Mrs. B and I spent our honeymoon at the Royal O. We did get out for a few meals. A private room at Antoine's the first night in town. Been back for milestone anniversary, and other happy visits. The best city in the world for celebration.
I am enjoying a Sazerac as we type, with a few dashes of Peychaud's and Angustora bitters. Fond memories of Antoine's, Ugelitshes, Johnnie's Po' Boys (being stranded there one afternoon in a downpour - poor us! With fried oyster po-boys.) Another dozen, and a dozen more at Acme, with another pint of Abita. Dreaming about taking home a muffeletta on the plane. Pecan pie at the Cammilia grill, and heading home on the streetcar, seeing the grand foyers of St. Charles street mansions glistening through the cut-glass front doors.
Fine dining at Christian's (the waiter correctly says: "you don't want a half bottle of wine with lunch, have a full bottle"), Bayona, Commander's Palace and Galatoires. Soft. Shell. Crab.
Learning how they REALLY say it, from the society lady volunteer at the history museum. ("Nuh-WAH-yuns" or "NWAH-yuns" - no "L" or "R").
Touring the old cemetery, and being glad that Florida carry permits are good in Louisiana. Soul food a cab ride away from the tourists. A city with an intense racial mix, but politeness and warmth all around, where no one seems to feel or act like "a minority."
Hot, hot steamy weather (who visits in Summer?!) Ducking out of a cab after a block when it proved not to have A/C.
Street performers on Royal street. Fat cops. Fatter perps. Cabbies with a Cajun patois that only a non-French speaker can decipher. Cabbies that really go fast, and need to be reined in when you tell them that you are in a bit of a hurry.
Ducking into and out of the rain, always to or from a fine meal, more times than I can count.
Art galleries that used to be cheap, and the great D-Day museum, with all of its exhibits on the very high second floor.
Hurricanes. At Pat O'Brian's (now I am misting up, considering the irony of that name, tonight.) A tacky tourist drink that is actually well-made, delicious, and potent enough to make you not care about the consequences. A steamy evening with my new bride on Pat's terrace, with the house photographer capturing our sweaty sheen, and happy smiles.
I love New Orleans.
AH, you are making me cry!
Thanks for the memories. Mine include annual Easter trips to visit my beloved grandmother who managed the Columns Hotel on St. Charles in the Garden District. Being allowed, at age 12, to walk on my own through the magical and then-safe French Quarter. Pralines. Antoines, where the owners feted my dad, a fellow restaurateur. Oysters Rockefeller. Magnolias. Ramos gin fizzes. St. Louis Cathedral. "Desire" streetcar. Too much to contemplate through tears.
Awwww....I'm tearing up reading what you just wrote. Mrs. B is a lucky gal.
Glad you shared your replendent memories. You never mentioned once a simple bowl of red beans and rice.
Spare me your wistful sophistry of those memories clad in crystal.