Our second day in New Orleans was special. I woke up decided to walk around the French Quarter and found the place cleaner, lively and full of nice surprises.
We used the Lonely Planet - New Orleans guide app for the i-Phone to do the walking tour around the French Quarter and I really recommend it!
My boyfriend will continue the description of the trip, helping me describe this amazing vacation!
New Orleans, LA
"The morning in New Orleans can be cruel, blaring hot sun combined with humidity that makes you schvitz the second you are hit in the face with the outdoor air, couple that with one bitch of a hangover and it’s your own, self-induced hell…nothing a Bloody Mary can’t fix, but first you need to make it to breakfast through a mass of over aggressive street merchants and tourist annoyers that make you feel like you’re in Latin America and not these United States. People trying to sell you tours, some guy gave me a citation for having too much fun and for being with a pretty girl (I must of looked miserable, I was hungry, had a headache and was starting to sweat). I have no idea what he was trying to sell me, after spending most of my years being harassed by all sorts of people on the streets of New York City I’m pretty much a jerk to anyone that forces themselves on me trying to sell me something on the street that isn’t a pretzel.
We stroll to breakfast at Stanley. Finding Stanley was easy, you walk south through the French Quarter, make a left on St. Ann right next to the hour long line of tourists that really think Café du Monde is worth the wait (seriously, it’s a French donut and if you go to the mall 5 minutes away you can get the same one without the wait for the original coffee shop, we went on Tuesday when everyone was gone). Stanley, while an expensive spot for two for breakfast (2 Bloody Mary’s, 2 meals, 1 Mimosa was a tad over 60 bucks not including the tip) was a worth every cent. Stanley’s is like a gastro-pub, it’s not open late like a traditional one but has a small bar, simple tables and food that you’ll fall in love with.
{Stanley Restaurant - 547 Saint Ann Street, New Orleans, LA - (504) 587-0093}
The lady went with the Stella, Stanley’s signature dish, poached eggs on top of an enormous soft shell crab. I chose the Soft Shell Crab Poor Boy and a truly amazing Bloody Mary. I’ve always hated Bloody Mary’s, maybe it’s because I never had one made correctly until this very morning, a few olives and a couple of pickled green beans, I never new anyone that pickled a green bean, it’s the perfect, delicious shock to the palette that one needs when he over indulged the night before. It was so good I ordered another one before my meal arrived. The lady, being a tad classier than I, delightfully sipped her Mimosa. I ordered Cajun Cole Slaw with my sandwich, it was so much better than the traditional slaw you find in diners country wide, it was fresh, didn’t taste like it’s been refrigerated for a week and was lightly spiced sans Mayo. The perfect combination to a sandwich that reminded me why I like sandwiches more than people. They provide comfort, essential nutrients and unlike people you don’t have to pray they’ll shut up when it feels like a Mexican gun fight inside of your skull.
The lady went with the Stella, Stanley’s signature dish, poached eggs on top of an enormous soft shell crab. I chose the Soft Shell Crab Poor Boy and a truly amazing Bloody Mary. I’ve always hated Bloody Mary’s, maybe it’s because I never had one made correctly until this very morning, a few olives and a couple of pickled green beans, I never new anyone that pickled a green bean, it’s the perfect, delicious shock to the palette that one needs when he over indulged the night before. It was so good I ordered another one before my meal arrived. The lady, being a tad classier than I, delightfully sipped her Mimosa. I ordered Cajun Cole Slaw with my sandwich, it was so much better than the traditional slaw you find in diners country wide, it was fresh, didn’t taste like it’s been refrigerated for a week and was lightly spiced sans Mayo. The perfect combination to a sandwich that reminded me why I like sandwiches more than people. They provide comfort, essential nutrients and unlike people you don’t have to pray they’ll shut up when it feels like a Mexican gun fight inside of your skull.
Full of deliciousness, feeling re-energized, and with a light buzz we stroll over to a bar that our server told us was the best spot to watch the Champions League Final (Manchester United vs Barcelona). I was willing to skip the match despite being an enormous soccer fan since we were on vacation, but the girlfriend being a Brasileira insisted we go watch the match. I would never object to such a fantastic idea. Poppy’s Timeout has an outdoor bar and an indoor bar both with tables, likely inhabited by tourists, it’s an easy spot to stop in for a drink along the mighty Mississippi and they have HD Tv’s everywhere like any sports bar. I order another drink (a 32oz Dos Equis in a plastic cup so I can walk around outside…gotta love New Orleans) and get ready for kickoff rooting for Barcelona. Being an Arsenal fan since I was 15 I detest Manchester United almost as much as I detest their fans.
They turn the sound up for me and the outdoor bar begins to fill up with people sucked into how oddly addictive soccer is. It’s a soap opera that fills people with such emotions there are murders the world round for wearing the wrong team jersey in a neighborhood. Of course that’s ridiculous, it’s only a game, but it’s the only sport that will ever make me lose my mind and effect my emotions for an entire day, I kind of get how you could kill for it. After the first half, and downing my second 32 oz Dos Equis we order some Alligator Bites. I’ve never had alligator; I don’t usually even eat meat though I’m not exactly sure where alligator falls on the meat scale. Simple, fried and fantastic. When you cut through the fried part and look inside alligator meat in this form it looks like Kielbasa. In some ways it has the same consistency. Barcelona scores two more goals (final score: Barca 3 lowly Man U 1) and it’s time for us to nap, we’re hot, I’m a wee bit tipsy (I had a third 32oz Dos Equis, Mexican Beer is so good when it’s hot) we head off for a nap, wake up and head out to stroll the French Quarter and to have dinner.
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| {alligator bites} |
When you put aside the acceptance of public drinking (yay freedom) and really pay attention New Orleans is incredible for a multitude of reasons (not just for the non-stop party). There is music everywhere, not just from clubs and bars but on the street. The street musicians can flat out play, I heard some guy leaning against his motorcycle, plugged into an amp, absolutely shredding Stevie Ray Vaughn’s “Pride and Joy”. He flat out nailed it, this was typical of street musicians in the Crescent City, no matter what genre they chose they were amazing, in some ways it’s sad since these remarkable musicians are literally playing with hat in hand hoping for tips but they were happy to have the chance to play in such an amazing city for music and for a couple of extra bucks. After looking in the windows of closed antique shops and one really awesome old gun shop I head to dinner with my pride and joy .
Mr B’s Bistro was a classic looking place, white linen, dark wood but with stunning Creole dishes and amazing French bread (living in Denver now I really miss good bread, it’s just not the same at altitude as it was in the North East). We both oddly order the same appetizer and the same entrée, I usually hate when something like this happens but I’ve been walking around post nap with a beer in my hand so all is well. We start with the fried oysters, I always preferred raw oysters until I went to New Orleans and to Mr B’s. Half a dozen fried oysters each topped with a bacon-horseradish hollandaise. It’s as mouth-tastic as it sounds, the perfect amount of crunch, not too much like bad fried chicken, soft in your mouth with a light bit of crispness coupled with the type of Hollandaise that makes you realize Hollandaise can actually have taste. Why haven’t I been made aware of this until now? A different waiter offers us desert before our dinner, confused we tell him we haven’t had dinner yet and he brings us a second loaf of French bread. Somewhere Dr. Atkins is pissed about our over consumption of carbs, but who gives a damn?
Mr B’s Bistro was a classic looking place, white linen, dark wood but with stunning Creole dishes and amazing French bread (living in Denver now I really miss good bread, it’s just not the same at altitude as it was in the North East). We both oddly order the same appetizer and the same entrée, I usually hate when something like this happens but I’ve been walking around post nap with a beer in my hand so all is well. We start with the fried oysters, I always preferred raw oysters until I went to New Orleans and to Mr B’s. Half a dozen fried oysters each topped with a bacon-horseradish hollandaise. It’s as mouth-tastic as it sounds, the perfect amount of crunch, not too much like bad fried chicken, soft in your mouth with a light bit of crispness coupled with the type of Hollandaise that makes you realize Hollandaise can actually have taste. Why haven’t I been made aware of this until now? A different waiter offers us desert before our dinner, confused we tell him we haven’t had dinner yet and he brings us a second loaf of French bread. Somewhere Dr. Atkins is pissed about our over consumption of carbs, but who gives a damn?
Out comes dinner, we’re both having Shrimp and Grits. I love grits; they just suck up whatever you mix into them. The shrimp was wrapped in Applewood Smoked Bacon (I swear I don’t eat meat, it makes me sick but sometimes you just have to go for it, I paid for this later) covered in Stone Ground Yellow Grits and whatever the heck Red-Eye Gravy is. Finishing every single ounce of our dinner we stroll out into the night sometime around 11p. One of the few things I don’t enjoy about living in Denver is that dinner service ends too damn early. It was nice to have dinner at 10pm, like we’re both accustomed to, instead of almost every restaurant closing at 10. Fatter, happier and being better for having eaten at Mr. B’s we stroll over to tourist haven Pat O’Briens for some to-go Hurricanes, the place is too expensive but they really do make a damn good Hurricane and when you get sick of annoying tourist types who thing this is the height of traveling you can walk out with your drink. It took about 20 minutes before we had enough of the collection of southerners that came to town for the weekend, nearly all of the men wearing sun glasses on the back of their heads like detestable Guy Fieri.
The lady became drunk in about 5 sips, we strolled out on some walking tour we saw in Lonely Planet that included a litany of wrong turns. We didn’t care though; it’s amazing how the right amount of booze can make you not give a damn about much. A couple of hours later we head back to our hotel but of course not before grabbing another drink for the walk. To walk without a drink in your hand in New Orleans is to not enjoy what freedom actually feels like, I’m an adult and appreciate not being preached to by hypocritical police, local political types and anyone else that tries to tell me I shouldn’t be responsible for my own actions when they in no way hurt anyone else."
The Boyfriend
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