i don't want to go home...

All good things, when they end, seem to do so prematurely. No matter how many memories and experiences are packed into an allotted space of time there is always a wish for more. There is always one more thing to do or see or in the case of New Orleans, eat. And, no matter how many good times have "rolled" there is always a wish to eek out another "good time". New Orleans can be that way and given the added attraction of my lovely daughter, the wish to return home to the chilly northeast was weak. I miss her, but I am happy that she has found a love and a life and as a father I am pleased. But, as a visitor to this delectable city, I am hungry for more!

We knew we would not be satisfied with getting on the first plane outta here so, we opted for a late afternoon flight in planning this excursion. We arose early, packed our bags and left them on the bed. We then headed out into the brilliant sunshine for a few hours. The hotel is on Bourbon street. All the raunchy establishments are right there which is an odd juxtaposition of cultures, (or lack of cultures some may say). Inside the Ramada it is serene and ornate. A wall of windows shows the antics outside, at least during the night, but nothing is heard. It is strange to be so close; it's like you're in a zoo. Bourbon Street at 9:00 am is nothing like the teetering menagerie from the night. Outside the strip joint there's no one holding a sign proclaiming: "T*ts and whiskey"'; no one is on the balconies above holding out strands of beads to gawkers below, some baring body parts and shrieking "throw me some beads mistah"; no scowling horse mounted policemen or firemen sitting on the bumper of their rig posing for pictures and selling t-shirts. No, there's cars driving down Bourbon and liquor and maintenance trucks making stops. There's quite a difference between night and day and if not for the photographs of half naked women on some of the placards one may consider this French Quarter a little sleepy.

We've spent a goodly amount of time away from Bourbon this trip, save for a perfunctory stroll. The other night we wanted to have a "quiet" drink and thought to get one at the hotel bar, but that was closed. The security guard at the hotel rolled his eyes and said there's no quiet places on Bourbon, but we walked down to Royal and found a little place that served watered down martinis, which was enough to slake our thirst. The bar at this nameless place was dotted with other older folks like us, just looking for a nightcap and not a torrent of activity. We were surprised we had found a place like this and just a block away from Camp Runamuck on Bourbon.

This morning was more of the same. We headed for coffee at Royal Blend on Rue Royal. It is a favored place of your intrepid VFH travelers and we like to linger in the quiet courtyard and listen to trilling birds as we read the local papers. It is worth the visit and I recommend it highly, especially if you are not interested in the roiling commotion of Cafe Du Monde. http://www.royalblendcoffee.com/
Now, people will swear to Cafe Du Monde. It is a tourist destination that first opened in the 1800's. It only closes on Christmas and (according to their website) when a hurricane strays too close to NOLA. The coffee here is strong, infused with chicory, a root, that was originally used by the French to stretch out coffee rations. They also serve beignets which is fried dough covered with powdered sugar. It is impossible to eat them without getting covered with the sugar. But, where Royal Blend is quiet, almost pastoral, the scene at Cafe Du Monde is frenetic, crowded with tourists with white noses. Musicans entertain the folks and it too is certainly worth the visit. They are open 24 hours a day...except for Christmas of course. I once drove through New Orleans just to get coffee and beignets in the middle of the night. I was driving home from Texas where I had researched my second novel...which... is now available through Amazon.com....
THE MUSIC MADE ME CRY.... I know I know it's shameless ploy to get you readers to spend some money! (Only .99 cents.)
Well, that early morning I was pleased to find Cafe Du Monde open, so I got a sack of beignets and a barrel of coffee at 3:00 am which kept me going for a long time.
http://www.cafedumonde.com/ It is impossible to miss Cafe Du Monde. It's at the far end of the French Market and when you sit in the open air pavilion bedecked by green and white striped awnings, you have a grand view of Jackson Square and further along St. Louis Cathedral. With the music and the panhandlers, the carriages and the Lucky Dog hot dog vendors and tourists snapping pictures, it can be a nice place to alit for a bit.

Well, we decided to amble past Cafe Du Monde and the allure of one last clutch of beignets was too strong to ignore. There was a line for tables, as well as a line for take out, but that moved quickly. With another coffee and powdered sugar dusting our t-shirts we made another pass through the French Market, but none of the ticky tacky stuff held much interest. The other day when we walked through the same market there was a cooking demonstration about how to boil crawfish, which were then handed out to those willing to wait in line. Today there were nothing like this, so we headed back down Decateur and stopped to listen to musicans play in the little plaza in front of St. Louis Cathedral. It is amazing the talent of the musicans here. New Orleans is food, but it is music and we lingered a long while among the tourists and the palm readers and the artisans and the camoflaged homeless man with a broom who talked to himself as we soaked up one last time this lovely wonderful world that is New Orleans.

We then dragged our feet back to the hotel, to prepare for the trip home. But, only after one last meal! Zagat's is a wonderful guide for restaurants and when searching for a place they are a good resource. Through Zagat we found a place for breakfast. Satsuma Cafe is on Dauphine in Bywater, in the Ninth Ward. My daughter at first balked about the place, because of its location. The Ninth Ward was decimated by the flooding caused by the levee breaking after Hurricane Katrina and it can be a rough area. But Bywater is near the Mississippi, and a couple of feet (3) above sea leavel and was spared much of the damage, comparatively, and Satsuma received favorable reviews. It was far from high cuisine; it is more of a coffeehouse with art on the walls and missmatched chairs in the little courtyard; in other words a kid place. Well, my daughter and her boyfriend were pleasantly surprised and considered returning to Satsuma at another time. The place even had a Facebook page which probably swayed my daughter's acquiesence.
http://www.satsumacafe.com/

Afterwards we picked up their dog, a lovely boxer yearling, and walked through a park near their home in Meterie. It was very nice to see my daughter arm in arm, dog in tow. The tables had turned. I was like the child sneaking downstairs to spy on their parent's party. It made me happy and it made this recent trip to New Orleans the best ever.

Thanks for reading this portion of VFH's antics in New Orleans. Don't worry after this we'll get cheap again....

love,
greg

rolling down the river

What native New Yorker would consider kicking around Times Square or travel to the top of the Empire State Building? Those places brim with idiotic tourists that stand in the way and point at things. They are annoying right? NY'ers scurry past them and weave and feint their way around the walking speed bumps without a nod if they have to venture into those areas. The citizens of New Orleans are not that different. Recently reading about John Kennedy Toole even back in the 1960's the people of NOLA considered the French Quarter only for the tourists and a place to be avoided.

Well, the French Quarter does brim with tourists, and these walking speed bumps weeble and wobble while they carry their "huge ass beers" and "hand grenades". But, they are part of the "charm" that is New Orleans and and maybe not as much of a hinderance as New Yorkers may consider the tourists that stand...and get in the way. No, the tourists of the French Quarter are themselves like street performers and what is different here than in NYC perhaps is the acceptance and the interaction between natives and tourists. Yes, they are a nuisance, but they are greatly appreciated by the citizens of New Orleans.

Indeed.... This is the second time the VFH crew has visited New Orleans since the notorious hurricane Katrina and the people of the Big Easy are enthusiastic and happy that people are returning to their city. Head chefs at restaurants have come up to the table to thank us for visiting again and I know that some musicians receive a stipend to peform for the tourists along rue Royal, which is closed to vehicular traffic during the day, or in Jackson Square, but they genuinely look like they're having fun performing for their fellow street performers. It is one big party and it is fun, even if others wobble when I weeble..... Of course, it is easy to have a complacent attitude and everyone seems to be nice when you're visiting a place for just a few days. Perhaps things would be different if we immersed ourselves in this culture for a longer period of time, although my daughter and her boyfriend have been living in Meterie for awhile now and are having a great time. But, New Orleans was always for the young.

Well, today we were tourists in New Orleans and I fear that all my previous words about the mingling of citizens and tourists are hollow. Apart from the people working the boat, and my daughter, everyone was from somewhere else. Different languages and accents warbled all around us fighting the steam whistle for prominence as we waited along the quay so we could board the Natchez. According to their brochure, the Natchez is the last remaining steamboat operating on the Mississippi. We had been hearing the calliope tootling over the Quarter for days and decided to take a two hour cruise on the river. I was able to get a discount because of my AAA membership that amounted to $7.50 for the three tickets purchased. A lunch was available but we opted out of it. Total price for three tickets was $66. I have to say it was worth it, for nothing could replace the feel of this proud ship churning swiftly down the Mississippi, overtaking barges trying the negotiate the curve at Algiers point. Although later on I learned that ferries crossing the river are free to walk ons and if our intent was to simpy get on the river if only to cross over to Algiers, albeit briefly, then this would have been enough. There is a walking tour of the Algiers neighborhood: http://www.algierspoint.org/
No, it was quite enjoyable sitting on the prow of the ship with the sun spilling on us and a sometimes stiff breeze keeping us cool. We watched with interest the machinations of the crew preparing the ship to leave the dock and listened to the commentary offered by the captain about the ship and the neighborhoods and industries that we passed. The trip was two hours and took us all the way to the Chalmette Battlefield, about 7 miles down river from the Quarter. This is where the final battle of the War of 1812 was waged which resulted in devastating losses for the British against only a handful of casualties by the Americans. The sad part about this battle is the war was technically over and a truce had been drawn up, but it did not reach the forces involved by the time of the battle. There is a reenactment each January. Interesting information about visiting the battlefield can be found at: www.atneworleans.com/brody/battlefield.htm.

Another ship, the Creole Queen, that was much smaller than our craft, stopped at the battlefield for a walk on the grounds. Although it looked like a paddlewheel boat like ours, the captain of the Natchez pointed out that it really ran on diesel fuel, not steam like our ship. Again he pointed out that the Natchez was the last remaining steam paddleboat operating on the Mississippi. But, then again, the captain repeated everything.

When the great Natchez wheeled around just south of the battlefield for the return, we decided to walk around the ship. There were three decks and we were allowed into the engine room, there to see the massive pistons working with a deliberate cadence to turn the massive paddle wheel in the aft of the Natchez. After walking around the Natchez we returned to our chairs and basked in the afternoon sun. My daughter pointed out different sights when the Natchez cruised past Canal Street and the apartments along the river where she had attended parties.

Earlier in the day we decided to go to Johnny's Po-Boys where they famously declare that even their failures are edible. There was an interesting mix of tourists and locals waiting patiently in a line that stretched the length of eatery. You may ask what the hell is a po-boy? It is basically a submarine sandwich on french bread and the ingredients can be anything from fried oysters, to alligator to meats like roast beef. The meaning some say comes from a group of labor strikers being provided free sandwiches by a sympathizer. The strikers were called poor boys, and the name was shortened to po-boys. The girls had seafood gumbo while I dove into an expansive Muffeletta, which is is a submarine on Italian bread. Although the Po-Boy originated in New Orleans, it can be found all throughout the south. The Muffeletta is the sandwich associated with the city and features an olive salad slathered on all the meats. The girls watched wide-eyed as I finished the huge sandwich.
http://www.johnnyspoboy.com/

That evening my daughter's boyfriend had business to attend to and could not meet us for dinner. We ate in the Warehouse District, an artsy area west of the Quarter. We ate at an upscale cajun restaurant, that entertained the trappings of "downhome" style food. i.e. we sat on wood slat chairs. Janet had seen a segment about the restaurant on the Travel Channel that explored the troubles the owners of Couchon endured in the aftermath of Katrina. The food was very good. We shared an appetizer of gator in a garlicy hot sauce. My daughter had a brisket, Janet a fish and I had a couchon grill, which looked like a crab cake, but was a succulent pork. We were all satisfied with our meal.
http://www.couchonrestaurant.com/

This was the first time in all the years I've traveled to New Orleans where I did not eat in a restaurant in the French Quarter. Port of Call was more of a bar that served hamburgers.

cemeteries and shuffleboard

Let me say right now that Janet kills me in shuffleboard. She's evil and uncanny in her ability to knock me out and deprive me of points. That being said, I am her Charlie Brown and will always endeavor to win, no matter how futile my chances. This infuriating skill of her's figures later on in our escapades on this particular day in New Orleans.

The day actually started well enough... we met Ally for a great breakfast as Camellia's grill on Chartres Street. It was a chance selection. We were opting for a place that was also on Chartres, but was no longer in business. Janet had seen this place while we waited for Ally and so we went for it. We got a place at the long, curving, amoeba-like counter that was all light and airy and glinting with polished chrome and the waiters scurried in white ill fitting tunics and sloshed dark strong coffee in our mugs. Eggs and sausages and grits and waffles and quick snippets of conversations with our waiter about everything and nothing and bottomless cups of coffee and every manner of woman, man and child sitting at the counter that meandered through the charming and thankfully inexpensive place. For about $20 not including the tip we had a good start on the day; our bellies filled and our spirits high.

Life goes on even when others are on vacation and both Ally and her boyfriend had to work this day. My daughter was a beatific vision with her green eyes and long blonde tresses flitting in the soft breeze as we walked back after breakfast to her boutique shop in a mall near the river. The looks certainly skipped a generation in the family. At the shop we met one of her co-workers who was aglow about our coming to New Orleans and eating at Port of Call the night before. She said she was extremely though playfully jealous of our meal and she and I bantered back and forth about different places to eat. She told us of Adolfo's, an Italian/Creole restaurant she was especially fond of in the Faubroug Marigny section of town. That's just outside the French Quarter and the restuarant is on Frenchmen Street across the street from a tattoo palor and above a bar with live music. This section of town brims with that sort of lifestyle and caters more to locals who like to party in the streets, but avoid the frat-boy antics on Bourbon. Upon her enthusiastic recommendation we altered our plans for the evening right there. But, as Ally had to work we left her at the mall and made our way along Canal Street with the idea to explore the cemeteries of New Orleans.

We had done no research, aside from knowing that because the water table is so near the surface people are interred in crypts and mausoleums, but we had ignored the brochures for cemetery tours that are offered all around New Orleans. Had we latched onto one, we would have seen some decrepit and spooky graves, including a voodoo queen's final resting place. Cemeteries give me the willies already, so that would have too much. Instead we had seen a cluster of cemeteries along the far end of Canal Street on the map and decided to start out for there. At first we walked along Canal. We had to weave to avoid all manner of strange local characters and tourists. There were a lot of stout people who lumbered down the sidewalk without looking where they were going. One man with a cane sang aloud in a beautiful voice some gospel tune, fist punching appreciative listeners as he slowly ambled along the busy street walkway.

The book, "A Confederacy of Dunces," written by the tragic author John Kennedy Toole, came up as we dodged other pedestrians and we tried to remember his main character's name. The story takes place in the late 60's New Orleans. We had both read it and we struggled with remembering the name of the main character. Well, as if a stroke of luck from god or Mr. Toole himself, we were suddenly standing nose-to-nose with a statue portraying Ignatius J. Reilly, complete with floppy hat, along with a placard of the opening lines from the book on a nearby wall of the former department store. He was standing beneath the clock peering out onto the Canal Street, bemused as he looked for "offenses against taste and decency". Later we discovered that Mr. Toole is interred at the very Greenwood cemetery that we visited and had probably passed his grave, but never made the connection.

A block after meeting Mr. Reilly we decided the day was too hot and the distance too long to walk all the way to the cemeteries, so we hopped onto the Canal Street trolley. They're red and wooden and airy and rattle and clang and buzz. It costs $1.25 exact change to ride and this line ends with Canal Street at City Park Avenue. Cemeteries surrounded us and I guess because there was a huge BPOE Elks monument at Greenwood we decided to meander through that one. It was quiet and well kept and many family crypts had separate vases for different people interred there so one may leave flowers specifically for Mom or Dad, etc. The grass was trimmed nice and there was a serenity there in the hot sun that even the noise of traffic on nearby Route 10 could not invade. We walked around, snapped a few pictures and then left, but that was it for our cemetery carousing. Instead, we crossed the tree lined Canal Boulevard after leaving Greenwood to get a beer at the Bulldog. They offered a fine selection of draft beers at $5.00 and this being Wednesday we got to keep the glasses after we drank our beers. I had a beer from Baton Rouge while Janet drank a weisse beer from Germany. We were going to sit outside in the little garden they offer, but that's when we discovered the shuffleboard.

It was ugly. She's evil I tell you.... always hitting my pieces off the board, depriving me of points and my pride. Later on when we told my daughter and her boyfriend, who fancies himself as a shuffleboard pro as well, he said that Janet would never beat him... I rolled my eyes with the hubris displayed, but we never had the opportunity to see if his dignity would remain intact. I'm sure somewhere down the line WWIII will be played out on a shuffleboard between these two.

I tell you... Janet's ability is uncanny...

Anyway, Bulldogs is worth the visit... http://www.bulldog.draftfreak.com/

Later that evening we ate at Adolfo's. There is a bar next door that was open to the street. The door to the restaurant had cheap stickers spelling out the name, but there were no other markings. You had to know it was there. The door also opened to the bar, so the band is right there as you walk up the listing stairs to the run down Adolfo's. Remember the old adage though, "Judge a book by its cover and you get a paper cut." The food was exceptional! We had an order or mussels in white wine for starters. The kids got pastas and shrimp while Janet had amberjack and I had grouper. Both were prepared with Adolfo's "ocean sauce". It was a white sauce with a creole kick and white shrimp and crawfish. It was very delicious. The waiter was a squirrelly little guy with a unibrow that kept sneaking peeks of Janet's cleavage, but he was pleasant and entertaining and we enjoyed our dinner and the music from downstairs though always heard never interrupted our conversations. Dinner for the four of us with just two drinks; Janet had to tell them how to make a Sea Breeze; was just $107, tip not included. They do not have a website, but they make up for it with the food!

We said our good-byes after dinner and opted to walk back to the hotel while the kids drove back to Meterie. Janet and I strolled arm-in-arm through the quiet sections of the French Quarter and even avoided Bourbon by walking along Dauphine to reach our hotel.

Thanks for reading....
greg

eating

Your favorite cheap traveling crewe (note the spelling) is spending money and loving it! We are in the middle of a four day soiree to New Orleans. It is our second trip to the frenetic and tasty Crescent City. There is no other place in the world, where food makes such an impression. While we are eating a meal, we are planning the next one. Conversations with strangers center around the restaurants we've graced with our appetities and nuggets of information about new destinations are culled. Yes, the city is wild and vibrant and insane and yummy, but it is also where my daughter, my first born, now lives. She's out in Meterie, a suburb of NOLA, living with a very nice guy and your illustrious VFH team has decided to travel to visit her finally.







My daughter, Ally, is an honorary member of the Vacation From Home team. She is a well traveled young lady and her trips started with a jaunt through Italy when she was just 5 weeks old (of course while on her father's hip). She possesses the same wanderlust as her old man. Over the past few days of reconnecting with my lovely daughter (for we haven't seen much of each other over the past 5 years) we realized that we have seen much of this world, together and apart. It is a unique connection between parent and child and especially now, to see her so very very happy in New Orleans, a place I wish I could live myself, is a dream come true for any parent.



So, the normal rules of the Vacations From Home credo don't really apply in this situation. To re-experience New Orleans and to be graced by my daughter's smile once again is enough to forget how life can be demanding for just a few days. This is not to say that we're going super extravagant here, but we have been looser. Of course, there will be no Galtoire's or Brennan's or Antoine's or Emiril's...No... sigh...


With a nod to finances, we planned the trip for mid-week, while Janet was on spring break. We left on Tuesday morning and will return Friday evening. Because of this we were able to get airfare and a room at the Inn on Bourbon Street, part of the Ramada family, for just $350 each. The hotel is central to the antics on Bourbon, but behind the closed doors there is a serenity that is devout. One needs to pay extra for the balcony rooms that open onto Bourbon where one can ogle the exotic dancers and hand grenade carriers and bead throwers, but we would rather look down on the pool in the courtyard.

Tuesday Ally picked us up at the airport and we toured the modest apartment she shares with her boyfriend and then went to visit him at work. We then drove down River Street with the levee looming overhead, passing the barn Ally has ridden out of, and might I add, for free. The owner's son is coached by Ally's boyfriend and she was able to barter this bit of enjoyment. (I told you my daughter was an honorary member of Vacations From Home!!!) We then picked up St. Charles and through the beautiful Garden District to our hotel in the French Quarter. We checked in and then immediately headed over to the Acme Oyster Bar, where we did not have to endure a line as we sat at the bar. We had a dozen fresh and a dozen chargrilled..................delicacies not found anywhere near New Jersey! The bill came to just 52 with the tip and drinks.

Later that evening we met her boyfriend at Port of Call, a hamburger joint on Esplanade, just on the very edge of the Vieux Carre. We had been wanting to go to this enigmatic place since we watched a man contort maniacally to cajun music at the Crawfish Festival a couple of years ago. We jumped and leaped and feinted and bobbed and twitched like a crazed person all the while brandishing a fly-swatter, and, wearing a Port of Call t-shirt. We resolved then that on our next visit to New Orleans we had to go.

Turns out that Port of Call is a well respected cheap eats place in town. Half pound hamburgers or steaks served with baked potatoes. There were a couple of items like salads listed on the menu as well, but it had mostly drinks on the placard with names like Monsoon........ Zagats actually lists it as the top burger joint in town. As we sat at the nautical motiff bar we watched a man in a Sheriff's outfit bring out burgers to people there; huge plates piled high with burgers dripping with melted cheddar and mushrooms. By the time the kids arrived we were drooling.


Burgers are roughly 12.50 depending on what you want on them and on your potato. Drinks were reasonable too, although for our walk home through the quieter section of Bourbon Street we splurged and each got a large Monsoon for $10 that leveled us by the time we reached the hotel. The kids in this case were much more responsible and as I sipped my torrid concoction I sighed as they walked to their car arm in arm.