New Orleans: Part 2

No visit to Bywater is complete (or so I’m told) without a visit to Elizabeth’s. Like the sign says, if you’re ever here, get the praline bacon.

We continued the day by doing a book-guided walking tour of the Garden District. We saw Sandra Bullock’s house, and John Goodman’s house, and Trent Reznor’s house, and Anne Rice’s house.

And we considered buying this one, but decided it was too far from my work.

New Orleans cemeteries are fascinating. We saw people who had been dead for 120 years! Well, we read their names, anyway.

Lunch was at Liuzza’s (by the track), where the gumbo is thin and spicy. This was the first of five great gumbos we had the joy of experiencing.

After that, we continued our walking tour at City Park, and found the botanical gardens.

Hidden away in the back is the train garden, a miniature replica of New Orleans with historic buildings and their stories. If you’re still reading, you’re a nerd like us.

Becky’s a sucker for succulents. We may end up with something similar to this:

Here’s a snap we sent the kids.

We spent the next two hours walking down Bayou St. John, checking out real estate, and managed to avoid taking a single picture.

The main attraction for the evening was the five-greatest-places-to-drink-classic-New-Orleans-drinks drinking tour! We started the evening at the Napoleon House, where everybody goes for the controversial hot muffuletta (which apparently isn’t a muffuletta at all, because it’s hot), and the Pimms Cup. It was cucumbery and fizzy.

We then proceeded to the Carousel Bar for live jazz and the Vieux Carré (“voo caray”, which means “French Quarter”). How was it? “Kinda gross.”

Onward to Arnaud’s French 75, for a Ramos Gin Fizz (creamy and sweet) and, of course, a French 75.

Hannah was good to us, and showed us upstairs to the Mardi Gras Museum. It was like finding a secret passageway on Bourbon Street, and we had it all to ourselves.

We reluctantly left, and made our way to Pat O’Brien’s Courtyard, for that staple of Bourbon Street, the Hurricane (“throat-clenchingly sweet”), which they will happily sell you in a 3-gallon size (it’s the big one on the right).

It might seem odd to you that we’re wearing matchy-matchy windbreakers through all of this. I feel the need to explain that we expected 70-degree temperatures when we packed for this trip, and it’s kind of lucky we had any coats at all. So there.

This was looking more like the Bourbon Street Becky remembers, though it’s still pretty tame out here, since it’s in the 50s.

Now to the highlight of the evening, if not the entire trip. Hannah told us our book was wrong, sent us off to a bar whose name we could barely pronounce (“two-jacks”, by the way), and told us to “tell Paul that Hannah says he can’t make a good Sazerac.” It was on, as they say, like Donkey Kong.

First, the Sazerac. This has the potential to be a truly disgusting drink: absinthe, rye whisky, and bitters. It was delicious. Paul then made all of the other real drinks on our list (the Hurricane doesn’t count; he made us his own special rum punch), and put all the other bars to shame. This is the most incredible bar experience either of us has ever had. Highly recommended.


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