Day 4: N'Awlins

Today we awoke and had cafe au lait and beinets at the Cafe du Monde, which has required little but facade renovations since its opening in 1862. Besides the overwhelmingly mouthwatering flavor of fried dough with confectioners sugar, we see the resiliency of this establishment as further proof that all donut-like products are food of G-d and protected by him even through hurricanes. :)

After breakfast, we toured around the land of destruction which was once the open air market. This area is being renovated, though some of the vendors have returned and clamor for spots under one of the remaining buildings. We eyed their wares, including one of our favorite items, which we somehow were too disgusted by to remember to photograph.....a small, very REAL crocodile hand which was impaled by a stick and intended to be used as a backscratcher. This was for whatever reason completely horrifying. We contemplated buying it for Neil or David, as they are perhaps the two people we know who would be equally horrified and fascinated as we were, though in the end could not put our pennies toward such an "artform" as the creation of these "tools". We also discovered the only free public restrooms in the French Quarter, which while convenient resembled those in the scene from "Desperado". If you have seen this film, you understand. If you have not seen this film, we do not recommend watching it just so that you appreciate the state of these bathrooms.

Then we walked around on Maggie's search for post-cards--our only sanctioned souvenier purchase for this trip. After locating some good ones, we realized that the beignets were not enough to sustain us in the 110 degree humidity, and thus we decided to get some lunch. We chose "The Hard Rock Cafe" for several reasons: 1. It was immediately in front of us, 2. We had just had a discussion about how cool these restaurants were to us in the early 1990s with David. We actually enjoyed the Hard Rock quite a bit, and Maggie reminisced about going to her first one in Orlando with her Dad in roughly 1992. At this time, Maggie idolized her father as a rock god who knew everything about every major rock star, and remembered how going to the this restaurant with him and hearing his commentary on the memorabilia was one of the most fun experiences they had as a family during that time. Also, we both reminisced about how COOL we were, wearing our Hard Rock shirts to school. Anyhow, the food was okay. However, Maggie ordered a salad which was served with a dressing that honestly tasted like the smell of rank body odor. Tommy thereby named this the "B.O. JUICE" and pushed it to the farthest corner of the table. The funniest part of this was when our waiter came to ask us how things were going.....

Waiter (smiling broadly and jangling with the sound of all his Hard Rock pins): Hey Guys! Howz it goin'? Is your food alright?
Tommy: Yeah, um...its fine.
Waiter: Super!
Tommy: Actually, that salad dressing is like swamp sauce. It's pretty nasty.
Waiter: Ooooo. Yeah.....well, our chefs actually invented that.......
Tommy & Maggie (silently to themselves): Invented in their armpits?
Waiter: ...but it is pretty bad. I don't know why they invented it at all.

Anyhow, after our lunch we started off on a self-guided walking tour of the French Quarter. It is worth noting that we boldly embraced this tour despite the fact that it was seriously 110 degrees outside. It was, as we discovered, "silly hot"...meaning that it was hot enough that your brain cells actually fried the longer you remained in it and you got sillier with each block. After two blocks, Tommy was already complaining that he was developing the "Hot Foot" of Marder Lore, first documented on a trip to DC in roughly 1996 when Phil was derailed by the condition on a park bench.

After 3 hours of wandering around with our AAA guide getting dehydrated we decided that it was time for a nap. When we got back to our hotel, we slept for several hours and then got cleaned up for dinner. On our way down the elevator, we encountered a woman who was clearly involved in the "oldest profession in the world." She was accompanied by a slightly inebriated and elderly man wearing cheap sunglasses and white tube socks with black loafers. We followed them down the street but lost them when they went into a seedy corner store. We did not care to know what nastiness they may have been purchasing in there, but suspect that it was not one of the prominently displayed miniature characters playing assorted jazz instruments.

We had dinner at ACME, another AAA recommendation that was also one of the "Cheap Eats" on CitySearch. Maggie had a shrimp po boy with jumbalaya and Tommy had crawfish etoufee. The food was good, actually, which left us mildly surprised as the restaurant was flanked by establishments where the ladies wear very little clothing. But, as we have learned, that is what you get here in New Orleans.

We returned to Olivier's for dessert. Mr. Olivier was delighted to see us back. We had bread pudding again and peach cobbler with coffee.

Afterward we ventured up Bourbon St. and sat in for a set at Maison Bourbon, a club "Dedicated to the Preservation of Jazz". This was our favorite experience in New Orleans. The band was terrific, and we both danced in our seats while sipping the famous "Hurricanes". It was a little disheartening that they serve these scary drinks in this classy jass place, but whatever. We enjoyed them nonetheless. We moved on to another place with a live band led by a little tiny man who Tommy thought was sitting down for at least 4 songs before realizing he was just tiny. The hurricanes did their job, as Tommy began breaking it down on the dancefloor to a cover of "That's the way, uh huh, uh huh, I like it!" For those of you that know Tommy, he is highly aversive to dancing, so this was a real treat.

This morning, as we sat for our continental breakfast on day 5, Tommy observed that our friend from the elevator was striding through the lobby in the same outfit as last night. We noticed throughout our stay at La Quinta that there are signs all about saying "LA QUINTA: Spanish for CONVENIENCE" or some other word meant to demonstrate the many fine qualities of the hotel. As the woman's 6 inch plastic rainbow heels clicked by us, Tommy stated "La Quinta: Spanish for bring your prostitutes here". Maggie almost choked on her waffle. It was classic.