I wish lunch could last forever
Make the whole day a first time love affair
We’ll begin with a kiss, such a warm place to start
Let me into your life, let me into your heart
That’s the last chorus of the old Jimmy Buffett song. It’s believed to be inspired, at least in part, by the old-school New Orleans Creole restaurant Galatoire’s. And if ever a song suited a getaway, that one did my and Rick’s post-Thanksgiving long weekend in the Big Easy. New Orleans gives you permission to have an endless lunch, accompanied by crisp cocktails and whispered confidences.
For all the travel Rick does for business, some of it to some pretty great places (though he does work, a lot), I’d never managed to tag along. But this particular trip to Baton Rouge was right after Thanksgiving. And aside from hosting on Thanksgiving Day, I had no plans for the long holiday weekend that couldn’t be moved. After a long run of annual trips, including 10 consecutive Jazz Fests (including one while we were on our sabbatical: https://sabrecalypso.wordpress.com/2014/04/28/detour-and-frolic/), this would be my first time back in 2 years.
People who don’t know the allure of NOLA asked what we do there, especially since we go so often. The short answer is: Eat, Drink and roulez les bon temps. To those who like to visit sites and see sights to check them off their Must-See lists, this is truly baffling. For us, who have checked all the boxes that will be checked, New Orleans is a place we allow to bathe our senses so that we can absorb. It’s a feast. The smells alone are evocative. In Uptown and the Garden District in November, it’s the crunchy spice of fallen live oak leaves, the soft perfume of laurel, the green of moss, and the ever-present funk of decay and decadence. To me, New Orleans is at once warm, welcoming, comforting, indulgent and stimulating.
Flights booked, VRBO arranged, restaurant reservations made, and we were off early the Friday after Thanksgiving. With the rest of the world sleeping off their carb overdoses, travel was smooth and easy, even despite throngs arriving for the Bayou Classic football game. Having been gone for 2 years, and not really having paid attention, I was shocked on arrival to find a brand sparkling new airport, full of light and white and space. After leaving dreary November Maryland, the shock of sunlight in the restrooms alone was a balm. I might have missed the old down-at-the-heels dark old airport with Lucky Dog carts at every bend in the corridor, but not much.
We couldn’t check in to our apartment until 3, so we had the first of our endless lunches. In a food-mad town like this, where Top Chef contestants and James Beard Award nominees and winners can be found in the most un-assuming spots, we could hardly go wrong. Where once the Warehouse District in general, and Tchopitoulas Street in particular, evinced a shudder, the home of Cochon restaurant is now part of a vibrant district of restaurants, hotels, bars, galleries and the World War II Museum (visit! It’s exceptionally well done and can be very moving). Not surprisingly, Cochon features all things pig, paying homage to Cajun foodways while at the same time forging its own path. It was on the vanguard of Post-Katrina New Orleans, which now has more restaurants than it did before the storm.
Yes, Cochon has an extensive list of “moonshine” to accompany dessert. The other offerings range from gumbo to fried chicken livers with pepper jelly.
This being New Orleans, as well as a mini-vacation, we had a long and leisurely lunch with a number of small plates, cocktails, wine, and a moonshine dessert with our wheelie bags nestled near the hostess stand, where they were not alone. But we couldn’t mark enough time to check in, so our next stop was home-grown New Orleans coffee shop chain P.J.’s just a block from our rental.
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The weather was perfect, so we parked ourselves at an outdoor table, sipping coffee and watching the world go by. We were on Magazine Street, so the people-watching was outstanding — from students to artists to hipsters, but not so many of the tourist hordes.
Finally, we went “home.” This VRBO rental (Magazine Street Chic) is part of a multi-unit house, arranged in “shotgun” style. Clean, stylish and well-appointed, its best quality was its location in the Lower Garden District but brushing the Irish Channel.
Our rental was part of this larger building. We had a sitting room, kitchen, 2 bedrooms and 1 bath.
I easily walked to a quality wine shop on St. Charles Avenue to stock up our fridge, as well as a small bodega for other essentials. The streetcar runs along St. Charles Avenue, providing access to places we wanted to visit. (Note, however, that the streetcar is under repair, and shuttle buses were covering the stops near us; we used Uber more often than I’d planned, because the buses were not reliable.) And we were able to walk to some great restaurants.
Along the walk to the streetcar … New Orleans never fails to give me house lust.
Although we’re always up for something new, New Orleans is also about tradition and touchstones. One of our traditions is lunch or dinner at Coquette, a few blocks from where we were staying. We love supporting a Maryland-bred chef, but we also love the food. It’s always local and seasonal, and that’s a whole lot more fun in semi-tropical New Orleans in November than it is in chilly Maryland.
One of the appealing qualities of Coquette is that is off most tourists’ radar screens. But we are not immune to the lure of New Orleans’ tourism mecca: the French Quarter. I generally avoid Bourbon Street like the plague, as I’m more attracted to the antique shops and galleries of Royal Street. We make a pilgrimage to see the Mississippi River, and stand in awe of her might. This year, we were sidelined for a bit by the Bayou Classic parade; New Orleans parades are always a spectacle, and the riders always throw stuff.
St. Louis Cathedral, in Jackson Square, readying for the holidays.
Wrought iron railings, shutters, tropical colors and hanging baskets are featured generously in French Quarter architecture.
Despite it’s starting point near the French Market (touristy dreck), Crescent Park is seemingly unused. Not unlike New York’s Highline, Crescent Park is a linear park that provides spectacular views of the city and the river, while also remaining true to the industrial past of the riverfront. We passed maybe a handful of people as we traversed much of its length.
Standin’ on the corner
Of Toulouse and Dauphine
Waitin’ on Marie-Ondine
I’m tryin’ to place a tune
Under a Louisiana moonbeam
On the planet of New Orleans
Our day’s walk eventually took us to the corner of Toulouse and Dauphine memorialized in the Dire Straits song Planet of New Orleans (Side bar: the only context where it is even remotely acceptable to pronounce it “New Or-leens” is in song.) A few steps further took us to Bayona restaurant and its delectable courtyard. It’s easy to waste away an afternoon here, snugged among the ancient cobbles, trickling fountains and clattering palms.
We first found ourselves at Bayona at the beginning of this century, and no trip to this timeworn city is quite complete without a taste of Susan Spicer’s velvety cream of garlic soup.
As lunch took us somewhere relatively old, Saturday’s dinner took us to a more recent addition to New Orleans’ dining scene: Compere Lapin, helmed by Top Chef favorite Nina Compton. Talk about a perfect pairing for us: Caribbean Creole food. An outstanding bar doesn’t hurt either. As we need a reminder of how cozy NOLA can be, we ended up seated at a table next to a couple we’d been seated next to at Bayona.
Although it may seem we do little besides eat and drink in New Orleans (as if that isn’t enough), we walk thousands of steps as well. It might be more accurate to say that a visit to the Crescent City is a series of long walks punctuated by stops for coffee, drinks and meals. Our last full day — Sunday — included a marathon hike, commencing at the Riverbend (where St. Charles Avenue meets Carrollton Avenue, Uptown). Most visitors to this corner flock to iconic Camellia Grill, or worse, the daiquiri shop. For me, nostalgia is served with a po-boy and beer at Cooter Brown’s, with the beginning of the Ravens game for good measure.
As the Ravens marched on their remarkable path, we marched on the levee overlooking the river, along the Audubon Zoo, and for most of the length of Magazine Street (though we eventually took a bus for the last few blocks back to our apartment). Magazine Street is my favorite of New Orleans streets, because it offers so much. Sure, St. Charles Avenue has the streetcar line and gorgeous homes. Magazine Street also has stretches of classic homes and looming live oaks festooned with Spanish moss, especially Uptown and in the Garden District, but there’s more. There are shops and bars and restaurants (where local offerings far outweigh chains) and a wide variety of humanity. We could easily break up our long walk with a coffee or wine stop, especially with the weather being as accommodating as it was.
We made it back to our apartment to catch the last bit of the football game. This was our last day, and I didn’t want it to end, so I set about looking for a nearby bar or restaurant where we could sit outside with a drink and absorb the waning sunshine and warmth. We found ourselves 2 blocks from “home,” at what appeared to be a neighborhood dive bar with food provided incidentally, and a small pergola-covered seating area outdoors: Turkey and the Wolf. We grabbed some cocktails and seats outside, and watched the passing parade of the few people who straggled along, given the late afternoon hour. It was only when I got home and was perusing a few listicles online that I found this unassuming — kitschy even — little cinder block establishment is one of the most celebrated dining hot spots in the country, taking such honors as topping Bon Appetit magazine’s list of best new restaurants and gaining rave reviews elsewhere.
Knowing this now makes me wish we’d done more than drink. We could have, once again, made lunch last forever.
Calypso's Odyssey 