Day 98 – The Insider’s Guide to New Orleans…Bars

Author – Grant
Based In – New Orleans

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613677733756/

Most mornings my first conscious thought is either of Cameron Diaz washing Jennifer Aniston or food. Today was the latter because New Orleans at breakfast time can mean only one thing, a trip to Café Du Monde for Beignets and Café Au Lait. I mistakenly thought that there was only one branch of this legendary shop but a quick search unveiled 15 of them dotted around the city and two within dribbling distance of our abode so a confused Molly and I set off to see what all the fuss was about. Whilst I was a bit disappointed that there was a drive-through option (something that can only be further deteriorating already wobbly Ameri-Franco relations) at least everything was cooked to order so that by the time I had driven home and woken the slumbering beast, they were still steaming hot. To all intents and purposes, the beignets are little rectangular donuts served in a mountain of confectioner’s sugar which cuts the fat taken on through deep frying and, done right, they are pretty magical. Furthermore, when accompanied by a vat of coffee, they make for a fairly perfect breakfast. I accept that there are times when only a full truckers breakfast will suffice (such as those mornings following a dodgy pint) but if I were in some classy French prison and had to start each day with a bag of these, well, I wouldn’t feel too violated….well, until shower time.

The project to find out what causes Kate’s occasional migraines has been ongoing without much success for a few years now so today we tried a dentist visit to see if the side of her mouth that contains more man-made canals than Holland is the “root” (see what I did there) of the problem. $100 and two hours later and the result was…maybe. Kate has a bit of a phobia of dentists (something to do with large objects in her mouth and please keep your pithy gags to yourself) so I was made to come into the room to help comfort her. She forgot, however, that I am about as supportive as a wonky chair leg and would just use the situation to get some good blog photos. This damn blog is taking over my life.

Finally free to explore New Orleans, we called upon Miles (fellow FCI student, life-long New Orleans resident and all round smooth talking southerner) who volunteered to show us round town for the day. Whilst Kate might have hoped that this meant an insiders guide to the city’s finer cultural sights, clearly what it quickly turned into was a pork eating extravaganza followed by a multi-venue piss-up. After being introduced to Winston the Vizsla who, Kate can attest to, has the good grace to serenade its intended lover before pouncing (a trait presumably picked up from his master), we toured the man-cave that Miles shares with his brothers which is something you might see on MTV Cribs (if they did a chef edition) and includes a full size pool table. Am I jealous? You bet I am.

Onwards to New Orleans where the first stop was in the Warehouse District, so called “because it contains a lot of warehouses” our guide informed us. There was a lot of this sort of commentary throughout the next 6 hours but none more informative than origin of the name of The Balcony Bar which apparently “has a balcony”. All the clues are there if you’re just willing to look hard enough for them. Lunch was in the newly opened Butcher which sits next to its older brother restaurant Cochon. I hope you agree, given such names, the venue kind of chose itself. Butcher specializes, unsurprisingly, in meat heavy (specifically all things swine) sandwiches so between us we ordered a pork-belly sandwich with cucumber and mint raita, a toasted Cuban panini and a toasted pastrami sandwich with sauerkraut. As if this wasn’t enough, we also had a charcutterie plate of various home cured meats (chorizo, fennel salami and another hammy cut whose name escapes me) and a couple of house marinated sides of sprouts and mushrooms. My favourite was the ultra-juicy pork belly and the marinated sprouts but, in fairness, it was all excellent and it definitely makes me want to visit Cochon in the coming weeks.

Time to start the bar crawl under its poor disguise as a tour of the various different areas of this city. Having just compiled a list of the places and drinks consumed, I’m starting to realize why I had a bit of a headache the following morning. First up, Cooter Browns just off the end of the beautiful St Charles Ave which got two huge thumbs up or having a) Sky Sports on the TV and b) a huge beer selection. Next was The Bulldog in the Magazine Street district with its funky outdoor fountain of beer taps. A quick drive through the Bohemian district resulted in a lack of punters so we headed to the French Quarter (specifically Bourbon Street) for a take-away from The Absinthe Bar before being expertly conned out of $20 for a Saints cap. Then Miles decided to take us only to places where the signature drinks are served in souvenir cups that we were forced to buy. Firstly a pint of sickly sweet “hangover fodder” inappropriately named The Hurricane in Pat Obrien's followed by a pint of sickly sweet green “strongest drink in NO” called the Hand Grenade in Tropical Isle where a guitarist played solely to us and two blokes at the bar who eventually pissed up the said bar before leaving. I didn’t witness the pissing incident as I was too busy being all prissy and using the designated restroom which, for a miserly 25c, measured all 11oz of my output and went on to give me the invaluable information that it would take me 3.4 hours to fill up a bath. Net result, we won’t be on Bourbon Street on Fat Tuesday as the street is said to be lined in vomit and pee. A final stop into the fine restaurant/bar where Miles’ brother works before heading home to rescue the pooch and to work on producing a decent hangover. Huge thanks to Miles for his hospitality, guide and taxi services. I’m looking forward to using them many more times in the coming weeks.

Tomorrow we have the option of beginning our stint of restoring houses with the United Saints 1st Street Project at 7am or sleeping off this hangover. I’m going to make you wait until tomorrow’s blog before I let you know the outcome of this soap-opera-like cliffhanger but anyone that knows us will already know.