bourbondandy

The 8 Days and 7 Nights Around Mardi Gras

by R.B. Niolu—

In the calendar of the Catholic Church the period between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday is called “Ordinary Time.” A period associated with no particular strong religious celebrations and a time to clean out your wine cellar, liquid spirits and excess food stores for the coming season of deprivation, Lent. In Louisiana, this has come to mean it is a period to cut loose and spend your time and money; to sing, dance and drink in the streets and generally act the idiot. Tourists (like myself) usually fill most of these roles admirably. In some quarters a King and Queen of fools are chosen from the locals. From what I’ve seen a lot of people have the credentials, just not the connections, for these “high” posts.

Staring out the window in Seattle at the ceaseless, chilling rain and gloom, I decided to cast my lot with the mentally off-balanced and head with a traveling companion for the warmer, more humid climes of New Orleans. The ostensible “purpose” of this trip would be to partake of the cocktails and cuisine of the Big Easy…

Day 1, Friday:

I get up at an absurdly early hour with about 100 lbs of luggage and have a friend drive me to the airport. It is cold and damp and I am wearing my knee high boots (for a costume) because I can’t fit them into my luggage. At the airport I cough up $25, excluding tip, for my extra bag at the curb, and lug the rest of my stuff to the TSA checkpoint. After a struggle I get my boots off for the screening process. The security people admire my footwear, but fortunately they are not confiscated. After a stop in Minneapolis, where it’s colder than my freezer, we make it to the fabulous New Orleans airport, appropriately named after Louis Armstrong. Unfortunately the Jet-way gets stuck on the way to the plane and we’re delayed 20 minutes in disembarking.

After checking into the Hotel Villa Convento on Ursulines, a charming former Creole townhouse built in 1833, we head off to Decatur Street for food and drink. Our first stop is Coop’s, a rough and tumble place, similar to Seattle’s Comet, with a healthy amount of fried food, including fried oysters and of course, gumbo. We fill our bellies, wet our whistles and wander on over to Frenchmen’s Street.

We hope to run into our good friend Monty Banks who’s playing piano at the Three Muses, one of the innumerable jazz clubs in the city. He’s been an active musician since moving from Seattle in the immediate post-Katrina aftermath. We find him there playing a succession of New Orleans Mardi Gras favorites with his high rolling band whilst I sip a Pimm’s Cup and munch on one of the tapas offered. We say “hi” and linger awhile, then later it’s off to the Pravda bar for an Irish Coffee where we eventually call it a night.

Day 2, Saturday:

Seeing as how the bakery, Croissant D’Or Patisserie, is across the street, the day is started with quiche and coffee. Afterwards a long walk down Royal to Canal Street follows, where we catch the tail end of the “Krewe of Tuck” parade (after Robin Hood’s “Friar Tuck”). I catch a few beads and some kind of plastic cup and we continue on to the Regency Père Marquette Hotel and a bar on Common Street known as “Bar Uncommon” with its renowned and affable bartender, Chris McMillian. After some effort he produces a sterling Brandy Crusta and a bowl of gumbo for me and a Whiskey Sour for my friend along with his usual description of the origins and lore of the various cocktails. It’s raining outside so we spend a great deal of time there before we move on to the Bombay Club to once again see our friend Monty Banks tickling the ivories. While there I munch on their fish and chips and admire the various portraits of former British monarchs from the “Raj” era. After another great period of time it’s off to the bar at Arnaud’s.

Chris Hannah is the expert bartender at Arnaud’s “French 75” bar, so named after a drink and a WW-I French artillery piece. Always dapper in his white jacket and bow tie, Chris whips out a couple of delicate cocktails, a Milk Punch and a Sazerac. As it is Saturday before Mardi Gras, most of these bartenders are just swamped and try to remain focused on the drink orders pouring in. Unlike the quick and sugary “Hurricanes” and “Hand Grenades” on Bourbon Street, real New Orleanian drinks take a little time and finesse to make. Chris Hannah thinks the real New Orleans drinks are: the Sazerac, Vieux Carre, Ramos gin fizz, absinthe Suisse and La Louisiane. I cannot drink them all at once (and don’t) so I gently bid adieu and head to my favorite “dark” bar, “Pravda!”

“Pravda!” is a Russian themed semi-Goth, semi-steam punk bar run by Chicago native Michaelle Nolan. She is a small, smart, no-nonsense woman who is quite knowledgeable on both absinthe and vodka, the two specialties of the bar (although other booze is available). She will also offer you advice on how to shape your life up, so it’s worth paying some attention, which I try to do. The patrons tend to be from the more artistic side of the city and dress accordingly.

Naturally we decide on absinthe and try to find the “green fairy” within. While there we inquire after the Krewe Du Noir parade Sunday, one of the many, smaller foot parades that wander through the French Quarter. (Unfortunately we would be unable to pull ourselves together in time to make it the next day.) Generally Pravda has 15 or more types of absinthe, but this being Mardi Gras, Michaelle is down to about 3. Absinthe is basically alcoholic licorice, and if you drink enough of it you will experience weirdness. However the same could be said of bourbon. Absinthe is supposed to contain “Thujone”, an extract of wormwood, which was once reputed to be hallucinogenic and in high amounts can cause seizures. It would likely take a barrel of absinthe, though, to get this effect.

After Pravda it’s off again to Frenchmen’s Street to once again listen to music at the Spotted Cat, Apple Barrel and the Three Muses before we end our day. Lots of music in and out of the clubs and people going in and out of these joints and walking in the streets; two more nights until Mardi Gras.

Day 3, Sunday:

After the usual breakfast at the Croissant D’Or we walk around through the French Quarter, including Jackson Square and eventually end up in the bar at Muriel’s where, of course, my friend orders Turtle Soup. Not those precious Sea Turtles nor the Galapagos Tortoises but rather a variety of the snapping sort that lives along the Mississippi. This generally comes with a large dollop of sherry in it, which is not forgotten. Personally I find it a bit rich, and have yet another bowl of gumbo. This is followed by a trip to the revolving Carousel Bar (resembling a circus merry-go-round) at the Hotel Monteleone where we each order a “Vieux Carré” This drink was apparently invented at the Carousel Bar in 1938. As the bar spinned round at four circuits per hour, we planned our next move and left at the 6^th revolution.

In a city noted for its French, Creole, Cajun, and some Italian cuisine it was probably a mistake to dine at the only German restaurant in town, Jäger Haus. I do have a few German relatives though, so I thought I’d give it a try. Everything was cold, and overcooked, ugh! Later I had a stomach ache when my food and drink clashed with the other cultures in my belly. Oddly enough, afterwards, we watched a parade dedicated to the god of excess, Bacchus.

The Bacchus parade moved quite slowly and had frequent stops. A tank, and the mayor on horseback were featured at the start of a long postponed parade. I stayed until I grew tired and had to beg off. It was probably nine at night and another parade was scheduled after that. One thinks, sitting in their home in the Pacific Northwest and other parts of the country, that it’s necessary to expose oneself to get beads in New Orleans. Not true. I can tell you that just by looking at a parade, or walking down a street, especially if wearing a decent hat or costume during Mardi Gras, you are more likely to be pelted in the head by beads, doubloons, cups, and small stuffed animals by enthusiastic throwers. Towards the end of Mardi Gras you will find beads, broken and unbroken, litter the streets, along with the to-go cups for your liquor (one can walk the streets with alcohol) and other assorted holiday trash.

Strolling down the avenue Conti later, in my long coat and top hat, I was stopped by a white-faced jester, outside of Broussard’s, an elite restaurant in the French Quarter, and invited in by the Baccardi Company to sample their wares in some promotional gimmick. Obviously Captain Morgan, a feature in New Orleans, faces increasing competition. Leaving with my booty, an inflatable cup holder, I strolled over to the Bombay Club across the street to pay my respects to Monty once again, and to have a drink that was a bit more tolerable.

At the Bombay Club, a quite tipsy customer was tipping heavily to have Monty Banks play all of the cheesy Mardi Gras and local tunes he could almost remember. After each tune, he would doze off, breathing loudly, until the next song when another request would belch forth. Monty was ever the diplomat and proceeded as best he could… Leaving this sublime situation we set forth again for Pravda to top the evening with a nightcap, and perhaps a bit of conversation with the eccentrics there. A few absinthes later it was time to leave, after all it was well after midnight (wink, wink). A bit of greasy food before sleep began to sound enticing, so it was off to the “Clover Grill.”

The Clover Grill, a NOLA (New Orleans, LA) institution since 1939, serves greasy spoon/diner type food 24/7. Across the street from the notorious “Café Laffite in Exile,” the Grill is a popular place during Mardi Gras, and one often has to wait in line just to get in. Too many beverages during this festive time of year can require an extra layer of grub to protect one’s stomach lining and this place can and does fill the bill.

Of course the next morning I felt I was going to physically explode from the previous day’s activity.

Day 4, Monday- Lundi Gras:

For a change we start the day at CC’s (Community Coffee), a local coffee chain in Louisiana. The line was too long at our usual spot. This was followed by a long trek across the city to Meyer the Hatter, a center of haberdashery in NOLA. My friend was desperately in need of a Panama hat, and this seemed the likely place. After a long period of trying hats on and bickering, a hat was selected and we moved on. I stop at Royal Mail and inquire about shipping. If you bring a lot of costumes/outfits somewhere and buy/give a lot of souvenirs, it is probably easier to ship some of your stuff ahead, and avoid the 100 lbs of luggage.  From there we wander on to “Tujague’s.”

Tujague’s is reputedly the second oldest bar/restaurant in NOLA, founded in 1856. On the wall of the stand-up bar is a picture of the founder, replete in his linen suit and straw planter’s hat. On my unsettled stomach I had a Mimosa and a bowl of gumbo and watched the crazy, aged tourists scream, shout and stumble about the bar. After Mardi Gras it would be quite a different (re: quieter) scene. Tujague’s brisket has a positive reputation, but not too oddly, I ate another bowl of gumbo.

Soon it was time to look for cheap souvenirs for my Seattleite friends. A good place to look is Frenchmen’s Market. It is much like Seattle’s Pike Place Market but it has even more tchotchkes, trinkets, and general crap. Unfortunately I couldn’t bring myself to buy anything. I felt my wallet would bite me if I brought myself to open it there. My perspicacious friend uses this time wisely to enjoy a Pimm’s Cup at the café Napoleon House.

After a bit of rest, I changed into my sport coat and Mardi Gras hat and we headed to Broussard’s, this time for a dinner and not any Bacardi rum. Broussard’s, founded in 1920, has a faint Napoleonic theme and is considered one of the five or six “Grande Dames” of New Orleans cuisine. I enjoyed their house cocktail, a “Smile”, Oysters Bienville, house salad, and Pompano-Napoleon fish. Later, bloated, I pondered the check and thought about the frequency of “Lucky Dog” stands (see a “Confederacy of Dunces”) around the city.

Leaving Broussard’s, I burped my way down some darker back streets to Pravda, for a bit of tonic water, afore a visit once again to Frenchmen’s to check out the wild street scene and the Café Blue Nile…

The area around Frenchmen’s street, the “Marigny” district, is often quite boisterous in the days leading up to Mardi Gras and although not in the French Quarter, per se, is an important part of the celebration and has a shade more of authenticity.

Day 5, Tuesday- Mardi Gras:

The big day arrives. Naturally my usual breakfast place is closed, along with all the antique shops and anything selling delicate items, so I head off to CC’s coffee house. Normally eating breakfast is no big deal but on this day I’m dressed as Napoleon and tromping about in my big cavalry boots. It would be odd but my traveling companion is dressed like a Grand Vizier of the Ottoman Empire, and people on the street are attired like Marie Antoinette, Louis XIV, plastic soldiers, boxes of grits or beignet mix, chickens, crows, Lady Gaga, the Queen of Hearts, the Mad Hatter, Isis, middle-east dictators, etc. Yes, just another day at the office.

Walking along we come upon the St. Anne’s foot parade of well-costumed locals following an oompah band. It parades down Royal street, which runs parallel to the unsavory Bourbon street, and pauses/ends (temporarily) on Canal Street down which all the great motorized parades end. There the parades of Zulu and Rex pass that day and are amongst the most spectacular. Onward we wander and come upon the Krewe of Julu parade founded by a Klezmer group (the music was great) until that peters out. By then my feet are killing me from all that walking and we head off to Frank’s for a Muffuletta. The Muffuletta is similar to a fat submarine sandwich with olives, garlic, salami, provolone, etc. between a very large, round, sliced bun of Sicilian bread. One whole sandwich feeds from 4 to 6 people. I had a quarter section. The Central Grocery nearby claims to have invented it, but the one at Frank’s is pretty good. Sitting out on their deck was great until pelting rain, just like home, drove us indoors.

As we were down the street from Pravda, we stopped by for a Mardi Gras absinthe to “cleanse our palettes”. Then it was off to Frenchmen’s again, the less frat-boy part of New Orleans, to dance in the streets. It was chaos. The streets were jammed and music played, live and recorded, from every place imaginable. They should block the street, but they allow cars to creep through the multitudes, much to everyone’s periodic anxiety.

Seeking a bit of a rest, we stopped by Mojito’s Rum Bar and Grill where we ran into, this time by accident, our good pal Monty. He was getting off work, so we all decided to meander down to Bourbon Street and watch the happenings at midnight. On our way we stopped at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar at the far end of Bourbon Street, the self-proclaimed oldest bar in America, a dark, dingy, but friendly place with a piano bar in the back, but didn’t stay long. Then it was off to the Pirate’s Alley on the back side of the St Louis Cathedral (since 1720) where we chatted with the owners, drank Irish Coffees (aren’t the Irish pirates?) and finally returned to Bourbon Street where we plopped ourselves on barstools inside a European jazz pub called Fritzel’s. Fortunately a band happened to be playing to drown out the noise outside.

As midnight approached, we were able to see outside on the street the impending “end” of Mardi Gras, 2011. Bourbon Street is sleazy but it is the center of the post parade Mardi Gras frenzy. The street is jammed end to end and side to side with crazy revelers. Unlike Seattle, where the police bunched together away from the crowd,  during a past dysfunctional Mardi Gras in 2001, in New Orleans there are police on every intersection along Bourbon Street, along the parade route and scattered throughout the city during this time. They interact with the population, smoke, drink coffee, eat snacks and generally leave celebrators alone unless there’s trouble. When there is trouble you are whisked away, like a bad dog, put in a paddy wagon and are gone until the party’s over.

The “Police Parade” begins on Canal Street, towards the west and proceeds east. It is preceded by religious zealots waving signs telling the masses the end is near and it is time to repent. I think they want to fool us into thinking they own the street (ha, ha). They are followed a bit later by rows of mounted police, motorcycle police, city police, state troopers, police cars, and finally several sanitation and waste vehicles. People wave and throw beads after them and then continue partying until eventually the streets are hosed down, cleaned and the outside part of Mardi Gras is over and “Lent,” the time of doing without, begins.

We ended the night at the famous “Café Du Monde,” sipping Au Laits and eating beignets covered with mounds of powdered sugar.

Day 6, Ash Wednesday:

This is the Mardi Gras reveler day of atonement. Usually it takes the form of a hangover, bloodshot eyes, and an upset stomach. I wish I could say it was different for me… After breakfast I head down Royal Street. Once again the shops are all open and the streets are being scrubbed down. I stop at a souvenir shop, Roux Royale, and buy a number of food-oriented items for the folks back home, and then continue on to the Carousel Bar. For a change it is almost empty and seats are easily procured. I drink a Mimosa and gently spin in a counter-clockwise direction. Then it’s time for some chores. I buy a few items at Walgreens (famous for being looted, post Katrina), and a few pieces at a jewelry store on Royal Street.

Back at the hotel, I pack a large box with my laundry, souvenirs, boots, and costumes. I lug it to the Royal Mail postal station. It weighs 39 lbs. Ugh! After that it’s lunch at the “Desire” restaurant in the Royal Sonesta Hotel (gumbo again) where the oyster shucker is constantly telling a gabbing patron: “I know what you’re talking about,” which is doubtful. A stroll follows our lunch along the Mississippi on the “Moon Walk” named after a former Mayor and father of the current one. There we find the redoubtable Monty is playing his clarinet and his girlfriend Monica nearby is selling her “Lucky Charms” pendants. I buy one, chat a bit and then it’s off to Tujague’s one last time for an “Old Fashioned” cocktail.

In Tujague’s we meet the 2010 chief of the Krewe of Okeanos, King Okeanos LXI otherwise known as “King Bob.”  He regales us with tales of past Carnival seasons and remembers the days of throwing glass beads to the crowds. Now that he’s no longer royalty in 2011, it’s anodized aluminum doubloons which are a bit easier on the throwing arm. As we had arranged to meet Monty later, we say farewell and meet him outside the Balcony Music Club on Decatur.

Monty, being a musician (saxophone, clarinet, accordion and piano) decides to take us on a musical history tour of New Orleans. This tour includes: Congo Square in Louis Armstrong Park where slaves once gathered on their “day off,” Sundays, to dance and exchange goods; the J&M Recording Studio, where early R&B, Rock and Soul were first recorded (now a laundromat!); and a rough area of uptown where Louis Armstrong grew up (now mostly a few abandoned buildings). This was followed by dinner at “Mulate’s” a Cajun restaurant featuring frog legs, alligator meat and Zydeco music and dancing.

This night ended at Snug Harbor on Frenchmen’s where the “Uptown Jazz Orchestra” under Delfeayo Marsalis performed (I confess we watched it on closed circuit TV in the bar) and later at the Blue Nile where an interesting group consisting of keyboards and drums called “Mumbles” performed. As we all were burnt out, the evening ended shortly thereafter, around midnight; early for us.

Day 7, Thursday:

This being the last full day I’d spend in New Orleans, and it being relatively sunny, after breakfast at Croissant D’Or, I decided to wear my pinfeather suit and Panama hat and dine with friends at the classic “Galatoire’s” for lunch. Galatoire’s has been around since 1897 and was a favorite haunt of Tennessee Williams who liked to sit near the front window. Bourbon Street must have been nicer then… In “A Streetcar Named Desire,” Blanche and Stella dine at Galatoire’s. I however am going to lunch with neither.

Galatoire’s is pleasant and filled with light and mirrors and much of the staff is surrealistically ancient. Dining on shrimp, duck soup, salad, Seafood Creole, and key lime pie one can feel rather gluttonous. On the other hand how often does one go on vacation?  Unfortunately there won’t be any overtime at work to compensate me for this.

Strolling afterwards we head to the St. Charles streetcar, running again after Mardi Gras, and sit out on the verandah of the Columns Hotel, sipping Mint Juleps and iced tea, pondering the nature of nature. A sad state of affairs… We decide to pay a last visit to our old haunts before we must leave, including a visit to Bar Uncommon, the French 75 bar, and Pravda. (By this time I’ve switched to only iced tea!) At the latter we down a number of tiny Pierogi dumplings. So tiny in fact that later we end the night at the Clover Grill with fries and a Club sandwich.

Day 8, Friday:

This being our last day in the “Crescent City” (so called because of the shape of the Mississippi there), we buy croissants at the D’Or and head down to the Carousel Bar for a last spin. Then it’s off to stand in line for lunch at the famous Acme Oyster House (where one thinks Wile E. Coyote might dine). Inside I have often sat in front of the oyster shuckers listening to them expound on the issues of the day, but today I sit at a long table near a right-wing loon expounding on the non-issues of the day to his family. I stop up my ears and concentrate on the pile of oysters, po’ boy sandwich, and the Bloody Mary before me.

We finally leave town around 3:30 PM and head to the airport for our long flight back to soggy Seattle. It will take 9 hours due to flight delays and cancellations. This will leave us with the impression that New Orleans is a lot further away than it is. Actually, psychologically, it is…

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Sazerac
Ramos Gin Fizz
Vieux Carré
Absinthe Suisse
La Louisiane
Pimm’s Cup
Goody Cocktail
Mint Julep
Milk Punch

Try and space out your drinks and always have a little water on the side.

http://www.museumoftheamericancocktail.org/

http://southernfood.org/okra/

also related:

http://www.oxygenee.com/absinthe-america/neworleans.html

Additionally every summer there is a “Tales of the Cocktail” festival in New Orleans:

http://www.talesofthecocktail.com/

 

 

This entry was posted on Monday, April 4th, 2011 at 11:13 am and is filed under Cocktails, Cuisine, Lifestyles. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.