We did a different Thanksgiving this year. We met Molly and Mitchell in New Orleans for some fun times.
Lise and I had never done the deep south, so we went a couple days early to do some Gulf Coast birding. Birding was so-so but we did pick up six new species for the year. The highlight of the first couple days was getting carry-out barbecue from a Shell gas station convenience store in Moss Point, Mississippi. There was a Jaguar sitting in the parking lot with the driver’s window open and the car running. If you are ever in the Pascagoula or Moss Point area, do yourself a favor and get some Tays Barbecue. You will not be disappointed.
All in all, we were less than impressed with the Mississippi and Alabama Gulf Coast. It was OK, but not an area I would be in a rush to go back to. There were some interesting things, like the sign that warned of marine pests. Can’t say I’ve seen that before. Or the mailbox on the causeway out to Dauphine Island. No buildings around, just a mailbox on the causeway.
Marine pest
Mailbox in the middle of nowhere.
The coastal area is highly developed. Apparently, the recent nasty storms and the promise for more of the same due to climate change are just things that happen to other people. We drove the length of a small peninsula going out into the Gulf. It wasn’t much wider than a box store parking lot. Houses were being built right to the edge of the water. Putting them up on stilts may help during a storm surge but one good hurricane and that whole peninsula, and all those beach houses, will disappear faster than a barbecued rib from Tays. I guess they don’t realize that hope is not a strategy. Those nice beaches give them plenty of sand to bury their heads in.
Pictures of beach houses.
Oil rigs
But then there was New Orleans. New Orleans is a world unto itself. A world that is all about music, food, cocktails, and coffee. And we took in our fill of all. Starting with a Cajun deep-fried turkey with sides including crawdad dressing, oyster dressing, shrimp stuffed eggplant, and shrimp etouffee for Thanksgiving dinner. That little feast would not go over well in the Penn Dutch portion of Pennsylvania I hail from, but it was spot on down there.
Thanksgiving dinner
A sign for Mello Joy, “the original New Orleans coffee”. My preference is Community Coffee. Hot, black, and bitter.
Oysters in the Garden District.
There is music everywhere.
The tourist mecca of Bourbon Street is a place to avoid. It’s full of tourist bars that have no purpose other than selling to-go drinks in plastic containers. Some of them stay open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. Some with half priced Happy Hours from 7:00 AM – 10:00 AM. Bourbon Street is a bunch of tourists walking around drinking disgustingly sweet drinks in plastic containers and getting wasted. Every street corner had a police presence including New Orleans Police, Sheriffs, and State troopers. And still there was a shooting on Bourbon Street while we were there. There are better places to go.
Saturday morning aftermath. The green containers are a drink called a Hand Grenade. I guess because its sole intent is to get you blasted. Real classy.
Peychaud’s, a block off of Bourbon Street.
Stepping a block or so off Bourbon Street in any direction one can find better places. Quiet cocktail bars with no blaring television where you can quietly talk with each other and consume superb drinks. For me, Bourbon Street only had two places of interest. Jean Lafitte’s blacksmith shop and Arnaud’s French 75.
Jean Lafitte was a boyhood hero of mine. He and his brother Pierre were pirates, using the blacksmith shop as a front. Not liking the British, he supplied arms and information to Andrew Jackson’s army that helped win the Battle of New Orleans. His piracy eventually became a problem, and he sailed off to parts unknown. There are numerous rumors about his end but, nobody really knows. He lives on in legend and that’s what matters. Built in the 1720s, the blacksmith shop is now a bar. Go figure, it’s on Bourbon Street. It’s a small, low ceilinged, dark building lit by candles and a fireplace. The bar itself is a mediocre bar, but who cares. This was Jean Lafitte’s. If the records are correct, he was quite successful as a pirate, but he took what he had and disappeared. I sat in there and could feel his spirit. To quote the History Guy, “All good stories involve pirates”.
New Orleans has been known for cocktails since the early 1830s. Good cocktails. It was a pleasure to taste some of the best cocktails in the world, some in the very establishment where they were invented. Like at Arnaud’s French 75 on Bourbon Street. With their signature French 75 and Arnaud’s Special cocktails served in a nice quiet bar with no televisions. Until recently they had a coat and tie dress code for men. All their cocktails are individually hand made without mixes by bartenders in black tuxes. Mr. Arnaud, in a white tux, presides over everything.
New Orleans is a major melting pot city. The French founded it in 1718. It went to the Spanish and then back to the French before the U.S. acquired it as part of the Louisiana Purchase. It was a major port for the slave trade, leading to a large African American population. It’s a wild blend of culture, architecture, music, food, accents…. One can find a Voodoo or witchcraft store right next to a storefront church. The French Quarter, or Vieux Carre, is known for the balconies adorned with wrought iron. We stayed in the Marigny Neighborhood that had a lot of historic cottages, shotgun homes, and double barrel shotgun homes. Shotgun homes are so named because all the rooms are connected in a straight line. You go through one room to get to another. If you fire a shogun through the front door the shot will pass through all the rooms to the back door. The double barrel shotguns are a duplex with a common front porch, and two front doors sandwiching two front windows. Both residents get a front door and a front window. We stayed in one and there was minimal insulation and sound barrier between the two households. The Garden District was antebellum mansions and above ground cemeteries.
Same street, different name.
Multiculturalism.
There are also plenty of Voodoo stores.
Part of the balcony culture.
Shotgun home.
Shotgun homes.
Double barrel shotgun homes.
I liked New Orleans. Not the same as I like Philly, but I like it. I would like to go back. Granted we were in the tourist areas that weren’t devastated by Hurricane Katrina as the Nineth Ward was devastated. Where we were, if you didn’t know better, you wouldn’t know Katrina happened. Eighty percent of the city was flooded but they seem to have bounced back.
The place isn’t perfect. The French Quarter has plenty of homelessness, graffiti, blight, crime, and all the usual grittiness associated with large cities. Other areas may be worse. Most of the city is below sea level. The levees will hold back disaster for now, but eventually there will be another storm that takes them out. But there is a funkiness to it that you’re not going to find anywhere else. Even in Philly.
Putin and the Pussy Grabbers. A register to vote poster. Ya gotta love it.
Ed's and Lise's Biggish Years 