Mardi Gras, voodoo queens and crawfish-filled bayous.
Spot the common denominator.
If you hadn’t already got it from the very obvious title, your answer is: New Orleans. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it was that possessed me to travel half way across the world on my own for 4 days’ exploration in one of the US’ southernmost states, but there’d always been something in the back of my mind (it may have had something to do with American Horror Story Season 3, and the many pop culture references to the city that often crop up where other US cities of its size don’t get a look in). So a programme about witches, torture and murderous axemen probably doesn’t sound like the best justification, but it at least got me interested in learning more.
As soon as I came across an anomaly flight, £200 cheaper than the rest, that was it. No second-guessing, it was a done deal, and all that remained was to come up with my own itinerary.
After almost missing my connection in Miami, on the verge of tears and sprinting through the airport like I’ve never run before, only to find that the pilot hadn’t even turned up in those 9 minutes before the plane was due to take off, I arrived safe and sound that first evening.
Immediately put at ease by my lovely (female) Uber driver, who insisted she wouldn’t leave me until she knew I was safely inside my accommodation, this theme of genuine friendliness continued throughout the trip, and people were keen to engage with the weird British girl (who definitely doesn’t sound like Keira Knightley) who had decided to holiday on her own.
The houses on Esplanade Avenue, where my Air B ‘n’ B was located, were beautiful. This picturesque residential street is lined with oak trees, townhouses and creole mansions, many of which were still decorated with flags and beads in the Mardi Gras colours of purple, green and yellow from the previous weeks’ celebrations.
Knowing I was in for four days of absolute feasting, and experiencing jetlag (or the opposite) for the first time, I found myself awake at 4.30 the next morning, and took full advantage of this early start to go for a run. I felt at home straightaway, with people greeting me, and a fellow runner acknowledging me with a nod and a wave. Tourist who?
District Donuts was stop number 1 after successfully navigating the city’s bus service to Magazine Street. At this point I should also mention that more or less everywhere I ate during my stay had been thoroughly researched beforehand (it’s me, of course it was), whether via photos on Instagram, blog posts, travel guides or website recommendations. Being surrounded by doughnuts everyday back in London, I wanted to see how they compared here. The Cookies ‘n’ Cream that I went for had the most incredible dough, much lighter and softer than any I’ve had here, however, the icing was very artificial tasting. You can almost tell from the odd pure white colour, and smooth, shininess of the icing that something looks a little bit off. But it was absolutely worth the visit still, as my other breakfast dish (lol yes, this ‘multiple courses at inappropriate meal times’ theme will continue) was so American, but so good.
‘Biscuits’ in the American sense were never something I’d really understood. They looked to me like an unappetising savoury scone that was often covered in a weird thing they attempted to call gravy, but not this one. This biscuit had been French-toastified so it was soft and fluffy, and slightly sweet with a honey glaze, lump of fried chicken in the middle, and hot sauce and mayo. With a modern, verging on hipster feel inside, this was a great first place to dine.
I then had to work up an appetite for lunch, so embarked on a 2 hour walking tour of the Garden District, viewing houses owned by celebs like Sandra Bullock, and others where scenes from Interview with a Vampire and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button had been filmed. For some great window shopping after this, Magazine Street was the perfect place to wander and browse, and was so calm after all the Mardi Gras madness a couple of days before.
Cue one of the most highly anticipated meals of my trip. Commander’s Palace is frequently recognised as one of the best restaurants in the US. You couldn’t miss it, what with its striking and slightly garish turquoise and white striped exterior, but reservations are required.
I’m not used to fine dining, and so I probably should’ve known that it’d be a bit too much for me. I wanted to throw my drink over the waiter’s face every time I was referred to as ‘Miss Mary’. Second thing to note is the atmosphere. Their 25 cent lunchtime martinis (max 3pp) don’t help anything. Americans can be loud, but this was nearing unbearable. Shouting, hysterical laughter and squealing – even chants of ‘DO IT, DO IT’, you’d have thought you were at a college frat party. There definitely was an air of self-importance floating around amongst everyone, but there is an indication of this in the fact that there is a non-casual dress code, including jeans being ‘discouraged’. Luckily for me, I had taken my lovely leopard print culottes, which I’d been complemented on twice already (‘Omg, I love your outfit… do you love planned parenthood?’).
My main of Crawfish Strudel was an interesting dish, however, the Louisianans love a good roux, and this sauce was slightly too roux-y for me, with that almost gelatinous, slightly gloopy feel. The strudel itself was lovely, but would’ve been even nicer not swimming in a floury sauce.
Dessert was where it’s at. With amazing reviews on the Eaten app, I had to try the Bread Pudding Soufflé with Whisky Butter Sauce. The texture of the soufflé on top was wonderful, and then underneath the surface was the moist and sticky bread pudding – a New Orleans classic. I don’t really like spirits at all, and the whisky butter was very strong, but despite that it worked. Its potency complemented the sweetness of the other elements of the dish.
Fast forward to Saturday morning and I’m off for breakfast again, this time to the wonderfully Instagrammable Willa Jean, which is just outside of the touristy area. It was probably a good sign that it was super busy in here, but being on my own I always found it pretty easy to be seated quickly.
You may be disappointed to hear about the highlight of my whole trip. It was this.
Yet another amazing biscuit, this time sweet. I’d read about this on a blog, but had not anticipated how incredible it would be. Texturally, this was like a cross between bread, sponge and flaky pastry all in one. Added to it being served warm, and filled with a sweet strawberry jam and thick cream, the taste and texture were sensational. Of course one dish wasn’t enough though so to drink (or as a dessert – you decide) I ordered a peanut butter hot chocolate. Again, superior to all London hot chocolates, this was super thick, with lots of peanut butter flavour on the surface but without being too sickly, and then the gooiest, melting marshmallows to finish it off. And if you think I finished here, you’re wrong. What about my savoury course? Flavour-wise, the bbq shrimp toast wasn’t as mind-blowing, although the bbq sauce was nice, and the melting cheese was a great addition. But again it was the texture I loved. This was a perfect example of how savoury French toast works. On paying my bill I told the waitress that I’d been to Commander’s Palace yesterday but that I’d come back to Willa Jean a million times over before going back there.
Willa Jean was located conveniently close to the National World War II Museum, which was very impressive. A large, slightly intimidating-looking building, you need at least 3 hours to look round everything here, and that’s not including the add-ons. I hadn’t realised how much there would be to see and so after an hour and a half had to rush round so I didn’t miss my next tour. The exhibits really are impressive, from the detail and artefacts on show, to the makeshift jungle and winter forest environments that you find yourself walking through. An absolute must-visit in the city.
At this point I was slightly regretting having had a 3 course breakfast as I was now due to start a 3 hour food tour in the French Quarter. I persevered. Stop number one was one of NOLA’s many hot sauce shops. Once armed with your mini spoon, you can sample any or every product they have in store, including the hottest sauce in the history of hot sauce which is about 5 kabillion times hotter than the Carolina Reaper and requires the signing of a disclaimer before you try it…. Despite being pretty good with spice it’s safe to say I gave that one a miss.
Next up was Leah’s Pralines; pralines being one of their sweet snacks of choice due to the abundance of pecan trees in the state. I found these to be overwhelmingly sugary, but that didn’t stop me from bringing home a pack of bacon pecan brittle to top my pancakes with.
We couldn’t miss out on NOLA’s two most traditional sandwiches – the Po’ Boy and Muffaletta. The story behind the Po’ Boy is said to stem from a 1929 strike in which two brothers served those on strike these sandwiches for free, referring to them as ‘Po’ (poor) boys’ when they approached. This one from Nola Po Boys had a catfish filling, which although fried, was so light, with such flaky fish. Other popular fillings include oysters, shrimp and roast beef.
The Muffaletta is typically served on a seeded bread and consists of hams and salami such as mortadella, cheese, often provolone, and an olive relish. Despite being a great sandwich, the olive relish didn’t really do it for me.
Tujague’s next. This is one of the oldest bars in the city, with the actual, physical bar being imported from Europe over 160 years ago. They’re known for their Grasshopper cocktails (mint, cocoa and cream based), and their beef brisket. Now I’m a huge fan of brisket, but I found it to be slightly dry, despite being lovely and flaky in texture.
Second to last stop was Dickie Brennan’s Tableau, Dickie Brennan being part of the famous Brennan family of restaurateurs who between them run many of the city’s most raved about restaurants, including Commander’s Palace. This was the place where I finally go to try Gumbo. Gumbo comes from a West African languages, meaning okra. The stew also features the ‘holy trinity’ of veg, including celery, peppers and onions, and seafood gumbo tends to be the most common, which is what we tried. It was full of delicious shellfish flavour, and had a nice thickness to it – nothing worse than a watery stew. The rice is a great way to soak up some of the juices leftover at the end.
Last but not least was SoBou, with a slightly different vibe to the previous restaurants. SoBou takes a more modern approach to its cuisine, taking New Orleans’ classics and adding a twist. We tried their crawfish beignets to begin with – fried seafood balls with a sharp, slightly tangy sauce. Then came the pork cracklings, which have the texture and light crunch of a prawn cracker. The final dish was my favourite. Boudin balls are really common here – boudin being a kind of sausage, here made from chicken and beef short rib. These balls were almost like arancini with rice in the middle and a crispy exterior.
Food tours are definitely something I recommend when going abroad – eating the food is great, but learning about the stories, history and individuals behind each dish makes it a more enriching experience.
Can you believe I still went for dinner after all that? Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t feeling up to it, but this was my only chance to try Jambalaya, which along with Gumbo is a must-try dish in NOLA. It’s thought that Jambalaya was inspired by West African Jollof Rice, as New Orleans was a big slave port, but there’s also talk of it being influenced by paella as the Spanish had control of the city for some years. Any rice dish that can stand alone without a sauce or a main portion of protein has to be something good, and Gumbo Shop’s chicken and Andouille sausage jambalaya lived up to that (the small amount of protein was scattered throughout the rice). With creamy rice and a lovely, tomatoey flavour with a Cajun kick, I couldn’t help but finish it.
Although I was verging on food coma territory, I had one more stop that evening, and no, don’t worry, this one wasn’t food-related. I’d got tickets for a jazz show at the famed venue Preservation Hall, but hadn’t realised quite how small, intimate and informal it would be. Four rows of little wooden benches were laid out in the tiny, old, and slightly dilapidated-looking room. People packed in the back, standing, desperate to catch the show, and some even sat cross-legged on cushions at the front. The band was fabulous, and the show was relaxed and full of humour. The musicians were clearly having a great time, joking with each other and getting the audience going. Between the 5 musicians, they played piano, drums, trombone, trumpet, keyboard, saxophone, clarinet and double bass and covered everything from serenading romantic melodies to upbeat, raucous jazz tunes. By the end of the night, I was shattered, and other than my Uber driver home responding ‘… and Juliet??’ when I told him that I was from Nottingham, as in Robin Hood, my entertainment for the night was complete.
Imagine my surprise when after all that, I woke up the next morning feeling light as a feather and ready to start all over again. I couldn’t resist browsing Uber Eats to see how many of my bucket list restaurants and cafes I could get delivered to my door post-run. Lo and behold there were a couple of places that I couldn’t resist, the first being Buttermilk Drop. Other than Sno-balls (google them), my Lonely Planet pocket guide told me that this was the dessert to try in NOLA. It’s not quite a doughnut, but is basically a round ball of dough, covered in a buttermilk drizzled icing. It may not be the compliment they were after, but in the US they really know how to create a soft, spongy, non-stodgy dough like no one else. For my breakfast main course, I had been drawn to the Ruby Slipper Café, which not only had I read about before travelling, but had also walked past in the city centre where it’d seemed to be really busy.
I went for their ‘Peacemaker Benedict’– 2 American biscuits (those things again…), one topped with fried chicken, a creamy sauce and poached egg, and the other, pulled pork, a chipotle style sauce and poached egg. This is the uncomfortable part where I admit that American biscuits are definitely superior to the English muffin, which is not as soft, and is slightly drier. However, the best breakfast was definitely yet to come.
Next stop, Cochon for a combined lunch and dinner that I’d been dreaming of well in advance. I couldn’t visit New Orleans without trying alligator. The surrounding bayous (swamps) mean that there is plenty of this, what we would consider ‘exotic’, meat to go around. Cochon do fried alligator bites with a Cajun style sauce, and whilst I’d heard many people claim it tasted like chicken, I didn’t get this at all. I found the meat to be quite tough, so although I didn’t dislike it, I’d happily stick to popcorn chicken in the future. Alongside my alligator I went for a standard mac and cheese – something that has become more popular in the UK, in my opinion, due to its popularity in the US. I have a very specific idea of the kind of mac and cheese I like – it has to be creamy, not just pure melted cheese, but equally I’m not a fan of a roux-based mac and cheese sauce. But it’s the return of the roux again here. The thickness of the sauce just seemed tainted by a kind of flouriness that didn’t do it any favours. But it was still half-decent, with a crispy baked top.
My final ‘meal’ of day 3 was a wonderful one. I’d seen photos of Mulates food online, and it had a cheap and cheerful kind of vibe to it. It was only when I started researching the best place for pecan pie that it really grabbed my attention. Pecans grow in abundance in NOLA, hence them using pecans in their pralines as opposed to almonds, and so I had high expectations of this pie. My first impression of Mulates as I walked in was an interesting one. For me, it seemed quintessentially American. Very informal, plastic red and white checked table cloths, a huge room that could cater to hundreds of people, and loads of waiters and waitresses running around in caps and burgundy polo shirts. Not gonna lie, it seemed quite shit on the inside. However, that pecan pie arrived warmed through and topped with ice cream and whipped cream, and my already full stomach suddenly made room for every single bite. The pastry didn’t fly across the table when I cut into it, the filling was gooey and almost oozing out of the sides, and although I’d never think to add ice cream or cream to pecan pie, it was delicious. I left here extremely satisfied, and also growing aware of the fact that all my food highlights seemed to be sweet dishes, which is not at all what I’d expected.
The need to walk some of that food off was great, and so a touristy afternoon led me to Mardi Gras World, located in a giant warehouse right on the river, past the cruise ship port, where I was convinced I’d ended up somewhere that couldn’t possibly house a tourist attraction, and I’d probably get arrested for trespassing at any moment. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case, and my tour started without issue. After a brief video explaining the origins of Mardi Gras, I was “forced” to try a piece of the traditional Mardi Gras King Cake, which I’d heard of before only through my study of Spanish, as the ‘Roscón de reyes’. The NOLA version is slightly more exciting, topped with sugar in the Mardi Gras colours representing justice, faith and power. One person will also find a small figure of a baby (or in Europe, literally a figure of Jesus), and that person is committed to buying next year’s cake! Nowadays they come in a load of different flavours, but cinnamon is really common, and this one also had apple in. Whilst it was tasty, I found the cinnamon to be very overpowering, but they do look beautiful. After finishing up the tour and getting to see a number of really impressive floats and giant carnival figures created by hand, I headed to the Southern Food and Beverage Museum, in yet another slightly out of the way location, and wandered round reading about everything from the creation of the New Orleans-born, now national chain Popeye’s chicken, to Texas BBQ and absinthe bars.
Another evening spent at my air b ‘n’ b, super tired, prepared me for one more day of food and exploration before heading to the airport late that final afternoon. One of my favourite meals, another sweet one, was at Stanley’s, in the beautiful Jackson square, in the heart of the French Quarter. Stanley’s had been recommended frequently as a fantastic all-day brunch place, with their Beaux Bridge Benedict and Bananas Foster French Toast both highly praised. Up to this point, I hadn’t tried anything Bananas Foster-related so this seemed like my last chance. Foster sauce is a delicious syrupy, brown butter and rum sauce, and my French toast came absolutely swimming in it. Not one to miss an opportunity to throw ice cream on everything, the Americans did it again, serving this brunch dish with two giant scoops of vanilla ice cream, walnuts, bananas and banana crisps. I was genuinely shocked by the portion size that arrived, but I couldn’t help but finish it all, even wishing I could drink up the remainder of the Fosters sauce sitting on the bottom of the plate.
From sweet, to sweeter, I headed to Café du monde next. Everyone who’s visited the city knows about this spot, but it’s often debated whether it’s worth it, or whether it’s just a tourist trap. I have to say I loved it; I’d heard about how difficult it could be to get a table, and was surprised to discover that there’s no queuing system, instead you literally just peg it to a table as soon as one becomes free. From there, the waiters and waitresses will take your order, and if it’s anything other than the classic chicory coffee and beignets, they’ll ask you to leave (just kidding, but still, why are you there if not for this?). I sat outside, housed undercover in the old French market where the café is located. Admittedly I wasn’t a fan of the chicory coffee as it wasn’t creamy enough for me, but the beignets surprised me. Having only seen photos, I wasn’t sure what the fascination with this fried dough was, as it looked way too crispy, oily and overloaded with icing sugar, but actually they were amazing. Whilst they were crispy on the outside, the insides were super fluffy with the most delicious dough, and the powdered sugar thickens in your mouth, turning into a layer of thick icing. The only downsides are the toilets, which are absolutely grim, but I could cope with that for the food. Heading out to behind the store, by the Mississippi front, you can see into the kitchen and watch them make the beignets.
After a spot of souvenir shopping and wandering by the river, I decided to hit Antoine’s on the off chance that they had walk-in space available. I’d booked a table a few days ago purely to try their famous Oysters Rockefeller (the dish was created here in this 180 year old family-owned restaurant). I was also nervous about my attire, being in jeans and a cropped baggy jumper, due to the city’s strict dress code rules, but I was relieved to see that everyone else in there for lunch on a weekday was dressed equally as casually, and there were a huge number of tables free. I ordered said dish, it only being the second time I’d tried oysters, and the first time I hadn’t been a huge fan. Actually this time, the oysters weren’t bad, and I found them to be much more similar to mussels, however, despite the fact that nowadays there’s very little my taste buds can’t handle, I really couldn’t get on board with the Rockefeller sauce. It had a dry, congealed-textured film coating the sauce, with a thicker, creamier texture underneath, and I don’t even know how to describe the flavour. It wasn’t horrendous, but I left a fair bit of the dish. Still, no regrets, I’d desperately wanted to try them.
A long stroll to the other side of the city was my desperate attempt to work up an appetite for my final New Orleans’ dine-in meal. I’d hoped to save the best ‘til last with the world-famous fried chicken at Willie Mae’s Scotch House. It was voted by the Food Network as having the best fried chicken in the US, which is a huge statement. Again, I’d been warned about huge queues and long waits, but arriving at an off-peak time, I didn’t have to wait more than 20 minutes. I ordered the standard fried chicken with a side of red beans and rice. I was almost too nervous to take a bite, what with the fear of it not living up to its title as America’s best. For me, the chicken itself was nice. Occasionally I felt it was a bit too salty, but it was decent. What made it for me was the thin layer of batter, which was incredibly crisp and a delight to bite into. The red beans and rice were decent but I refused to even acknowledge the giant portion they brought to me, instead scraping a small amount on to my fried chicken plate in order to appease my ‘too-much-food-panic mentality’. I left satisfied, but ultimately unsure about the title with which Willie Mae’s had been honoured. I’m not sure any food establishment, no matter how good, can ever live up to being known as the greatest in the country.
As far as I know, London has a couple of New Orleans/Louisiana style eateries, one of them being street food traders Bayou Bar, who produce delicious po’ boy sandwiches. Just before going away I’d seen that they’re hosting a Bayou Crayfish Boil at the end of this month, which I immediately bought tickets for, and contacted them to let them know what a coincidence it was that I was just about to visit NOLA when I’d heard about this event. They were hugely enthusiastic about the city and urged me to visit the deli-grocer’s Verti Marte, which during my trip I actually heard a couple of other people raving about in passing conversation, and so I knew I had to squeeze it in. I’d been told to try their ‘All That Jazz’ sandwich – a giant soft baguette loaded with smoky cold cuts, their special sauce, cheese and I can’t even remember what else but there was seriously loads. In my desperation not to miss it, I’d decided that I’d get one and take it with me to the airport to eat later before my flight. The first spanner in the works was the fact that I have an issue with doors – doors that don’t open first time, doors that are disguised as anything else other than a door. And so upon arrival, I simply couldn’t find the entrance. I spent a good 5 minutes wandering around trying to look like I knew what I was doing. I also couldn’t see inside and so had no idea if it was open or if anyone was watching me looking like a ginormous idiot, which only added to my social humiliation-related anxiety. After a few deep breaths, I decided to give it one last shot, pushing a caged panel of glass which bore no resemblance to a door, but it was the only remote possibility. To my relief, it opened. I was in. Ordering the sandwich was a smooth process, but after killing more time, wandering back to collect my luggage and having a nosy round one of the famous above ground cemeteries, I took my much-anticipated sandwich out to photograph. Well, there was so much filling, and such a flood of sauce, that after having been jostled around in my bag for a while with the sauce saturating the bread, the sandwich now resembled a moist lung. You may assume that this was the end, but a couple of hours later as I was waiting for my flight, I whipped out a plastic fork from my bag, and attacked said lung which was contained securely within a plastic bag whilst sitting in the gate lounge. I managed a fair few mouthfuls before I accepted that it was too late. No more could be done to salvage the sandwich. It was over.
And on that note, I boarded the plane, and flew home 5lbs heavier.
If you made it to the end, congrats, that was a long one. But no apologies, as I had the time of my life.
¡Comemos!
xo
¡Comemos! 