New Orleans

Tuesday, March 3
After the swamp tour, back in the car, 50-odd miles into New Orleans. We couldn't find a place to stay for the whole week, so we split the trip between two. The first - a home in uptown on the east bank of the Mississippi (encompassing the French Quarter and Jefferson Parish). I have a 19th c architecture fetish & Nola in general satisfies it. Our first place had excellent stemware. A painted white brick fireplace inlaid with white bricks - ineffective, but stylish. Hardwood floors. A tin-fenced-in back yard with a young orange tree bearing fruit. Once arrived, we went for a walk to Magazine St..

We had dinner at Coop's Place in the French Quarter, a place Adam & Stacy had taken us on our first trip to the city, "where the not-so-elite meet to eat." Magenta lighting. Crotchety bartenders. Sat at the bar for Nawlins sazeracs, a cup of rabbit & sausage jambalaya, smoked duck quesadilla, and shrimp creole with a baguette laid across the wide white bowl.

Walked to Snug Habor to catch M's favorite Nola drummer, Stanton Moore, of Galactic play in the Stanton Moore Trio. According to M, I was infatuated with the bassist's tattoos and fingernail polish, which I'm only now recalling because he reminded me so closely of an ex. Front row. G&T's.

Wednesday, March 4
M and I went for breakfast a short walk away, to the Bearcat Cafe: cafe au lait, cat mama biscuit: green tomato, crab, sunny egg. Met up with Cousin & Neil who were doing a walkabout in the Quarter, for drinks-to-go at the Corner Bar off Royal, a place with colorful laminated menus & sugarbooze delights. With our drinks in hand we perused the window fronts of Rodrigue Studio's Blue Dog, of Antieau, Fawkes Fine Art. Wanted all the art. To the French Market: Cajun creole hot nuts & famous gator on sticks, grilled gator sausage and little frivolities. Past Decatur St. to the lip of the Mississippi in various shades of ecru, murky puddle, overcast sky. Past the Archbishop Antoine Blanc Memorial & the Old Ursuline Convent. To the no. 1 bar of all time - Erin Rose - for frozen Irish coffees, savored over seared gulf shrimp poboys in the backback.

En route to the St. Louis Cemetery we spotted the heartbreaking eyesore of the collapsed Hard Rock Hotel. It would color the trip, locals bemoaning the shame of it. Walking the perimeter of the St. Louis Cemetery, "the city of the dead's" crumbling above-ground graves, its offerings left for Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau, we passed some not-so-gentlemen non-discreetly shooting up into their elbow crux. Likely overwhelmed by the dysphoria of the semi-exposed hanging limbs of a deceased man left in the collapse, his privacy tarp blown astray, and the open-air drug exhibition, we called an uber to take us back home to process through a sad nap. Post, Cousin and I walked to a local mart for supplies: chilled bottles of wine, cans of yerba mate, and a tin of mints. At the checkout was a big plastic boat of boiled crawfish with flies a'swarm ($4.99/lb). "SORRY! NO FREE SAMPLES." Below that, a white cooler on the floor with shrimp in a pool of gray water ($7.99/lb). Guy behind me was buying a bottle of frosted white wine and a 2-thick sleeve of those mini vanilla & orange ice cream cups of youth.

Back at our place, we sat in the back yard under a tent and drank wine. Got ready for what would be Cousin & Neil's last night with us. To Jacques-Imo's off Oak St, passing by a discreet little house with a few christmas lights outside; M goes, "Isn't that Snake & Jakes?" And our uber driver goes, "How do you know about Snake & Jakes?" Sex appeal.

Jacques Imo's was another favorite of ours from the previous trip; "Warm beer. Lousy Food. Poor Service." We ordered drinks and apps at the bar while we waited for a table. Red wine, thickly buttered cornbread cakes, calamari with brown garlic sauce, fried boudin balls with jalapenos and Creole mustard sauce, shrimp Creole, mussels, a sampling of their desserts: bread pudding & creme brulee. After dinner we walked back to Snake & Jakes for a drink, then to d.b.a off Frenchman St. in the Marigny where we watched Walter Wolfman Washington & the Roadmasters play under blue light. Ended the night at Cafe du Monde, near closing, M in a panic that we were being rude, but me like a gremlin in thick thick need of white sugar. I enjoyed that cup of coffee and numerous beignets hard, and for a second I was ashamed that I was eyes-closed, face covered in powder, ecstacyzed - but then, I'd walk by Cafe du Monde the next day, and saw all the white powder laid exposed on the bricks at numerous hereandtheres, and the guilt dwindled, because it's just part of it - the gremlin-esqueness, for some at least.

Thursday, March 5
Cousin and Neil had a few hours in the city before they'd head home. M's cousin Grace, his brother Brian & his partner Suzy would come and spend the rest of the weekend with us. When I woke that morning Grace had landed and was taking a snoozer on the couch. We rallied as much as drinking for a week straight and eating a lot of fried fish allowed us to, back to the French Quarter, where we caught this delicious bucket band playing off Royal St. Suspended still in this moment of not wanting to stop taking photographs of the frontwoman sitting in an old metal folding chair, sweating from the motion of her trumpet going up and up and. A sprinter van goes by with a pomeranian driving. Lunch at Pat O'Brien's, in the courtyard, sipping bloody mary's. We decided that Cousin & Neil needed to stock up on Muffaletta's for the trip home, so we stopped at Central Grocery & Deli, the waiting line near out the door, with an intriguing selection of almost-dusty cans of odds and ends like cooked wheat grain for Neapolitan grain pie. Grace, Cousin and I left the men to stock Muffalettas & headed for cafe au laits and beignets at Cafe du Monde.

Meandered the Lafayette Cemetery No. 2, past a black Jesus mural in dappled tree shade on a brick wall. Tall, wide, multi-vaulted tombs. The Butcher's Benevolent Society. African-American Labor Societies. Cement-based stuccoes. Granite rubble cladding. Active decay. A cemetery guard called us out and closed the gate under a late afternoon sun.

We moved to our last lodging, off 4th St. in the Garden District.

M deposited Grace & I on Magazine before heading to the airport for drop offs and pick ups. It was sad to see Cousin go (my sweet roadtrip facial friend). Magazine St. was sleepier than I'd experienced in the past, several shops closed or closing. Meandering in out and out of boutiques, art shops, bric-a-brac'rs, and a jewelry shop where Grace lit up & the shopkeeper told us endless stories, to one very special outdoor market that held a non-interested overseer of vintage. Later we met Brian and Suzy at the Portside Lounge in Central City; it's on my growing list of favorite bars in Nola. A tiki dive bar. Caribbean rums & handcrafted bitters. Colored lights in dim. The owner used to work on sets in the film industry and created this majikal space; he credits "Free State of Jones," "Dawn of the Planet of the Apes," and "Monster's Ball" as his inspiration.

Dinner at Jacques Imo's again, the same unraveling of events - drinks and snacks at the bar, ushered to a table, this time in the side house attached to the main building. A family reunion. Post dinner drinks at Snake & Jake's, again, but this time I sort of kissed a dog seated at the bar, and by sort of, I mean it definitely happened.

Friday, March 6
On Friday, Grace's friend Daniel flew in to join us, and I'm v. happy he did. The group of us met him for jazz brunch at The Court of Two Sisters; dining outside in the courtyard, the wind blowing bits of tree across our plates. Mimosas. Coffee. A sumptuous selection of hot and cold dishes like eggs anystyle, benedict, turtle soup, creamy crawfish pasta, a carving station with roast beef, sausages, grits, grillades, Creole jambalaya, Duck a L'Orange, shrimp etouffe, gumbo, catfish roulade, ceviche, pates, cheeses, pecan pie, bananas foster, king cake, bread pudding with whiskey sauce. The jazz band flitting around tables to serenade the celebratory. As I write this now, reminiscing, it feels like a different life, where large groups sat at tables of white linen, and stood close in line, foaming for an omelette. All that closeness, intimacy. Our server gave us a hand-scrawled note with all of her favorite lesser-known treasures to be found in the city. A list which shared the secrets of jazz history, streetcars, where the best char-grilled oysters lay.

En route to Daniel's declaration that he needed to get us a round of Grenade's at Tropical Isle's, popped into Pat O's for a cocktail to go. Tropical Isle is neonarific. Another one to add to the list. A couple rounds of cocktails at the Carousel. Grilled cheese sandwiches, poboys and beer at Killer Poboys.

Fancy dinner at Josephine Estelle's, per Daniel's suggestion. It was sassyfancy. Like frosted blackberry on a stick in your cocktail as you wait kind of fancy. Not my immediate inclination, but damn, it delivered, and we moaned and shared dishes and drank a lot and then after, we were able to balance the fance with Snake & Jake's, because I literally needed to go there every night since the very first night M brought it to attention. And I have to say that the first time I went I cried in the bathroom, the second night I made out with a dog, and the third, well...The night ended at Tipitina's for Brassfest. We bought swag. Swayed to brass. To the Big 6. To Mama Digdowns. To Josh Mosier.

Saturday, March 7
Woke early, ate some cold beignet's left on the counter. Drove ourselves to the car return, boarded the plane and landed in Seattle at what would be the "beginning" of our country's reaction to Covid-19.