Continuing Adventures in New Orleans

Before we left for New Orleans, Suhayma had snagged a couple of Restaurant.com certificates for a restaurant near our condo, Daisy Duke’s. We decided to go there for breakfast on our second day, taking both certificates with us. Both were for 50% off, but one required a $100 purchase and after a look at the menu online, we weren’t sure that even with four of us, we’d manage that. Once we walked in the door of the restaurant, though, we knew what we were doing with that $100 certificate. Six New Orleans police officers were packed in around a table near the entrance. They had the bleary-eyed yet wired look of cops who’d just gotten off an overnight shift. We figured they deserved a treat, so Suhayma, the most outgoing member of the party, presented them with the certificate. When I headed to the bathroom later, I saw a few more officers had joined them. I pictured one of them getting on the phone and saying “get your butt to Daisy Duke’s. Some crazy Yankee just gave us 50% off for breakfast!”

The diner atmosphere and the presence of all the local cops assured us that the food at Daisy Duke’s would be cheap, bountiful, and at least reasonably decent.  We were right about the cheap and bountiful, but we were pleasantly surprised to learn it was more than decent. I ordered a seafood omelet, anticipating something filled with mostly cheese and a few tiny previously frozen shrimp and bits of faux crab. It turned out to be huge and stuffed with plump, seemingly fresh shrimp, crayfish, and—you guessed it!—oysters, and gooey with cheese. Jeff got something involving eggs and a pork chop; he crouched protectively over the chop and growled when people tried to taste it, so I guess it was good. Periac’s Cajun omelet, with andouille sausage and peppers, was also a hit, and Suhayma said her poached egg on grits (she was still trying to eat semi-sensibly at that point) was perfect, although poached eggs often end up overdone in busy restaurant kitchens. Nothing was fancy, but it was all well-prepared and extremely tasty. We left stuffed, swearing we wouldn’t eat again until it was time for a late dinner.

 

(No, we didn’t stick to that resolve.)

After breakfast, we decided to go in search of a grocery store to pick up a few things for the condo; while breakfast at Daisy Duke’s was excellent, Suhayma and I wanted fruit and yogurt on hand for mornings when we didn’t want to go out, and the four of us have a tradition, when we travel together, of having cocktail time with cheese and crackers in the late afternoon. (There’s a reason I don’t look like a supermodel. I mean besides being short and middle-aged instead of tall, willowy and barely legal.) The concierge gave us directions to the supermarket, and Periac realized, to his joy, that we’d be passing near Cochon Butcher, a high-end market that specializes in housemade charcuterie. Cochon means pig in French, so I wasn’t as excited about this notion as everyone else was, but what the heck, we’d get to see more of New Orleans on the walk.

Unfortunately, I figured we were just going to the supermarket so I didn’t bring my camera. You won’t get to see pictures of the architecture we passed, the still-working gas lights, the interesting half-ruined buildings, or the impressive case of meat at Cochon. Turns out they also make duck pastrami and duck liver pâté, so while everyone else was in hog heaven, I was in duck heaven.

Also unfortunately, we set out for our walk later than we’d realized, so by the time we got back to the condo with our delicious loot, Suhayma and I were sweaty and drained by heat, and I was literally dizzy. I threw myself into the shower, and we all settled in to play cards and sip cold drinks until the worst of the day’s heat had passed.

At some point, the guys, who both have active, outdoor-type jobs and weren’t as affected by the long walk in the heat decided those drinks should include gin- or vodka-and-tonics and went out for a walk for the required liquid ingredients. (Which was silly, because we were just at a grocery store with a good liquor section.) On their return, they reported they’d seen several lingerie shops and stores with great vintage-y clothes in the windows and we’d have to check them out later. What good husbands we have—they pre-shop for us!

Those guys in linen suits and straw hats in old movies were onto something. Gin-and-tonics on a hot afternoon are genius, at least if you have no great plans for the rest of the night, and our only great plan was to check out a restaurant Periac had heard about from friends, Coop’s Place.

Coop’s Place is on Decatur Street, in tourist-trap central, and it certainly seemed to attract its share of tourists, but at heart what it is a neighborhood dive.

A really, really good neighborhood dive.

The kind of “dive” you all wish you had in your neighborhood. It set the standard for food in New Orleans and nothing else quite measured up. (Granted, we didn’t get to the five-star, fancy places such as Brennan’s–not this trip.) The gumbo? Perfection. Shrimp Creole? Fresh, bright and delicious, with obviously local shrimp and vegetables. I’d never enjoyed okra before, but in this dish, it was flavorful and slightly crunchy, not slimy. I couldn’t eat the pork-laden red beans and rice or jambalaya, but those who did spent days, and I do mean days, raving. Periac does not rave about food lightly. He cooks well enough that it takes a lot to impress him—and he was impressed.

And none of these dishes cost more than $11. Even the beer was inexpensive.

The rest of Sunday night was spent strolling the Quarter at a leisurely, overstuffed pace, and we made an early night of it.

Monday dawned hot. I know, I’ve been mentioning the heat all along, but Monday they were talking about a heat index of over 100. After the previous day’s brush with heat-stroke, we decided it would be a perfect day to check out the Aquarium of the Americas, a short walk from the condo. It has penguins, so we  knew it would be cool.

 

We might not have gone there otherwise, but I’m glad we did. I got to pet a ray! I suspect the ray didn’t enjoy the experience nearly as much as I did, but after spending a good chunk of my morning watching the rays in the Caribbean Reef tank (it has a tunnel in the middle so you get the effect of being underwater), I couldn’t resist trying. For the record, a ray feels like wet silk velvet, not at all what I expected. We also watched the otters and got to see them being fed. I hadn’t realized male and female otters live in separate rafts, or that wild sea otters live in so few places. I’ll have to work both into my Duals and Donovans WIP,  if only to say that otter duals don’t do the single-sex raft thing as a rule, and how the otter duals have to be extra alert in shifted form if they’re in a place otters “don’t belong.” (See? I finally worked this post around to writing!) And they had a huge display of sea horses.

We detoured to get po’ boys at the highly recommended on the way back. What a contrast from the dull oyster po’ boy our first night! The fried seafood this time was juicy and flavorful and not at all greasy. I’m editing this at Suhayma’s request to stress that the fried oysters were “the best ever” and “ambrosia”–pure, melting oyster heaven with a light, flavorful, crunchy coating. My particular po’ boy involved the ambrosial oysters and shrimp and crayfish that were almost as perfect.  And damn, those sandwiches were huge! I split mine with Periac and was still overfull. Jeff got the house special, which involved roast beef, ham, and a pot roast gravy. Again, couldn’t taste it due to the ham, but everyone else raved. And they had both sweet potato pie and pecan pie. Yum!

After lunch, we wandered a bit more, then retired for card games and afternoon naps, because our evening plan was more jazz. We hit an oyster bar and ordered raw oysters and an array of cooked oyster appetizers for a light dinner. It was an older restaurant, narrow and tall, with tile floors, tiny tables, and wrought-iron grillwork balconies (where we considered eating, but it was still uncomfortably warm, though the sun was setting) . It reminded me of some of the old inns I’ve visited in the northeast in that a few of the dishes were close to perfection (we have to recreate the grilled oysters) but others had a distinctly old-fashioned sensibility. The oysters Rockefeller and the other “topped” oysters on that plate were too heavy on the breadcrumbs, making them seem out of balance, though the topping itself had a good flavor. Oh well, every meal, even in New Orleans, isn’t going to be perfect.

Then it was time for more jazz. Jamil Sharif had some different musicians with him this time and the ensemble effect was, if anything, better. We arrived on the early side, and since it was Monday, quiet even in New Orleans, we soon became the waiter/bartender’s best friend. That was my night of bourbon, and bourbon and jazz go well together. Hours of music and a few cocktails in the company of the man I love and two of our best friends…it doesn’t get much better than that.

I can’t do justice to the way the jazz swirled around the room and into my heart. The music was a conversation between a group of friends, with give and take, times where one person got to tell a story and the others sat back and listened, even jokes, such as the times they inserted bits of another jazz standard, a pop song, or even “Ode to Joy” or a Christmas carol into the music. The analogy falters, though, because when a group of friends all talks at once, the result is chaotic, and when they played together, it was coordinated and lovely. Maybe dance would be a better analogy, because jazz and the Middle East dance style I do both have a core of planning and a lot of structured improvisation.

Call it conversation, call it dance—just call it magic. We sat for hours, sipping cocktails and getting lost in the sound. I can’t remember what time we wandered into the hot night, heading away from Bourbon Street and heading past the quiet shuttered shops on Royal Street back to the condo. It was late, and we were looking forward to another day of adventure

Which, to summarize Tuesday, didn’t happen. Part of a good vacation involves spending a little time recuperating from hectic day-to-day life, and all four of us are not the kind of people who spend a lot of time sitting around watching TV. We were past due for some down time. After a late night and a few too many drinks, and faced with another day of high heat and humidity, we spent much of Tuesday lazing about, nibbling tasty food, playing cards, reading, and going to our separate bedrooms to either nap or not nap. (I may write erotica, but I’ll leave the not-napping portion of our activities to your imaginations, other than to say both couples seemed quite content, even smug, when we left the bedrooms.) Dinner was at Daisy Duke’s because we were too lazy to go farther afield—turns out they do a mean crawfish ettoufée as well as good breakfasts.

Wednesday dawned just as hot and humid, but after our quiet Tuesday, we were ready to go.

To be continued…

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