Good evening, Monday…I’ve just terra firma’ed my way into New York City, and the intrepid apartment search has begun. Today had me looking downtown, which had me decidedly downtrodden. The smell of those garbage chute elevators alone...nope. Can't do it. Uptown or Brooklyn looking like better bets. Admittedly, I experienced that old New York brand of defeat and despair today- but then I went to Soul Cycle and got over it when the teacher played "The Choice of Yours" by the Black Sheep at ear splitting decibels. I so needed that. Good lookin' out Soul Cycle. You always save my ass.
This past weekend was a heady whirlwind, spent in New Orleans, Louisiana. My recently departed uncle lived there for many years- he was quite a character- a musician, a bon vivant, a bit more than left of center. And going there this past weekend, I once again got swept up in this fantastic city- you literally can’t move a single muscle without hearing music or laughter. New Orleans simply oozes charm out of every pore, every fleur de lis’ed motifed shop window, and every expressive face perched on Jackson Square, or every happy camper smiling from yet another wrought iron balcony. New Orleans is a city of decadence- and you know how much this maven loves to indulge. The stores are filled with things you simply don’t need, but very much want, and the food is filled with ingredients you surely shouldn’t eat, but must. And the drinking? Ooh the drinking. It’s not to be trifled with. Prepare to sleep in- no gym for you in the am after a night spent listening to old jazz lords in some dark bar. I love that New Orleans is a town of wants and not needs, that the very sound of that syrupy drawl makes me swoon (have always had a crush on Harry Connick,Jr.) , and that the resilience of the people there got them through Katrina. It was inspiring to see the city so alive with revelers and tourists- so glad to see the power of that town resonating with so many looking to just have some bloody fun in times like these. The people here even make a funeral a party -a celebration of life as opposed to something utterly more depressing (the photo above is of a funeral procession).
I also got to see the homes Brad Pitt built in the 9th Ward- outstanding, modern, and respectful. You can still feel the resurrection happening, but there’s hope there now and a pride in what has been done. Amazing what the human spirit can achieve. I’m not sure why our government can’t create programs like these, or more powerful people like Mr. Pitt can’t step up and get involved- though I suppose that’s why we’re officially occupied, isn’t it? There’s much to do and not enough doers. Hopefully our next generation will make a difference. But politics aside and like in every cool city, there was shopping to be done, and naturally, I did it. Call my streetcar desire- I simply had to partake.
In terms of shopping, Magazine Street offered some fantastic options- such as the new aviary themed perfumer Avery Fine Perfumery I had just read about- full of heady (albeit pricey) scents that are at once familiar and like nothing you’ve smelled before. Further on down the street we found lovely vintage, amazing home furnishings and Indian bedspreads, and lovely little restaurants and coffee shops. But back in the Quarter was perhaps my favorite spot- Fleur de Paris- think Agent Provacateur (pink and black theme, hot salesgirls that skew goth/Dita Von Teeseish) mixed with a nod to vintage silhouettes- I was hearting a little black babydoll cocktail dress with jeweled straps, but settled on a very snug little fur vest to nip in all of those oversized silk shirts I’ve been prone to buying of late. They’ve also got the most insane collection of millinery I have ever seen- hats for every mood, event, or taste. Plus a great selection of sexy stockings – totally girly but in a good way. It’s a must if you are in the Quarter and looking for a get up for your go.
And the impromptu nature of New Orleans is the best part- not quite ready to go to bed after a big meal, David and I caught a killer set of old jazz right on Bourbon Street- and the saints came marching in as we sipped on cocktails and realized how blessed we were to hang out in a city full of so much soul. Soul and Sazerac that is.
A word on Sazerac- it’s a lovely little potent cocktail that goes down very well and warms the innards. If you want one, there is no better place to procure one than the Sazerac Bar in the very grand Roosevelt Hotel. Those that know me know I am mad for a hotel bar- my favorite type of drinking establishment there is. And especially one that is named for the cocktail it invented. It’s a beautiful bar, dark and woody and full of bartenders that know a thing or two. The night we were there there was a wedding in the hotel, so the men were toasting each other in tuxes and the ladies were true to their Southern roots in pretty dresses and girly shoes. I loved every second of it- the bar is a fantastic indulgence and one of the reasons I love the South- the tradition, the service, the elegance- the manners. Welcome to my new favorite bar in America. Want to meet me there? If you invite me, I can almost guarantee you I will always be up for it. I can almost guarantee that. It's now my favorite bar in America.
And then to top things off, David’s father got us a res at Commander’s Palace, at the chef’s table, where you eat in the kitchen a la Goodfellas, but much more dignified. The chef waits on you hand and foot and mouth- after taking a brief survey of your likes and dislikes, you are treated to about 10 course of deliciousness, none of it healthy, all of it absolutely beyond belief delicious. And then the desserts come, as if you needed more proof of G-d. What an amazing experience to eat in a place where many of the staff have spent their whole careers- a true testament to this foodie temple- have rarely had service like that, and the bordelaise sauce on the escargots didn’t suck neither. Had someone offered to take me out back and shoot me after this meal, I’m not sure I would have objected- mostly because I couldn’t move, but also because I would have died happy. Oh and it's across the street from the cemetery where Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda bugged out on acid in "Easy Rider". Yup.
I’ve been thinking so much lately about this pressure to be Type A, to succeed, to be skinny, to be perfect. New Orleans is the antidote to all of that- come as you are, darlings. Nobody judging, everybody there to have a good time and enjoy life for a change. Being a glutton once in a while is a necessary part of life for me- I truly am a hedonist and need to eat, drink, and be merry from time to time- and so do you, so get on with it. If you’ve never had a beignet, some gumbo, or a Sazerac- get thee to N'awlins. It’s important to your growth as a human and you owe it to your overscheduled, over exercised, overworked self. Get over it and go. More tomorrow from the apartment hunting front, but that’s what’s up this still in the mood for Mardi Gras kind of Monday in the 212. Laisser les bon temps rouler. XO