Terry McNice in New Orleans - August 1996

T'was another glorious trip to the City of the Eternal Hangover and Exploding Waistline. This year I had the full complement of my Colorado family with me, plus a new one - my son's fiancee. Daughter Cathy took a break from wind-sailing and flew in from Oregon (with two recently broken ribs), and son Bill with fiancee Heidi flew in from New York state after vacationing there. Amazingly, every flight went just as planned. All Hail the Gods of Aviation! Once off the plane, while still on the concourse, I connected with Bill by cell phone (more on cell phones later). He was completing a quick tour up Royal and down Bourbon with Heidi -- her first ever. In the background, I could hear her reacting to her first raunchy T-shirt shop. They had eaten lunch at K-Paul's. BTW, after eating there twice last year, I heartily concur with Ruth Brown's assessment. It's a great place, at least for lunch. Excellent food, informal, although not cheap. I've only had lunch there. There were no crowds, we were seated immediately both times, the waitresses were knowledgeable and friendly, but we did share a table with several others. That's no problem with me for lunch. It appears that you will get your own table if you have four in your party (there were only two of us last year). Paul Prudhomme may have become famous for his fiery Cajun dishes, but my gumbo and potato salad harkened back to his days at Commander's Palace. Seasoned perfectly, not so hot that you couldn't splatter several dashes of Tabasco over it (dontcha just love the sight and smell of little islands of Tabasco floating around in your gumbo!) The potato salad is served separately, but the waitress will advise you that Chef Prudhomme recommends putting it in your gumbo. I did, and it was good! If you finish your food, she will reward you with a gold star on your forehead. When we met with the French Quarter Rats later that afternoon, I told them that the star was given to me by a lovely young lady for a superior performance and let them try to figure it out. They weren't sure what kind of performance it was, but they were pretty sure what it wasn't !

At the airport, Cathy and I connected, but not by cell phone (hers wouldn't work), then took a cab in to the French Quarter. As most of you know, a cab is essentially the same price as the airport shuttles if there are two of you, and it's less expensive for three or four. Bill likes the shuttles because the ride usually ends up in a tour of several other hotels in the city. Kind of a low cost Grey Line. This year, his shuttle was a limo, and when no one else showed up, it became a private limo just for the two of them.

My hotel preference for years was the Best Western Inn on Bourbon St. We were usually able to get a courtyard room and still use their second or third floor balconies overlooking Bourbon St. It was a great place for people watching, yet we could retire to the quiet of the our courtyard room when we'd had enough. (Sleep is not possible in the Bourbon St balcony rooms before 2AM any night and before 4AM during special events.) Under their new policy you must be in a balcony room to use the balconies. It was sad saying good-bye, as we're on a first name basis with many of the staff. Maybe they'll come to their senses some time in the future, but this is the second year of their insanity.

Until they recover, we've had the chance to experience other FQ hotels. This time, like last year, we stayed in the Omni Royal Orleans. Going from the Inn to the Omni was a real shock. The Inn is a very average hotel with one exceptional perk -- the balconies. I always expected and usually got a confrontation with the front desk there, although the rest of the staff was most solicitous. The Royal Orleans, on the other hand, is first-class from top to bottom. It has a great location -- on St Louis, between Royal and Chartres. The facility is immaculate and the service beyond compare. This is a fold-down-the-covers, chocolate-on-the-pillow, book- on-the-bedstand kind of place. They even turn on the bed- stand radio to an easy-listening station in the evening. As a returning guest, we could have a free juice and coffee delivered to the room at a time of our choosing, a feature that I never used, although the rest of the gang did. There is a roof-top pool with a nice view of the quarter's roof- tops and the river in the distance. Bill dealt with the heat last year by becoming a fixture at the pool-side bar. He is definitely NOT heat-tolerant but will endure almost any discomfort to be in N'awlins. Sound familiar?

Last year, Bill and I only needed one room with two beds. That presented a problem, since I had made reservations only two weeks in advance and they had only rooms with one bed available, albeit a king-sized one. After explaining that I wasn't going to sleep in the same bed with Bill even if it was the size of a football field, they came up with the "petite suite". That's French for "big room costing lots of money." It was indeed a large room on the top floor, a short walk from the pool, with a king-sized bed and a sofa-bed. It included a desk and telephones on the bed-stand, on the desk, and in the bathroom. The desk phone had two lines. The bathroom consisted of two rooms, each with its own sink. Each room contained a collection of various bath condiments in fancy little bottles. I discovered just in time that these were not apertifs. I would've been blowing bubbles for days. There was a large closet containing an umbrella, a blow-drier, an iron, and a couple of terry-cloth robes. There was also a pay-bar, which we didn't use. The only negative thing I can say about the place is that the TV didn't receive the Weather Channel, not that we needed it. The forecast last year had to be either HOT or HOTTER every day. The hotel has its own parking garage (extra fee), a large sitting-room style bar, and an excellent restaurant -- the Rib Room. We didn't have a meal there, but it's been highly recommended here by several of the locals.

This year, I made reservations far enough ahead to get what I wanted. These were their regular rooms (le gran closette?), roughly the size of a Holiday Inn room along with a Holiday Inn style bathroom. However, the appointments and perks were the same as the petite suite. Still no Weather Channel.

The weather last year was atrocious! 96-degrees reported at MSY and 101 by the Quarter's TV station. Now, I'm heat- tolerant and am quite comfortable up to about 93 degrees, even with high humidity, but last year was ridiculous. Most of my trips to N.O. have been in the summer, but only one other time has it been that hot. (The carriage mules were dying in their traces then.) This year was wonderful. High temperatures ranged from 88 to 91. Even Bill was comfortable.

Cathy and I checked in, confirmed Bill's whereabouts by cell phone (rooftop pool bar, of course) and joined Bill and Heidi. There's just no feeling of well-being and all's-right- with-the-world like returning to the FQ after a year's absence. I just love the place!

Arrival night is traditionally a grunge night for us. When it's just Bill and I, we dress down to the point that the street people crowd against the wall as we pass for fear we're contagious. We headed for Ralph & Kacoo's bar for our traditional oysters on the half shell and a beer. I've not been impressed with Ralph & Kacoo's restaurant, but I do enjoy their bar, which is shaped like half of a ship of some kind. David, our favorite oyster shucker, and a couple of others have been there forever and take good care of us. There is also a neat salt-water aquarium off to the side. From there, it was off to the Moonwalk to help the sun set and the ships navigate the river, and on to -- where else? -- Coop's for our welcome-back dinner. BTW, in New Orleans one never has supper; it's breakfast, lunch, and dinner. T'was a good dinner, although Cathy felt her pork chops weren't up to the standards of past years. Cajun pork chops are usually well-seasoned and flash-fired (kind of semi-blackened) to seal in the juices, and the ones at Coop's have usually been excellent, but not this year. They didn't have their wonderful crab cakes on the board, either, for the second year in a row. My chicken Tchoupitoulas was very good. I had to order it after spending all winter learning how to pronounce it (chop-i-TOOL-us). I'm going to be really embarrassed if that isn't right. I'll also wonder what I ordered.

I'm usually sitting in the Cafe du Monde by 8AM every morning, but we were late Friday -- 10AM. The crowds don't start pouring in until 9AM, and by 10AM seating is difficult to find. However, we persevered and introduced Heidi to biegnets, but no cafe a lait for her -- she's not a coffee drinker. She does like biegnets, however -- a lot. What remained of the morning was spent wandering down Decatur and the French Market, and returning to the Napoleon House patio for a lunch of a quarter-mufaletta, a cup of gumbo, and a beer.

At that point we split up. Both of my kids are grown and veterans of the FQ, so they're very familiar with the do's and don'ts. Usually, we stay in contact by meeting somewhere periodically during the day, like the hotel room. The problem is that the first one to arrive doesn't want to sit around waiting for the others, so a note is left, then the next to arrive does the same, and the pile of notes grows, but no contact is made until I sit there and corral them as they walk in. That system produces several grumpy people, especially if the last one is later than expected. With the cell phones, we were in constant contact and changed plans often without anyone having to sit and wait. Right now, I wouldn't consider returning without our new toys. Well, that's a bit extreme, but I really did like having them. BTW, the problem with Cathy's phone was that the system had become confused over a Colorado phone whose last known location was Oregon. A call to *611 fixed the problem in a few minutes, and it worked fine from that point on.

While wandering around Friday afternoon, I stopped into the Hog's Breath Saloon on Chartres and sadly confirmed a tragic rumor. The ladies' skivvies that had been attached to the ceiling for years have been removed. Sacrilege! I tried to ask the bartender how such a travesty could have occurred, but he was busy in a deep religious discussion about some Saints.

The rest of Friday afternoon was more meandering about the Quarter, a drink at the pool bar, then preparing for the BIG MEAL -- Commander's Palace. You must understand that, having grown up in east Tennessee, I feel that dressing up means wearing shoes and that wearing a tie is a crime against nature. I was taught that no good can come out of any social function that begins with someone putting something around your neck. Bill is worse than I am. He was even denied entrance to the Court of Two Sisters one evening -- twice -- for inappropriate dress. However, both of us will gladly submit to whatever costume is required to dine at Commander's Palace. It's that special. This was our third meal at Commander's: once a year over the last three years. You must make your reservations in advance -- at least two weeks -- and a month is even better. And make your reservations for the Garden Room. Commander's was converted from a two-story house in the Garden District. In the Garden Room, one wall is mostly glass, framing a huge, nearly horizontal branch of a live oak tree, festooned with Spanish moss, and supporting a garden of various ferns. It looks like one of those multi- paneled Japanese paintings, in which a single limb begins in one panel and continues across the room in the others. As night falls, the scene slowly changes as strategically placed lights along the limb brighten some sections and silhouette others. The effect is stunning. Of course, I'm easily stunned.

Our first time at Commander's, I didn't specify the Garden Room when I made reservations and was treated with disdain when I requested it upon arrival. We were seated in the Garbage Can room; a seat by the window in that room overlooks the neighbors back yard and their garbage cans. The second year, I did request it and was greeted with a warm welcome. I noticed that their guest list was computerized with some sort of code off to the side, and I wondered if the better treatment wasn't due to our being repeat customers -- that, and the fact that I paid the bill the first time. This year I received the royal treatment and was greeted like a long- lost rich relative. The maitre'd made sure he was pronouncing my name correctly and passed the pronunciation along to the rest of the staff who served us. Ordering at Commander's is a simple process for me. First, understand that subtle nuances in flavoring are lost on me. I like my food to stand up and tell me what it is, so Creole cuisine and I were made for each other. I start every meal there with the turtle soup, even though it contains sherry. I hate sherry, but, somehow, they make it work, and does it ever work! I find myself taking a sip, sitting back, and thanking my lucky stars for the experience. Bill claims I moan with each bite, but that's okay. According to Kevin Belton of the New Orleans School of Cooking, it's socially acceptable to moan or pound the table softly if something is especially good. You'll notice the diners around your flagging down their waiters, not to complain about your boorish behavior, but to change their orders to whatever you're having. After ordering the turtle soup, I order the bread-pudding souffle for dessert. I know I'm out of sequence, but it must be ordered when you order your meal. Forget the bread-pudding your mother made -- this is an extra special experience. Then I order something between the turtle soup and the bread pudding souffle. Makes no difference what. It will be excellent! They used to have the Commander's salad, which was very good. It's disappeared from the menu and has been replaced with special "creations", which, while unique, don't suit me as well. I'm more into "good" than I am into "cute". I usually have a fish entre of some sort, but anything on the menu will be excellent. I've occasionally been in the company of heretics when it comes to ordering the dessert, so I've tasted the creme brulee and something that looked like a lemon meringue pie. Both were excellent, but they weren't bread pudding. I would really like to explore the menu further, but can't bring myself to do it when I'm there only once a year. I MUST have the turtle soup and MUST have the bread pudding souffle at least once a year. Perhaps if I go to Commander's twice a visit, I could....hmmm. My bank account is probably in cardiac arrest over the thought. But that's the advantage of coming so far with so many people. The cost of another meal at Commander's is a mere pittance compared to the total cost of the trip. How's that for creative thinking!

Saturday morning started late again. 10AM. The weekend crowd had arrived so we gave up on the Cafe du Monde and edged our way into La Madeleine. The breakfast special, sausage, egg, and croissants, was very good, but they were out of their wonderful coffee, French coffee they call it, and I had to settle for "American coffee", which was so weak you could see the bottom of the cup through a full cup of coffee. What a disappointment! We knew that the Croissant d'Or was closed for two weeks, or that would've been my next choice after the Cafe du Monde. We headed from Le Madeleine down Chartres for a private tour of the Beauregard-Keyes house by our own Rat Judy, who has an apartment there to use when not teaching German in Illinois or enjoying life on the Natchez. It was well worth the time, spending time with Judy and seeing what life is like behind the courtyard walls. I knew that it had been built by General Beauregard of Civil War fame and restored by novelist Francis Parkinson Keyes around the turn of the century, but I had no idea of the magnitude of the restoration. A photograph of the place taken before restoration started shows the place had really fallen down. It similar to pictures of houses after tornados or hurricanes. I can't imagine anyone even attempting a restoration. Leveling it and starting over would probably have been easier, but the results are impressive.

Lunch was with the Rats at the Praline Connection. I restricted myself to gumbo and cornbread after my late breakfast but helped more than a little bit with a platter of good ole fried goodies that was being passed around. I'd never had a fried pickle before, but, boy, was it good! The fried okra was an old friend to this displaced Southern boy.

After stuffing ourselves, we headed up Chartres en masse to pay homage to Ignatius's memory at the Clock Bar in the Chateau Sonesta. On the way, Mike led me into Le Collecteur, and, lo and behold, they had a Dr Nut bottle, so I am now also a keeper of a Holy Grail. Then, we stopped by Andrea's apartment for a quick tour. Not a roach to be seen . Finally, at the Clock Bar we enjoyed a couple more hours of good times. There, we decided to each go his own way for dinner and meet at the Chart House bar at 9PM.

Cathy, Linda, and I stopped in at Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop for a cool one, then split up again. The new owners of Lafitte's have had the good sense not to change a thing. Then, I headed back to the hotel for a snooze. About 6PM, Cathy called on the cell phone, saying that she and Linda were having dinner at a place next to the hotel and "Dad, you're not going to believe this place!" Linda had led her into Lucky Cheng's. For the uninitiated (and I'm one of them), it's a very good restaurant with transvestite waiters. The Rats had their official dinner there at the last spring RatFest.

Refreshed by a nap and a martini (sounds counter-productive, doesn't it?), I headed to the Chart House and decided to have dinner there, so I would be next to the bar when the Rats started drifting in. Big mistake. I've had several good meals there, all steak of one sort or another. This time I tried a lobster pot pie, and it was as bad as it sounds. The pot pie part was good, but the lobster part was terrible. I think they opened a can of lobster parts and cooked them until they bounced. There was a liberal assortment of breads in a basket that was going to waste until Joe and Pixie showed up. Joe saved me the embarrassment of leaving food on the table by inhaling the whole basket. Then, we all had a fine time in the bar.

From the Chart House, we dropped into Johnny White's and watched Cathy challenge Vernon to dance in an area the size of a card table and do it without knocking too many people off their bar stools. Then on down to some place that was trying to coagulate your blood with the volume of its music. At that point, I bowed out. Four years of working on jets before the days of hearing protection has left me sensitive to loud noises. Besides, it was past my 10PM bedtime. The rest of the bunch made a night of it, and a great time was had by all according to the occasional cell phone reports from Bill and Cathy.

Sunday morning, I made my 8AM breakfast at Cafe du Monde and could pick my table. After wandering down Decatur, I headed back to meet the Rats for an eye-opener at Pat O'Brien's, but Mike and I were the only ones that showed up -- at least, that's what we thought. They were all seated at a table behind a some shrubbery. Mike and I were almost through one drink before we were spotted. The rest of my crew were wandering through the Quarter, checked in via cell phone, and joined us after being warned that we were hiding behind a humongous bush. All good things must come to an end, and this did, too. After pledging eternal love and loyalty, the RatFest was declared over and we went our separate ways.

Bill and Heidi split off, and Cathy and I had another mufaletta at Napoleon House. For the record, I prefer the Central Grocery's mufalettas, but Napoleon House is such a neat place and is so convenient to the Royal Orleans. The afternoon was spent wandering and enjoying a beautiful Sunday afternoon in the Quarter.

Now listen up, folks. What follows is important! Vicki, Andrea, and several others have been trumpeting the praises of Irene's for a couple of years, and I can now declare that they are tellers of the truth. The four of us had dinner there Sunday night, and it was superb! I was a bit concerned about trying a new place on Sunday evening, because even good restaurants sometimes throw in the second string on Sunday or Monday evenings. Irene's is not one of these, or if it is, their second string could start at most restaurants in the country. We walked right in to a table at 7PM. Harold had explained that most New Orleanians prefer to eat after the sun goes down, so reservations are easy to come by in the early summer evenings. Irene's doesn't accept reservations in any case, and I was expecting to enjoy a drink sitting on the benches outside the restaurant, but it wasn't necessary. The place consists of two small, cozy dining rooms, although there may have been more that I didn't see. The wait-staff were professional and really knew the nuances of the menu. Now remember, that I'm not one of subtle taste. Irene's is exactly what I would expect from Italian-Creole cuisine. I had the chicken rosamarino and promptly declared Irene's to be the second best restaurant in New Orleans, second only to Commander's Palace. That lucky chicken had been roasted with whole garlic, herbs, and fresh rosemary, and flamed with brandy, and it was one proud bird when it finally reached my plate, even if it was in pieces. This was another take-a- bite, sit-back-and-moan, meal. Cathy had the roast duckling and reacted just as I did. I don't recall what Bill and Heidi had, but it couldn't have been as good as mine. Frankly, there wasn't a lot of conversation once the entrees arrived. We were too busy enjoying the food.

Sunday evening was another stroll down Bourbon and an early return to the hotel to pack for our departure the next morning.

All four of us made it to the Cafe du Monde before the crowds Monday morning, checked out of the hotel and hit the road for the beautiful beaches of Destin, FL. After a perfect week in Destin, Bill and I returned to the French Quarter, for a couple of days of decompression before returning to Colorado. Cathy had already flown back to Oregon from Destin after an unscheduled layover in Atlanta, courtesy of Delta airlines. Once in Oregon, she found that they had sent her bags back to Destin. She was not a happy camper, and a camper was what she was, since all she had with her was her Powerbook and the clothes on her back -- for two days! Heidi made the drive back to New Orleans with us, but went straight to the airport to head back to Colorado. She had to get back to work. Bill and I have found over the years that this annual trip requires returning to New Orleans to establish a sense of symmetry and to readjust to wearing clothes after a week in bathing suits.

For these last two days, we stayed in the Provencial Hotel for the first time. I was surprised at how large it is. It occupies almost the entire block from Decatur to Chartres and from St Phillip to Ursulines, but there's no evidence of it anywhere but on Chartres. It consists of quadrangle, with a large courtyard that's used for guest parking. While the staff does the parking, your car is accessible during your stay. It's a step down from the Royal Orleans in quality, about on a par with the Inn on Bourbon, but we were quite comfortable there. I was a little concerned about returning late at night, as there is little foot traffic on that section of Chartres at any time, but especially at night. They've solved that by placing the hotel bar, the Honfleur, on Decatur, so you can return down Decatur, into the Honfleur, flash your hotel key at the bartender, and pass through into the hotel courtyard. It worked fine, although on one occasion I chose to take my chances on the deserted streets rather than making my way through the gang that had taken over the bar. The rooms are adequate and the staff efficient, and there is a nice little patio and a small pool. I wouldn't hesitate to return.

Our evening meal was a no-brainer -- Irene's was just around the corner on St Phillip. This time we both had the chicken di parma, and, although it was very good, it didn't match our previous meal there. It was something that one could get at any good Italian restaurant anywhere; the chicken rosmarino, on the other hand, was unique -- unlike anything that I've every had anywhere. The evening was a wander down Decatur, a meander through Jackson Square, and a stroll down Bourbon. As we passed Pat O'Brien's, at 9PM, a ghost from our past appeared. Ruthie, the Duck Lady, came strutting down the sidewalk, turned into Pat's, and perched on a bar stool like she owned the place. Of course, that's always been her style. She owns all the world in her immediate vicinity, and the rest of us may use it at her discretion. She was dressed nicely, and carrying a stuffed duck to remind us of her glory days when she terrorized the Quarter by skating through it with a live duck under her arm. I really wanted to spend some time talking to her, but the canned music in the bar was so loud that I was sure I wouldn't be able to hear her. The doorman said that she's there every night promptly at nine, so, Rats, if you've never encountered Ruthie, that's where to find her.

The next morning, Tuesday, found me at the Cafe du Monde at 8AM. As usual, I had the place almost to myself. After biegnets and cafe a lait, I picked up a second cup at the take-out window and took one back to Bill, who'd slept in. Everyone should start the day on a French Quarter patio with the morning newspapers and a second cafe a lait. Bill and I then split up to start the last day's shopping, keeping in touch via cell phone. Once, when my phone rang, it wasn't Bill; it was Cathy, who was driving along the Oregon coast and wanted to check in with us. It was a special treat to make contact with her as she drove along the west coast, while I strolled in front of Aunt Sally's.

At noon, Harold and Ula picked us up at the hotel and took us for our first meal at another of New Orleans' famed restaurants -- Uglesich's, lovingly referred to as Ugly's by some. What a great place! It's well out of the quarter, in a decaying neighborhood, full of vacant houses and buildings, broken windows -- an abandoned section of town from all appearances, but only a couple of blocks off of St Charles. Right in the middle of this ghost town, with their own parking lot, and freshly painted, is Uglesich's. I have no idea why they would paint such a place. Makes it really look out of place. However, once inside, there's no doubt that it's in the right neighborhood. This is the quintessential New Orleans dump serving fantastic food. It was apparent as soon as we walked in that food is not just a way of making a living to those working there. They immediately began a loving description of what had been concocted for lunch that day. While we didn't take their suggestions, what we got was excellent and, more important, absolutely unique -- a shrimp dish in a remoulade sauce of some kind. At noon, the lunch crowd began filing in, and by 12:30 the place was packed with their usual well-dressed clientele. The moral is to come early or come real late, but don't get there a little late unless you want to eat on the sidewalk. I wish this place were in the Quarter, but I understand their choice of location: the rent has to be zilch. I sure wished they hadn't painted it, though.

The afternoon was spent with more wandering about the Quarter. We enjoyed martini time at Harry's Corner Bar, a first for me. I understand that it's been the classic neighborhood bar for that section of the Quarter for years. I knew it had to be special when I spotted a fellow playing darts with a large, grey parrot on his shoulder. I suggested that he needed to train the bird to retrieve the darts and save him all that walking, but he wasn't too impressed with the idea. From there, it was on to Ralph & Kacoo's bar for oysters on the half-shell, and then to dinner at Mike Anderson's, the very informal seafood place on Bourbon, next door to Galatoire's. Mike's is always crowded and always good, and this time was no exception. Another turn or two down Bourbon finished the night, but not before we checked Pat O'Brien's to see if Ruthie really was there at 9PM every evening. She wasn't, but only because she'd stopped fifty feet from the entrance to straighten out a young man who was soliciting contributions for a pair of pants by standing on the sidewalk in his boxer shorts with a sign. Ruthie was incensed! She felt he was besmirching the good name of Quarter characters and was giving him an ear-full. He should at least learn to juggle or dress up like a clown, or... The poor guy -- clean-cut, college age -- just stood there in amazement as this little old lady read him the riot act in a strong, rasping voice that easily rose above the noise of the crowd. As she headed toward Pat's entrance, I told her that I was glad to see she hadn't mellowed over the last couple of years. That started her tirade against the poor guy all over again, but this time from twenty feet away. I'm really glad to see that she's still going strong, especially after my other favorite character, Willie Taylor, the Tongue Man, died.

Wednesday was a last breakfast at the Cafe du Monde and get- serious shopping because we were due to leave for the airport at noon. Bill built a pile of exotic goodies while I loaded myself down with Aunt Sally's pralines. Somehow, it all fitted into our bags or in sacks that the airlines would accept for carry-on. At the airport, I was reminded of a couple from Denver that I met there last year. They had spent four days in New Orleans with a tour, been bused to the various casinos every day, ate wherever the tour took them, had no idea where or what they ate, were totally indifferent as to whether it was good or bad, and were clearly suspicious of anyone who would even ask. After all, one comes to New Orleans to gamble! And they'll return home and tell their friends that they've been to New Orleans and weren't too impressed. I'm sure that we out-of-town Rats miss a lot of what New Orleans is all about, but we do know where to eat in the Quarter and we do remember what's good. I can't wait until next year!

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