Around 8pm on Saturday, the New Orleans skyline sort of popped up out of nowhere and was immediately very inviting, considering we had been in the car for about 8 hours. We weren't headed downtown, however, but for the French Quarter, home of jazz, blues, creole cuisine, beignets, and a unique brand of ridiculousness. Nick's parents had surprised us by making a reservation for us at the Olivier House, which is a 150-year-old pet-friendly inn located just under 2 blocks from Bourbon St.
The place was amazing in its location and history and it was comfortingly shabby in its accouterments. Murphy was pretty freaked out by the busy streets, loud music, flashing lights, and hordes of hooting, hollering, stumbling, bead-wearing hooligans, but our sanctuary within the Olivier House put her right at ease. She even managed to look relatively regal on the worn couch.
We would recommend this place to anyone, with or without pets, as a perfect place to use as home base while exploring New Orleans. Tearing ourselves away from the comfort of our guest room, we walked down to Decatur in search of the second oldest restaurant in town, Tujague's.
Tujague's has been in continuous operation for over 150 years and, they claim, even survived Prohibition without closing their bar or serving alcohol. Not sure how believable that is, but we certainly weren't going to hold it against them. The place has a great, casual atmosphere while remaining somewhat upscale, and dinner consists of 5 courses (6 if you count coffee as a course, which I don't) at a reasonable set price. We started with shrimp and house-made remoulade, followed by crab corn chowder, then amazing beef brisket with horseradish sauce. Lauren's main course was crawfish in a cream sauce over fettuccine with creamed spinach and Nick's was fried fish (drum) topped with a generous portion of lump crab meat. Dessert was bread pudding with caramel sauce. We had our doubts about finishing everything (which we did). About this time it occurred to us that we had perhaps packed too few elastic-waisted articles.
After dinner we hung a left out of the restaurant and waddled further down Decatur, following the advice of our innkeeper. She had recommended an area of the French Quarter located at the corner of Decatur and Frenchman that features great music and bars without the "bozos" (her word) of Bourbon St. She endorsed it as a place that locals frequent and so we were looking forward to the authenticity. We first strolled around and took in the scene, included lots of hipsters milling around but also this sweet hearse cruising nonchalantly at 3 or 4 mph:
Yes, that is a flock of pink lawn flamingos on the hood.
Instead of encountering the sticky sweet smell of spilled liquor and the rank odor of things best not described that characterizes Bourbon St., the unmistakable scent of patchouli wafted through the streets. Besides that though, the place was awesome. We found a bar that featured a blues jam (no cover charge!) and hung out there for a bit before setting our sights on something a little more lively. The aptly named Dragon's Den featured a super loud heavy metal band that clashed completely with all of the music around it. We almost went in for the novelty of it but opted instead for the Balcony Music Club across the street where the Soul Rebels Brass Band was playing. We made a wise choice, my friend. The $10 cover was totally worth it. The band featured three guys on percussion and five horns (including a tuba!), and the front three guys could sing as well. Over the next 3 hours, these guys worked the crowd into a lather.
The Soul Rebels Brass Band.
The lather.
They finished their second set at 3 am and we exited the club, a sweaty and disheveled but elated version of the couple who began the evening with a (somewhat) classy dinner. We had no problem getting to sleep that evening and our lazy Sunday morning started the way it should in New Orleans, with cafe au lait and beignets from Cafe Du Monde.
The Flat Grices even got in on the beignet action, with Flat Jessica going a little bonkers over the fried goodness and literally diving right in.
They basically give you a large paper bag filled with powdered sugar and throw in big lumps of hot fried dough. Aint nothin' wrong with that. Although we would have probably needed to walk all the way to Eugene, OR to burn off that breakfast, we convinced ourselves that some sight-seeing would do the trick.
Washington Artillery Park
The mighty Mississip. The Old Miss. The Old Man.
Jean Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop (now a tavern) was built prior to 1772.
Sweet, multi-level wrap around porches.
We also walked up and down Bourbon St. to find the bars already beginning to fill up (mind you this is prior to noon on a Sunday) in anticipation of the Saints/Rams game. Famished from 15 or so minutes of walking, we stopped in to the Oceana Grill for sloppily delicious gumbo with red beans and rice.
We then took a circuitous drive to the lower 9th Ward to see what it looked like over 4 years after Katrina and to remind ourselves that what you see as a tourist in New Orleans is not the entire picture. The Bourbon St. revelry stood in stark contrast to what we found. As is occasionally reported by various news outlets, there is still much work to be done but it appears that very little attention is being given to the area. Houses that were not boarded up seemed to be in the minority and many of the businesses have not returned.
Up next:
Lauren, Nick, and The Flat Grices travel to Houston, TX to visit Zach en route to Austin.
The place was amazing in its location and history and it was comfortingly shabby in its accouterments. Murphy was pretty freaked out by the busy streets, loud music, flashing lights, and hordes of hooting, hollering, stumbling, bead-wearing hooligans, but our sanctuary within the Olivier House put her right at ease. She even managed to look relatively regal on the worn couch.
We would recommend this place to anyone, with or without pets, as a perfect place to use as home base while exploring New Orleans. Tearing ourselves away from the comfort of our guest room, we walked down to Decatur in search of the second oldest restaurant in town, Tujague's.
Tujague's has been in continuous operation for over 150 years and, they claim, even survived Prohibition without closing their bar or serving alcohol. Not sure how believable that is, but we certainly weren't going to hold it against them. The place has a great, casual atmosphere while remaining somewhat upscale, and dinner consists of 5 courses (6 if you count coffee as a course, which I don't) at a reasonable set price. We started with shrimp and house-made remoulade, followed by crab corn chowder, then amazing beef brisket with horseradish sauce. Lauren's main course was crawfish in a cream sauce over fettuccine with creamed spinach and Nick's was fried fish (drum) topped with a generous portion of lump crab meat. Dessert was bread pudding with caramel sauce. We had our doubts about finishing everything (which we did). About this time it occurred to us that we had perhaps packed too few elastic-waisted articles.
After dinner we hung a left out of the restaurant and waddled further down Decatur, following the advice of our innkeeper. She had recommended an area of the French Quarter located at the corner of Decatur and Frenchman that features great music and bars without the "bozos" (her word) of Bourbon St. She endorsed it as a place that locals frequent and so we were looking forward to the authenticity. We first strolled around and took in the scene, included lots of hipsters milling around but also this sweet hearse cruising nonchalantly at 3 or 4 mph:
Yes, that is a flock of pink lawn flamingos on the hood.
Instead of encountering the sticky sweet smell of spilled liquor and the rank odor of things best not described that characterizes Bourbon St., the unmistakable scent of patchouli wafted through the streets. Besides that though, the place was awesome. We found a bar that featured a blues jam (no cover charge!) and hung out there for a bit before setting our sights on something a little more lively. The aptly named Dragon's Den featured a super loud heavy metal band that clashed completely with all of the music around it. We almost went in for the novelty of it but opted instead for the Balcony Music Club across the street where the Soul Rebels Brass Band was playing. We made a wise choice, my friend. The $10 cover was totally worth it. The band featured three guys on percussion and five horns (including a tuba!), and the front three guys could sing as well. Over the next 3 hours, these guys worked the crowd into a lather.
The Soul Rebels Brass Band.
The lather.
They finished their second set at 3 am and we exited the club, a sweaty and disheveled but elated version of the couple who began the evening with a (somewhat) classy dinner. We had no problem getting to sleep that evening and our lazy Sunday morning started the way it should in New Orleans, with cafe au lait and beignets from Cafe Du Monde.
The Flat Grices even got in on the beignet action, with Flat Jessica going a little bonkers over the fried goodness and literally diving right in.
They basically give you a large paper bag filled with powdered sugar and throw in big lumps of hot fried dough. Aint nothin' wrong with that. Although we would have probably needed to walk all the way to Eugene, OR to burn off that breakfast, we convinced ourselves that some sight-seeing would do the trick.
Washington Artillery Park
The mighty Mississip. The Old Miss. The Old Man.
Jean Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop (now a tavern) was built prior to 1772.
Sweet, multi-level wrap around porches.
We also walked up and down Bourbon St. to find the bars already beginning to fill up (mind you this is prior to noon on a Sunday) in anticipation of the Saints/Rams game. Famished from 15 or so minutes of walking, we stopped in to the Oceana Grill for sloppily delicious gumbo with red beans and rice.
We then took a circuitous drive to the lower 9th Ward to see what it looked like over 4 years after Katrina and to remind ourselves that what you see as a tourist in New Orleans is not the entire picture. The Bourbon St. revelry stood in stark contrast to what we found. As is occasionally reported by various news outlets, there is still much work to be done but it appears that very little attention is being given to the area. Houses that were not boarded up seemed to be in the minority and many of the businesses have not returned.
Up next:
Lauren, Nick, and The Flat Grices travel to Houston, TX to visit Zach en route to Austin.
RIGHT ON!!!! Even though 3D Jess has shunned the processed, the fried, the animal in origin, and basically anything fun in the culinary world, it's awesome to see that my flat counterpart is fully exploring her lust for fat, grease, and sugar...mmmmmmmm, sugar! Just remember, as with 3D Jess, FJG does still partake of the alcohol!!! Oh and PS, looks like yall are having a blast....ah vicarious living!!! MISSSSSSSSSS YALLLLL!!!
ReplyDeleteyour food descriptions are amazing. keep them coming. i hope you say hi to tito and the armadillo. ridem cowboy!
ReplyDeletePS: I do look quite amish!!!
ReplyDeleteGreat pics! What a fun trip so far. Drive safely! -- Michael & Amy
ReplyDeleteLove your photo journalism! You've been making me hungry and thristy - can't wait to hit that Nashville bourbon festival when I get Stateside. Happy Birthday, girl - it's gonna be a year to remember!!! Hugs
ReplyDelete