years.