March 10: New Orleans French Quarter
Tuesday, March 17th, 2009When I arrived at Louis Armstrong International Airport, it was a balmy 80 degrees outside. I changed into Capri pants and caught an airport shuttle into the city. It took a while to get into the city, and a while longer to get to the hotel. That was okay though—by the time I arrived at the hotel, my room was ready even though it was 3 hours before check-in. The room was nice as was the receptionist, though I didn’t realize “interior room” meant a room with no windows! That made mornings interesting.
I asked the receptionist to recommend a place to get po’boy, a famous New Orleans sandwich. She directed me three blocks away to the Maspero Café on Decatur Street. I ordered a catfish sandwich—4 strips of breaded catfish on a huge bun. It tasted so fresh I thought it was still wiggling! And after I while I got rid of the bun and just ate the catfish straight—it was filling enough without bread for sure. I asked the bartender, a slender, white-haired woman with a soft voice and an outgoing personality, to recommend a drink with it. She gave me Abita amber, a local brew. It was excellent!
After lunch, I walked along the Mississippi River, saw the Natchez steamboat with paddlewheel, and ended up at Harrah’s Casino. I got a free beer while I lost $5 at the video poker machines. I started to walk towards the tables to watch people play, and I saw a sign on every table: “All communication must be in English.” I couldn’t believe it! (I later did a Google search and found that poker tournaments can have an “English only” rule while playing hands in the U.S.)
Unwilling to spend any more time or money there, I walked back down Decatur to Café du Monde for café au lait and beignets, the fried donut treat with powdered sugar. I meandered on my own through the streets of the French Quarter, marveling at the wrought-iron balconies and long painted shutters. It seemed amazing that people could really live in such a Disneyesque place.
I found my way up to the entrance to the Louis Armstrong Park, then down to the Blacksmith Shoppe, allegedly the oldest continuously operated bar in the U.S., but there were no seats available. I wound my way back to the St. Louis Cathedral at Jackson Square, then walked the block and a half back to the hotel for a late afternoon nap.
In the evening I headed out to Bourbon Street. Forget the Vegas strip—this really felt like Sin City to me. There were so many places to get daquiris, “Big Ass” beers, and 3 for 1 drinks (all to go), plus girlie shows and adult shops. In between all of this was the occasional restaurant offering gumbo, jumbalaya, po’boys, or alligator.
I managed to find a sane place, Desire Oyster Bar at the Royal Sonesta Hotel. It wasn’t dark and foreboding or bathed in neon; it was brightly lit with a white tiled floor and a wooden bar. I sat at the bar and ordered shrimp creole (a little salty but the shrimp was good), and a Category 5 hurricane. A man sat next to me and started chatting. He had grown up in New Orleans, and told me that if I wanted to see the real New Orleans, I should go to Frenchman Street. He gave me directions and even offered to walk me there, but since he was married I didn’t think that was a good idea. Instead, I walked on Bourbon to Canal, turned left, found a movie shoot and the Hard Rock Café on Decatur Street, dropped off Nick’s t-shirt at the hotel, and walked to Frenchman Street.
There were three blocks of restaurants playing all kinds of live music. I stopped in one called the Apple Barrel, recommended by the guy on Bourbon Street. The bartender, Monica, gave me a drink while a man played blues. I ended up chatting with a kid who was enrolled in culinary school in New York but doing an externship with a chef in New Orleans who owns two restaurants, Stanley and Stella. The young man described the menu, and even though it sounded expensive I was determined to try it.
The blues man took a break and another band started setting up. Monica said it would be a while and recommended that I check out the other bands on the street. I did, but got very tired and decided to take a cab back to the hotel instead of hearing the next band.
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