The first thing Jenny and I did when we got to New Orleans was buy a large beer (for her) and a Smirnoff Ice (for me) and walked down Canal Street sipping out of our brown paper bags. For us Colorado girls who don’t go out a whole lot, drinking on a public street was quite exhilarating. We stuck out so much that pretty much everyone we spoke to (asking directions, paying the bus fare, buying the booze) asked where we were from and warned us to be careful. Now I know how Woody from ‘Cheers’ felt.
After dinner at Cochon (more on the food later), we did what pretty much every traveler comes to New Orleans to do – drink on Bourbon Street.
A few things about Bourbon Street – it’s expensive (compared to Colorado), most bars are cash only and there are a lot of men looking for more than good conversation. A few things about Jenny and I – we’re cheap, we haven’t had cash since our middle school allowances and we love to (innocently) chat up guys and get them to buy us drinks. Not exactly a match made in heaven.
After gaping at the sex clubs and old men taking shots out of 21-year old girls’ cleavage, we managed to find a credit-accepting bar. Being the efficient economist that I am, I ordered a $3 shot of Bacardi 151. A much better alcohol-to-dollar ratio than the $7 beers and $13 slushies.
Feeling brave, we started talking to the seemingly least depraved men out and about. The first group, there for work from Iowa (even more country than us!), bought us more shots and showed us a karaoke bar. The karaoke club provided us with several more shots (courtesy of a birthday trip from New York City) and a chance to perform Coolio’s ‘Gangsta’s Paradise.’
Perhaps the highlight of the night came when an oil guy bought Jenny and me an entire tray of Jell-O shots. Well, I guess that depends on your definition of highlight. Considering what happened a few hours later, I wouldn’t necessarily call it a highlight now.
However, those Jell-O shot did get us wound up enough to ride the whale. The whale is a mechanical Shamu that bucks its rider around in an attempt to toss you off. It’s pretty much a mechanical bull, but the bar wanted something unique so they made it a whale. The whale was fun, although neither Jenny nor I will be applying at Sea World any time soon. And my inner thighs were sore the rest of the trip.
The fun, easygoing night turned unfortunate, as it does, when we, as we do, got hungry. It was a little after 2 am and even though we’d probably consumed 2,000 calories worth of alcohol since our 2,000 calories worth of dinner, we still, in our drunken state, insisted upon eating more. We wanted breakfast; specifically eggs benedict.
We beligerently stumbled through the streets of New Orleans, asking people where we could find our craving at such an hour. After false leads that took us to places we shouldn’t have been, we found ourselves hungrier than ever. And standing in front of the Harrah’s casino.
Even with my judgment clouded by shot of alcohol strong enough to corrode a diamond and a tray of Jell-O shot, I still objected to eating at the Harrah’s – the only place serving breakfast we had found – on the basis of it being a chain. However, my judgment was also easily swayed by Jenny telling me that the restaurant was 100% independently owned and operated. Of course it’s not a chain just because it’s inside a chain, she reasoned. And at 2 am, stomach pumped full of vodka, rum, everclear and God knows what else, I bought it.
That’s how we ended up eating the worst breakfast of our lives, which wasn’t even the eggs benedict we wanted. That’s saying something, since the last time I ate when drunk it was a McDonald’s double cheeseburger that I proclaimed to be the greatest thing I ever put in my mouth. Typically alcohol dulls the taste buds, thus making whatever I eat taste like a Michelin-starred restaurant’s cuisine. But the Harrah’s omelet was just that bad.
We shuffled back to our hotel, sick from the food and wishing we would have just waited until morning to find breakfast. I felt slightly guilty for eating inside a Harrah’s, even though Jenny still insists that it doesn’t count as a chain. Damn you tray full of Jell-O shots!
Instead of writing about the race that brought us to New Orleans – which didn’t go very well – I’m going to list everything I ate during the course of my 2 ½ day trip:
Wood-fired Oysters – Neither Jenny nor I like oysters, but we always like to try new things, so we gave them a shot. They were fantastic.
Fried soft shell crab – So weird to eat the legs without having to de-shell! Good, but the fried aspect was too heavy for me.
Louisiana Cochon – not as good as I remembered from my last trip, but still very tasty.
Harrah’s omelet – makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
Sushi – It may be odd to eat sushi in New Orleans, but we walked past an all-you-can-eat lunch deal, so what could we do?
Muffaletta – the best one from the French Market restaurant, of course.
Taste of Orleans Sampler – red beans and rice, gumbo, crawfish etouffee and shrimp creole. All fabulous.
Shrimp Remoulade – Honestly, I’m not sure what remoulade is. But this couldn’t possibly have been it.
Seafood platter – An obese fishophile’s wet dream. A pile of fried shrimp, crawfish dressing balls, oysters, catfish and soft shell crab.
Beignets – I didn’t even look at Café Du Monde. I went straight to Café Beignet and ate my deep-fried batter like a good chain-avoiding girl.
Turtle Soup – It’s a good thing we didn’t believe it was made with actual turtle when we ate it.
Jambalaya – Not typically one of my New Orleans to-die-for’s, the Jambalaya at Desire Oyster Bar was the best I’ve ever tasted.
Eggplant eggs benedict – The eggplant and hollandaise were terrific, but why on earth did they overcook my yolk? Is this a New Orleans thing?
Oh, and after that first night, we didn’t get drunk on Bourbon Street. Harrah’s taught us our lesson.
The entrees were good - gnocchi and short rib ravioli - but the portions weren't as generous as the apps. In a rare selfish move, Peter ordered an apple dessert and didn't even finish it. Since I think cooked apples taste about as good as my dog's eye boogers, I was forced to watch the uneaten morsels make their way back to the kitchen for disposal without finishing it. I had a chocolate banana brulee cake. The banana and chocolate stood up well to each other, but the banana sorbet was too grainy.
