NOLA

Noo Awlins’….in the Louisiana vernacular.  Just spent the past week there attending the Spring National Bridge Tournament.  Of course, we played bridge against some of the best players in the world.  No, we didn’t do all that great.  But, going to these events gives us a great rate at a luxe hotel.  And, it’s New Orleans….had to go!

I really couldn’t tell you the first time I visited that city.  My Irish great great great aunts came into the port of New Orleans in the 1850s.  The Kellys.  My great grandfather married the daughter of one of those sisters, settling in Mobile to run his import-export business.  My great aunts stayed in the area. Their youngest sister, Lucille, my aristocratic grandmother, married my Georgia farmer grandfather in Jackson Square in the French Quarter.  That marriage caused great consternation in the family and the young couple promptly moved on to Savannah and later to Orlando.  My great aunts never did marry.

Most summers, there were raucous family reunions in Mobile, Biloxi, and Panama City.  Occasionally, we made the trek to the French Quarter to hear Pete Fountain, the famous clarinetist, who somehow was related to us.  When I was sixteen, my great aunts treated me to lunch at The Court of Two Sisters on Bourbon Street, where they ordered me my first mixed drink….probably a screw driver.  It’s still there as exquisite now as it was then.

Staying at the Sheraton on Canal Street was ideal; one block from Decatur, take a left and you’re walking straight to Jackson Square in the French Quarter.  For the first time in God only knows how many years, I can walk and walk and walk without pain.  I couldn’t wait to high tail it over to Cafe du Monde for their cafe au lat and powder sugar laden beignets.

Of course, hundreds of other tourists were doing the same thing.  The line for the take out window was about two blocks long.  I timidly walked into the cafe, noticed a sign to seat yourself so, I sat down and Jean Pierre took care of me right away!  The food did not disappoint.

Walking around Jackson Square,there were multiple artists selling their wares or looking for customers to draw caricatures of.  There were tarot card readers, palm readers, psychics.  I’m a snob when it comes to that.  I only go to mediums at Cassadaga….they’re the only ones I know are for real.

It’s the music in Jackson Square that mesmerizes me….it’s just so damn good!  They’re playing jazz, Dixieland, blues, zydeco.  I swear I don’t think there’s one bad musician in New Orleans.

BH and I wandered all through the galleries…we’re always looking for art to put on the walls in the house in Venice.  So far, we haven’t agreed on one thing but we’re optimistic that one day it’ll happen!

We found our favorite restaurant, The Napoleon House, on Chartres….absolutely the best muffulettas in the city.  The best spot in the place is the open courtyard filled with tropical plants and flowers….just heavenly.  Later, we tried the Chocolate Napoleon….a yummy after dinner drink that I’m sure did my bridge game later that evening no good.

The next day we hit the River Walk and walked all along the Mississippi.  Not a particularly beautiful river but water, nevertheless.

One thing I can’t stand about the city is that it often smells like rotting garbage. Early in the morning, store workers are out there washing down the sidewalks in an attempt to get rid of that nasty odors….not very successfully, I would add.  The best thing is just to mosey into a perfumery or a bakery or spice store to cleanse the nostrils.

The second afternoon after our bridge session, BH decided to go to a nearby Popeye’s.  Seriously.  He claims Popeye’s originated in Louisiana and that’s why it’s so good.  I’m not buying that.  We are in New Orleans, home of some of the best restaurants in the frigging world.  I am not eating Popeye’s.  I watch him eat his and we head out to the Palace Cafe.

Ordering an entree is a complete waste on me….I just can’t eat that much.  I fill up fast, so I usually order an app and a drink.  I order the shrimp appetizer which, according to Jose, comes in an amazing sauce.   Okay, fine.  Shrimp and a cabernet.  Ten minutes later, there’s the shrimp.  All three of them, complete with heads and tails.  Yuck.  I hadn’t banked on the heads.  Okay, I didn’t fill up on that, so we ordered Bananas Foster for dessert, which Jose executed beautifully right in front of us.  Wow….unbelievably delicious!!!  BH went back the next day and had it again!

The piece de resistance was Mother’s.  Mother’s is a hole in the wall on Poydras Street.  A hole in the wall where people are lined up to order some of best southern food on the planet.  If you can get in, you’re given a menu and are not allowed to sit down until you’ve ordered and paid.  You can breakfast there until 10 at night.  There are po boys, rice and beans, fried chicken that you have to wait 30 minutes for because they fry it right in front of you.  They had crawfish etouffe, jambalaya, shrimp creole, gumbo.  Just a down home dive that’s been around since 1938.  Guy Fieri needs to check this place out pronto!

Unfortunately, we didn’t get to Rock and Bowl or Tipitina’s to hear some live music, but we got plenty of that on the streets in the French Quarter.  I didn’t get to ride the trolleys.  I didn’t get to the Garden District.

There’s no place like the culture that is New Orleans.  I don’t know if I’ll ever get back there, but I’m thankful I could get there this time.

I really miss living in a city.  Cities can make life more vibrant if you take advantage of them.  BH has this idea that he’d like us to rent an apartment for a month every summer in a different city.  I love this idea….especially, now that I can actually walk!  So….this June, we’re moving to Baltimore, one block from my youngest.

Baltimore’s not New Orleans but who can resist the Orioles games?  Crab Cakes?  The Inner Harbor?  My kids and grandkids?  the Charles Theatre?  Can’t wait!!!