New Orleans ala carte

Following are a few impressionable moments I had this week while visiting the Crescent City; the city that care forgot.


Some people’s attitude toward something different or new never fails to amaze me. Some of the best and freshest food in the world is available in New Orleans: fresh oysters, shrimp right off the dock, jambalaya, red beans and rice, crawfish etouffee, andouille sausage, Cajun and Creole and la nouvelle orleans cuisine. Yet a few of my friends ordered chicken everywhere we went.



Famous restaurants Antoine’s, and Galatoire’s, local favorite Upperline, deliciously wicked holes in the wall like the Acme Oyster House and Uglesich’s (no longer in business) make New Orleans a gastronomic heaven. Yet several of our group refused to venture outside of the hotel restaurants and if they did, they wanted to eat at a national chain that is the same in every city. Okay, I can understand not liking a particular food, but imagine coming to Kansas City and not eating bar-b-que, turning down a chance to eat at legends like Arthur Bryant’s or local favorites such as Bluestem or 40 Sardines. What a boring world it would be.

I’ll never forget this. Walking down Bourbon Street, with a female colleague that is a conservative Muslim. She covers her hair, wears very loose, long, simple dresses. As she walked her head turned neither to the left or the right. Her vision fixed straight ahead. But she wanted to see it and was a great sport about it all.

Drinking my first absinthe. It is legal now, but the little ritual that goes along with it seems so illicit. Lighting the sugar cube, the tube of chilled water, it all felt so decadent, especially in the haunts of Tennessee Williams and William Faulkner.

Home Sweet Home

I’m back in Kansas City after an exhilarating, informative, productive and exhausting trip to New Orleans. And just in time for Spring Break week, how much more difficult can life get!

My last evening in New Orleans, after all the meetings and conferences were over I finally got time to get away from the hotel and get around a bit, to “press the flesh” as the politicians say. I did the obligatory walk down Bourbon street, visited the Acme Oyster House for a dozen fresh Louisiana oysters, a PeaceMaker Po’boy, and several Abita’s. I then wandered down Royal Street. I wanted to go all the way to Frenchman where some of the better music clubs are, but being on foot and alone I decided to stay close.

On my way back to the hotel I walked through Jackson Square. There is a little amphitheater next to the Café Du Monde where years ago you could hear some good street jazz. Last time I was in town the place had been taken over by Goths. This time it was hip-hop. I watched for awhile and then realized all that was really happening was some great music, recorded, and some poor-ass dancing. Mainly just begging for money. I noticed this quite a bit. The few street performers I saw were of poor quality and money hungry. However, I did hear one older guy on the Riverwalk the first afternoon I was in the city. He was just sitting on the curb in the warm sunshine playing the blues on a old acoustic guitar and filling in with a harmonica. Sunday night I ran across a group of about ten black kids, all playing different brass: trombones, tuba, coronet. They seemed to putting their heart and soul into it.

I couldn’t end my last night in town without walking down Pirate’s Alley, where William Faulkner once lived and wrote some of his early work. It was just getting dark, the courtyards were closed and the artists, merchants and street people were leaving for the night. On the corner I noticed a very small bar; dark, mysterious and empty. I entered to find a redheaded bartender and a nice little drinking establishment in which I stayed far to long.

As the night wore on the little bohemian café became rather crowded. I discovered the bar had two types of customers. Several of the night tours, ghost and voodoo, met there, and there where always a few locals, usually on their way home who dropped in for an absinthe or other refreshment. It made for a nice mix. I drank too much, but had some great conversations and heard a few far fetched stories.

After work...

Our Dean was gracious enough to take a group of UMKC professors out to dinner tonight. We all walked down to the French Quarter and had delicious gumbo and other creole and cajun food. A few of the professors kicked in for some bottles of Fess Parker wine and it was a merry night. After desserts of pecan pie, bread pudding and praline sundaes we walked back to the hotel via Bourbon Street; which seemed to be a shock to some of the more fragile among us.

After two days here I‘m beginning to get a feel for the place. During our time off we offered $35 for an under worked taxi to take us for a personal tour of the Ninth Ward. Later some of us drove east along the river to Slidell. Yes, it is as bad and worse than we had expected. It is a wonder the people of New Orleans are coming back at all, with so much destruction and so much bureaucratic red tape delaying everything.

Years ago I use to visit New Orleans once a year. It has always been one of my favorite cities. The food, the music, the life, the people. It is still an exciting place to me. But something is missing. However the people that are here are doing a damn fine job of bringing it back to life.