Anu was coming to celebrate my 30th birthday that weekend as the big day was set to arrive mid-week, and although you can party mid-week, it doesn’t make for much fun the following morning at work.
I picked her up and drove her to the first place I needed to go to finish up some errands, and the historic landmark of one of Katrina’s biggest lootings…Walmart.
Walmart the monstrosity on Tchoupitoulas that relocated a low income neighborhood five blocks closer to St. Charles, with the promise to build them a town. As I understand it they just relocated them and it wasn’t until post-Katrina that with FEMA assistance, the new neighborhood was created on Annunciation. Annunciation, the same street that when I first stumbled upon it, I was so frightened because I was convinced I’d just driven onto the set of another film. The houses, all double and single shotguns, were so pristine that they didn’t seem to belong, but pristine in the same way MacMansions are to old colonials. The only thing that reminded me I was going through a ghetto were the people sitting on the front steps of these pristine new homes. I wonder what they’ll look like half a year from now. Regardless, Anu had the same deer in the headlights expression on her face when she walked into Walmart that I did the first time. The place is so huge that the information overload stupefies you.
“We don’t have anything this size in New York”
I smiled. I know, Anu, I’m from there remember?
After we got everything we needed I dropped her off at the hotel to freshen up while I ran some errands. I picked her up around 11am and we decided that we were too famished to do anything without eating first.
I knew that the best, although touristy, thing to do was to hit ACME on Iberville and Bourbon (across from the old and still closed Felix’s)
We waited in line for about 20 minutes before being seated. We knew what we wanted right away. Two beers, some étouffée for Anu to try, a dozen oysters and two pounds of boiled crawfish (not on the menu by the way)
The waitress was gone a long time before she returned, sans our drinks.
With an air very matter of fact she stared down at us and said:
“Our septic tank has backed up so we’re closing. Sorry about that, but we can’t serve any food until we have it cleaned up. Feel free to come back at 4:30, we’ll be open then.”
I looked behind her as one of the kitchen help dragged out a dirty bucket and mop.
Anu looked at him too, then looked at me and bust out in the hugest grin and then that great belly laugh of hers.
“I can’t believe that. Come back at 4:30? Are you kidding? You’ve got sewage in the kitchen, I’m not coming back at 4:30, she just said that so matter of factl. I can’t believe that, can you believe that?”
It was perfect actually. I couldn’t have come up with a better first introduction for Anu of this crazy town.
“Welcome to New Orleans” I said and we both had a good laugh as we skipped out of the restaurant.
We wondered around for awhile before deciding on Desire, or as Anu pronounced it, Des-ah-ray. I looked at her sideways when she said it and blinked twice:
“I can’t believe how quickly you’ve adapted to this town, Anu. You fit right in.” And told her of all the mispronounced streets and names that exist in New Orleans.
We walked in to be greeted by a dazed older waitress who seemed to stare past us, but eventually realized we were there and seated us by the door. I didn’t care as I just wanted to eat something. Unlike Acme which has a very touristy feel that makes in indistinguishable from your local TGIFridays, i.e. kitsch cluttered walls and gingham cloth covered tables, Desire gave you the feeling of stepping back in time. The floor seems to be the same one laid many years ago (although being in the movie business I know that doesn’t have to be the case) in small black and white tile. The lamps were made to look like old ironwork fans, the tables were marble topped and an ornate tin ceiling was surrounded by cabaret lights.
I asked for crawfish and the the waitress looked at me a bit dumbfounded, and for a bit too long without saying anything. I took it upon myself to direct her and turned and looked at the table behind us at their heaping mounds of mudrakers.
“How much is that, that they have? Is that a pound?”
She stared at them and then walked over and stood over their table, continuing to stare. She didn’t say anything to them either. Anu looked at me and I at her, both a bit perplexed.
“What is she doing?” Anu asked. I had no idea.
The people at the table looked at her and she looked at them. There was a moment of discomfort before she finally told them she was assessing their plates. This went on for over 10 minutes before she walked away and grabbed the manager.
“Now what is she doing?” Anu queried, I still had no idea.
The manger walked over to us and asked what it was that we wanted. I told him.
“Crawfish”
“Oh! Okay, how much would you like?”
After going through the entire poundage discussion again, I finally said that Anu and I would split a serving (about 2lbs) We ordered a small cup of jambalaya for Anu, a bean and rice for myself, a dozen oysters and the shared crawfish. Of course, the waitress came back with two plates of crawfish, but at this point I didn’t care. I assured Anu that if she didn’t like them that I would most likely finish eating her share.
Regardless of the bazaar service, the food was okay, the crawfish sufficiently spicy and the Bloody Mary’s, thank goodness, likewise. Overall I recommend going even if it is a bit of a run-off tourist trap, it has personality and plenty of personalities.
300 Bourbon St
New Orleans, LA 70130
(504) 586-0300
After Desire we walked around a bit, landing at Café Du Monde on Jackson Square for beignets and Café Lattes (or hot chocolate for Anu) which poor Anu would obsess over until she was able to get them again before leaving. We then ventured back to Bourbon for drinks.
Loud music came bounding out of The Crocodile Opera House on the corner of Toulouse as a live band rocked for an audience of three. Since it was still early afternoon the creatures of the night, the revelers from the evening before probably hadn’t woken yet so the place was pretty empty. As we sat down and ordered a drink from the greasy haired, half naked and overly fleshy waitress, the band (complete with washboard percussionist) went into a cover of Willie Nelson’s “City of New Orleans”, and it was just about perfect. Anu giggled as the guitarist made eyes at me and we settled into our three for one drink special of Abita Amber.
After having our fill of flirtatious eyes and ear piercing country I escorted Anu up Bourbon to Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar on the corner of St. Philips.
As far as bars go you can’t get much better than the atmosphere at Lafittes (minus the bartenders who seem a bit too commercial and out of place, as they look like they should be the waitstaff at Tequillaville) Bi-level by only three steps the bar, on the first level, and the seating area with its old warn wooden tables on the second revolves around an old fireplace in the center. Large windows you could walk through that go from floor to ceiling in a style common here let in the cool breeze of night airing out the sometime cigar smoke that wafts from around the piano player in back, lit only by candles atop the piano and the firefly glow of cigarette buttes held by tipsy women. It is a place where you almost would expect Michele Pfeiffer’s character in The Fabulous Baker Boys to be lounging on the piano singing a ballad while one of Captain Jack’s cohorts hit back a few shots of Jaeger with a chaser of rum. Either that or it should be in a back-alley somewhere in Tolouse Lutrec’s Montmarte of time long passed. Suffice it to say, Anu loved it. Read more about its history here:
http://www.atneworleans.com/body/blacksmith.htm
After we’d had our fill of Bloody Mary’s and Dirty Martini’s we ventured back to the Hotel Duprey so that Anu might freshen up before we had dinner at Jacques Imo’s. Granted the key didn’t work and poor Anu had to urinate so badly she finally used the public bathroom on the first floor, but overall we ended up not being that late heading out and got to dinner around 9pm.
On our way out we shared the elevator with a lady dressed like Scarlett O’Hara in a wedding gown, on her way to her future. Something old, something new (but old), it’s the mantra of this town.
At Jacques Imo’s we were informed that it would be about an hours wait. We settled into the small and crowded bar with some red wine to bide our time with good conversation and people watching.
Jacques Imo’s is on Oak Street, on the river side of Carrollton, and run by the chef and proprietor of the same name, Jacques “Jack” Leonardi.
He serves up a medley of Cajun and Creole fusion dishes, what he calls “Real Nawlins Food”, in a space about the size of a large living room which one must walk through the kitchen to reach. Local art covers the walls (the gallery from which it comes a hop skip and a jump across the street, Frenchy’s) which themselves are painted in warm earthy tones of orange and yellow and scenes of the Bayou. Outside the restaurant is probably the best and most unique “seat in the house”. A run-down, beat-up mini pick-up truck is stationed out front with two seats and a small table sometimes situated in the truck bed. Graffitied with acrylic polka dots and a long green gator the blue truck is emblazoned with the hand painted announcement of where you are, definitely not where you’re going as the truck doesn’t move. Lucky couples in the know can ask to be seated there in front of the restaurant to enjoy their meal.
I can’t even remember everything we ate. I know that we had the gator cheesecake
and I had the seafood bouillabaisse which I couldn’t come remotely close to finishing. Everything was rich and delectable and served with panache by a flamboyant waiter with a shaved head sans the the Fleur de Lis of hair that remained like a Big Easy brand at the back of his skull.
At the end of the meal, Anu the little minx, who had told them it was my birthday, had our tremendously energetic waiter come out singing and he was soon joined by the entire restaurant in a Nawlins version of Happy Birthday. Mortified at the public attention, and only a day before the big game vs. the Bears I deflected as soon as possible and started chanting “Who Dat” which soon overtook my birthday song as the waiter took the cue and ran with it at full chorus.
http://www.jacquesimoscafe.com/
Jacques-Imo's Café
8324 Oak Street
New Orleans, LA 70118
504-861-0886
(There’s a Jacques Imo’s in Grand Central station in NYC and eventhough I haven’t eaten there I don’t recommend it. And here’s why: You want the real thing, and you can only get that in Nawlins)
Before dinner Tyler “Durden” Nelson from editing invited us to join a bunch of fellow workers (Eddie Cox and Jon Manochia from G&E, Marc Hammer the POC and Lisa DiSanto the Art Dept.Coordinator) at Rock n’ Bowl for some bowling et al.
Rock n’ Bowl is lucky to be standing. During Katrina it was under 8 feet of water, but luckily it’s a multi-storied building and the main action is two flights of long stairs up, the first floor not used from what I can tell. Walking in to the dingy building you feel like you’re entering a scene from Footloose. People from all age groups and nationalities (predominantly White, Mexican and Black) were inside, cowboy hats and acid washed jeans mixed with elegant elders and babydoll frocked hipsters all of whom were stamped ORLEANS upon admission. Anu and I once again shared one of our incredulous looks.
By the time Jacques Imo’s loosened its Cajun grasp and we were on our way we had missed the bowling by a few strikes. So I introduced Anu around and Eddie grabbed us each a beer.
As we were talking a strange hush came across the crowd and then a surging and the levels once again rose as you heard “They’re here!” and “Ohmygod its them”
Camera phones and little digital cameras appeared out of every pocket as they began to photograph men covered in outfits of feathers and sequins of ornate design.
“The Mardi Gras Indians are here!!!” http://www.mardigrasneworleans.com/mardigrasindians/ or
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mardi_Gras_Indians
We followed the crowd to see what all the commotion was about. They began singing James Sugar Boy Crawford’s Jock O Mo (Iko Iko) and combining it with the lyrics “Happy Birthday Bo”
Anu was then determined and there was no stopping her. She grabbed a large black bodyguard that was with the band and told him that it was my birthday too and could they please get me up there to sing to me. The man asked me if it was indeed my birthday. In the back of my mind I was feeling guilty with the knowledge that it wasn’t for another four days, but I said “yes”. And up there I went.
I would later find out that I was boogeying with not just any Mardi Gras Indian tribe, but THE tribe, the Wild Magnolias with the famed Bo Dollis http://www.wildmagnolias.net/
Unfortunately, the pictures I have just has his gold shirted elbow exiting fame (Anu, do you have better ones from your digital camera?) But it was a once in a lifetime experience.
From there we agreed to head out and meet Brent Joseph at Mimi’s in the Marigny for some dancing. We got there around midnight or so and danced until wee into the morning hours, around 4am or later.
I was exhausted and as I got to my car to drive realized that I had been drinking for 8 hours shy of a day.The cop sitting outside of Mimi’s enjoyed following us to our car and then sitting in his car behind us for over 20 minutes. Anu and I dawdled, chatting with people who walked by until he became bored and drove off. As I’ve said before, cops here don’t like catching the bad-guys, but they sure like catching revelers as they drive away from bars. Kind of like shooting fish in a barrel
No comments:
Post a Comment