Northern California 9 Nov 1997

Southern California 10 Nov 1997 11 Nov 1997

The Southwest 12 Nov 1997

Texas 13 Nov 1997 14 Nov 1997 16 Nov 1997

New Orleans 16 Nov 1997 18 Nov 1997

Montgomery, Alabama 19 Nov 1997

Tuesday 18 Nov 97 New Orleans, Louisiana

Let’s see…there’s the Cafe du Monde, psychics and tarot card readers, dolls—Raggedy Ann, Aunt Jemima, voodoo—, the Mississippi, the Garden District, Tulane and Loyola, the St. Charles trolley (oldest in the U.S.), jazz, Cajun, zydeco, muffulettas, street people, kids with more piercings than on Capitol Hill, churches, liquor stores, candy stores, Germans (again!), high ceilings, low morals (?), a Cajun bookstore, police…

Cafe du Monde. A legendary French doughnut place with several locations. The original Market location is open 24 hours. A must, but you won’t necessarily go there every morning. I, Michael, don’t care for the chicory that flavors true New Orleans coffee, and the beignets are fine, but neither as nutritious nor as satisfying as many other kinds of breakfasts. I, Melissa, normally a tea drinker in this country, was delighted to start the day this way.

Psychics and tarot readers abound here. Evidently, that’s what tourists expect from New Orleans, so that’s what is here for them. None of the many practitioners I saw looked like they come from here, and in general it seems to be a profession of the very many young people (almost all guys) who’ve come to the Quarter for whatever reasons young people make such moves these days. Perhaps, Seattle’s Capitol Hill will soon see an outbreak of this phenomenon.

Are all these Aunt Jemima dolls OK? Are they not offensive? Every souvenir shop sells black Jemima or Belindy dolls, and little black jazz musician figurines. They’re darling, and I wonder why they are still so common.

The Mississippi is way wide. I didn’t take a picture, because a haze (looking suspiciously like smog) too obscured it.

St Charles trolley. We accidentally got on this, when we were looking for a ride back to our hotel. The trolley went exactly the opposite direction, but we were too tired to get off. Ended up seeing Tulane University, Loyola University, and the Garden District (a posh residential area near Tulane filled with incredibly gorgeous houses). This little excursion was especially important to show us that there is more to New Orleans than the French Quarter (which is miniscule in comparison to the city at large). A reminder to you, too, that our accounts of New Orleans are too influenced by the French Quarter to be accurate pictures of a trip to New Orleans (especially, if you want to see more of the city than we did).

Jazz and music in general. Pretty disappointing, from my point of view. I saw more evidence of what I call jazz in San Antonio in the River Walk. Most of the clubs seem to have electric high-amp, big bass stuff. Most of the shops have Louie Armstrong records playing for passers-by.

Muffulettas. A local version of an Italian sandwich. For those of us who like such things (olive salad on salami, etc.), it’s like getting to heaven without the death part.

And then there’s K-Paul’s Louisana Kitchen.

Don’t let anyone ever tell you it’s not worth the wait. Paul Prudhomme’s original restaurant (someone said he might have another in Chicago) has been expanded from five tables to two floors. Ground floor tables are still on a first-come, first-served basis (hence the legendary and overstated wait), but reservations are now accepted for the second floor. After no more than a thirty-minute wait, the maitre d’, who was obviously no stranger to his employer’s talents, ushered us in, to a table for four which we shared with the couple behind us. Somewhat later in the evening, a table for eight was filled the same way. In other words, seating at Paul’s is “communal.”

Michael: What’s remarkable about this place (in addition to the simply remarkable food) is its “populism.” P’s reputation guarantees that his restaurant will always be filled (we left about a half hour before closing, and there were still 15 people waiting to get in). He doesn’t respond by jacking up the prices, and, in effect, keeping the number of people down to a well-heeled elite who can then revel in their unique experience. Instead, his very efficient organization (it’s like watching a machine working, but where each piece has a soul and is having a good time) satisfies those who must plan their evening (and won’t be kept waiting) with the upstairs area, and lets those of us who can’t get reservations (we tried) but are willing to wait have an almost equal chance at dining there. Probably better than equal, because the chances of getting reservations must be slim. Everyone who waited (in a line that easily had 50 people at any one time) ate.

Michael goes for the swordfish whenever it’s on the menu, and tonight was no exception in that respect. But the swordfish itself — blackened, though only lightly seasoned—was certainly exceptional. Have you ever seen a grown man cry over his food? It never touched his teeth, he said, just dissolved in his mouth. The cream sauce on my vegetable pasta, more highly seasoned, set fire to my throat rather than to my mouth. We forced ourselves to have dessert, orange cake with Grand Marnier chantilly sauce, and Custard Marie, or praline creme brulee. Michael: don’t forget the Blackened VooDoo, a beer from a New Orleans brewery that is quite good (and nowhere near as “deep” as a stout, despite its color).

Tomorrow, we *think* we’re off to Montgomery. Our sources (read: AAA Guidebook) claimed the Alabama Shakespeare Theater produced plays beginning mid-November. Turns out they don’t do Shakespeare till March, but they’re doing The Man Who Came to Dinner tomorrow night. The thought of Shakespeare with an Alabama accent was intriguing enough; the possibility of seeing such a comedy as Dinner is even more so. If we get there in time, we’ll try for standby tickets.