Saturday NOLA

In New Orleans (NOLA), you are, as a tourist, never ready for a parade with trows, Krewe lead music and floats, dancing scantly clad folks, and all the Mardi Gras features during your visit so far from Mardi Gras (Krewe parades start again in January with my favorite, Krewe de Vieux on Feburary 15th. Because Taylor Swift is coming next week, Krewe Boo was moved to this Saturday! There was some grumbling from locals that the parade was too soon and the Swifties would have been okay with it, but still, it was a delightful event for me.

Reformating my usual boilerplates and starting in the middle, NOLA calls for flexibility; I was searching for a late lunch. I returned from the Oak Alley Plantation Tour via Greyline and had no lunch other than a no-booze mint julep (they have bourbon for the drink, but I had no lunch, and that would be unadvisable with a long bus ride back). I sent a note to the gals I met last night, but they did not respond, and their phone was set in quiet mode.  Coop’s Place is a favorite for food with a gruff service. I was surprised that there was a line.

NOLA streets were lined with parade watchers, kids, and adults in costumes with many pirates, some recognizable Krewe members, and witches who went from Harry Potter conservative robes to nearly undressed goddess liberal. Beetlejuice was everywhere, and Santa was driving a Krewe car. I watched all this go by as I waited for a seat at Coop’s Place.

A challenged man was in the line and was obviously unhappy to be standing so long. I was worried he would be violent, but that did not happen. After thirty minutes, I was seated at the bar, and the man was next to me and his female friend, who fed him and ate from the same plate (I assume they are a couple). He did touch me lightly a few times, but not in a mean way. I was polite. I ordered two chicken pieces with jambalaya (with smoked rabbit) on the side and coleslaw. It is the best food I find here in the French Quarter to buy (my gumbo and shrimp were excellent), and this is the first dinner I did not make myself at NOLA! The jambalaya is heavy and smoky and with just a hint of spiciness. I learned in the cooking class that tomatoes do not go in jambalaya (oops), and a roux is the starting place. The roux is cooked to a peanut butter color and thickness using lard or a tasteless oil, and it is fine to keep adding oil to a roux if it threatens to burn. The coleslaw was creamy and did not taste like vinegar.

Beer comes in a bottle there, something I forgot. Soon, I finished dinner while others finally got their seafood. One of the folks at the bar told me that the famous blackened fish recipes from Paul Prudhomme are actually reworks of what is found at Coop’s Place. I saw on the rough and ready bartop food delivered that would be praised at more cultured locations. I spoke a few kind words to the gal and challenged the gentleman, as I know it is hard on both. I got a smile and a friendly nod. While gruff, busy, and working non-stop, the bartender was happy when I said the food was excellent and paid the bill. Fed, I went to find the parade.

My back and feet did not like the endless standing. I found a building wall to lean against and watched the crowds build on Decatur Street and the corner of Madison. I soon joined, and the parade started only ten minutes late. The crowd stood on the road, and only one lane was blocked. Folks with lighted sticks would walk to widen the corridor of kids and adults to let the vehicles, people, and occasional horse troop through. I was standing in a good position, but I was not dressed in a costume, and I waved a few kids to take my place–thinking it was really for kids. Their mother, smoking a vape product, was then charging in, and soon, I was out of the close crowd. I could tell the relatively young mother wanted to be a kid again and could not resist waving her hands up to get a throw. That made me smile and give way to her–she was so excited she was jumping. Beads and candy were soon being launched at the crowd. I was delighted to be a part of it. I only reached for a few throws that came my way, but no love.

The parade slowed, and soon, I was pushed a bit further back. I moved on and found a bench to rest for a while. Next, I found the Vampire Bar, but the entrance was complex (vampires like things both complex and chaotic), and I looked for simpler processes. A block later, a bar seat was open at Pere Antoine Restaurant and Rose and a guy (I never heard his name) was bartending. Rose was a vampire with fangs, blood-red lips, pale makeup, black shoulder-length hair, a leather vest, and a low-cut top. A cross of the Adam’s family, a vampire, and a pirate. I got a beer and then food and chatted with the bartenders. Rose was dissatisfied that the parade was today as she could not participate, and her costume was not ready (considering that she was a knock-out in that outfit, I wonder what she was thinking for a costume). I got food,  bread slices, and dip. It was OK. While Rose ate her dinner away at a table, the other bartender told me stories of NOLA and his family being the first black person to own a Shell Station (after the family sold its bordello and left prostitution and the bar business). I learned that after Storytown, the legal red light district for twenty years, was shut down, the black bars and bordello moved to another part of the town not far from the bar I was sitting in. Most of the buildings of Storytown were demolished, and a project was built in its place. This, too, is gone, and now it is housing. There is little left, maybe one building, I was told. I was soon refreshed with food and a beer and ready for my next adventure.

Rose, telling me she is working on Sunday, invited me back. Rose and the other bartender agreed that Frenchman Street should be my next adventure (Bourbon Street and Fritz’s European Jazz Club are only a block from there). It was a five-block walk with witches, pirates, and Beetlejuice(s) everywhere. I found the jazz here usually easier to access, but the place was packed tonight. There was an evening art show, and soon I was enjoying that. I found an artist’s work that I liked and bought a print. I am tempted to buy the painting Owolabi Ayodele. There were also toilet seat covers with photos laminated to them. David Bowie was included, and I heard some ask if they thought that would work for them. I tried one place for jazz, but the speakers were so loud it hurt, and having only one working ear, I thought it was unwise. I waved off the hostess and left.

Rebecca and Gina texted me, but we decided to call it a night and try again on Sunday to meet. I walked the ten-plus blocks back to my hotel. The crowds were now surrounding bars and were quieter. I had no problem getting back, but my feet and back were painful. I soon showered, dressed for bed, and tried to read Faulkner, but only got as far as the introduction and preface before nodding off. So far, I have yet to read Faulkner.

The night was punctuated with blasting music and car noises until after 4 when it quieted. Even with my good ear buried in a pillow, I was still blasted out of a dream a couple of times. Impressive. With the Krewe parties done, I expect the rest of my nights will be easier. It is still fun.

Turning to the morning, the bus trip to Oak Alley was the usual mishmash of tour-operated waiting, bussing, and having only a few hours to actually see what you paid to see. I was happy that, unlike Morocco, there was no mandatory shopping stop at their store to look at carpets.

The tour first dropped people off at the Witney Plantation, which, our driver said, was a better experience as it focused on slavery without “sugar coating.” She warned that it was a very emotional experience. Our tour at Oak Alley was the more usual story of the plantation, with some focus on slavery.

I thought the tour was excellent. The tour guide constantly pointed out that the house was built by slaves, making even the bricks in the wall. They have a few named people who were slaves, and they try to weave their stories into the tapestry of the story they tell. After asking many questions, I also learned that one of the stories they told was enhanced by the researcher meeting with one of the families of one freed slave and sharing and intermixing their records to have a more complete story. I visited the reconstructed slave quarters and thought their self-guided tour was a bit lame, but still, it was filled with excellent information, and one wall of the houses was painted with the names of all the slaves at Oak Alley. I would recommend the place; I bought the guidebook and had a mint julep, as I mentioned above.

Breakfast was coffee in my room and beignets at Cafe Beignets to-go. I ate them on a bench, watching the steamboat pull out. It was an excellent start. I wrote the blog all morning and was free only at 10:30. I rose to an alarm at 7.

Thanks for reading.

Update: To show more equal time, there were also men stripping on a Bourbon Street bar with butts that were so tight I wished I was gay. Men gods all slick with oil and ready to light. The dancing was everything you imagine. I only lingered a moment….