Moldy But Goody - New Orleans

Good photos by H. Darr Beiser

 Steamboat Natchez

We arrived in New Orleans in a torrential rain and headed for the St. James Hotel. The reception staff was accommodating and friendly. They texted me every day to make sure I had what I needed.  The room was huge, the bathroom was spacious. There was a coffee maker and a small refrigerator. The hotel delivered continental breakfast to your door.  Check, check, check on the hotel quality list.

But…it’s just that the whole place smelled and seemed a little… wet. On closer inspection we found black mold marks on the framed prints and spots on the bathroom mirror. The hallways had an odor of a strong disinfectant battling with an underlying odor. And losing.

My traveling companion called it “musty.” What an excellent euphemism.

New Orleans cab bears this warning 

And yet, I can’t entirely knock the St. James. Good prices, good location, and what can we expect from New Orleans, after all, if not a little dampness?

My favorite exhibit-free espresso drinks

I was there to exhibit at a medical conference at the Ernest N. Morial Convention Center. The business trip collided with Games 3, 4 and 5 of the World Series and my team (the Nationals) was in it. We hadn’t devoted more than 500 hours to the watching the season (conservatively 3 hours per game plus playoffs) to stop now. So evening life had to stop at 7 p.m. (Central Time) sharp so we could get to a TV screen.

As a result of this time imperative, we discovered the secret to getting a table in any New Orleans restaurant—go for the blue hair special at 5 or 5:30 p.m. No wait at Emeril's a short line at Mother’s, and a completely empty Creole Cookery restaurant in the French Quarter. Then we would scurry back to our room at the St. James.

One night I decided it was silly not to be out and about in New Orleans, and decided to watch the World Series at Manning’s Sports Bar and Grill.  What I failed to understand was the depth of the football reign New Orleans. Shouldn't I have been tipped off by the name? We arrived smack in the middle of an LSU game. Very few staff or patrons had any idea what the World Series was much less why we were interested, and after a great deal of pestering they finally put the game on a small TV screen without sound.

Manning's was altogether a hot mess. I don't recommend it. We were kept waiting 45 minutes for a table when it was clear there were many open. We were told to wait upstairs where we plopped down on an empty couch and were told there was a $500 minimum. The bartender had the attitude and appearance of The Joker and wore red contact lenses. That’s what I call customer service. We were out of there by the end of the first inning.

New friend in French Quarter

I am the walrus

My morning runs proved as invigorating and enlightening as always. I hadn’t even had the sense that I was in New Orleans until I got to the riverfront and ran down to the French Quarter where I witnessed “the morning after.” Not just any morning after, but a morning after a Halloween celebration.  I saw some characters, of course. The kinds of characters who never made it home. The strongest of the strong.

Muffuletta

One long day at the Convention Center Darr lovingly offered to bring me lunch--a muffuletta from Central Grocery, the originators of the sandwich.  Let’s review the contents of a muffuletta, shall we? Oil, cheese, cold cuts, cheese, cold cuts, cheese, topped with olive salad sandwiched in oil soaked homemade Italian bread. I pride myself on a stomach of steel. But this lunch was my undoing. When it was time for dinner at the ungodly hour of 5 p.m. the muffelletta objected vigorously by slamming me with a simultaneous headache and stomachache. The things that give the French Quarter its color, like music and lights and cigarette and cigar smoke and stumbling pedestrians, all turn gray through the lens of nausea. 

Shoe Be Do on Chartres

Our last day was the best day. We were free of the World Series deadline. I was free to shop on Chartres; meet Darr for a drink at the astounding Napolean House with Beethoven's Eroiqua  and other classical masterpieces blaring in the background,  and have dinner at The Palace Café. This was by far the most excellent meal of the week, starting with the crabmeat cheesecake and going onto pecan catfish,  and white chocolate bread pudding and Louisiana corn brulee.  And yes it makes a difference dining at 7:30 p.m. instead of 5 p.m. Atmospherics, high spirits, joie de vivre.

New Orleans takes a strong stomach and a strong heart but is eternal in its highly individual charm. Just don't go there during the baseball playoff season.