Ginger and The Skipper in the Crescent City, Part 1: 13-14 August 2013

I woke up early tasting like undergrad: sour beer, stale cigarettes, mildew. Not quite sure where I was. No matter. It was time for breakfast. Ginger and The Skipper had five days in New Orleans, and as many opportunities to eat as our stomachs would allow. I brought my eatin’ pants and my walkin’ shoes. Time to shake a tail feather to Elizabeth’s. I could sort out last night on the way.

I picked our hotel, the Creole Inn, because of its proximity to the Lost Love Lounge. The red paint and pool tables reminded me of my favorite bar in graduate school, but the Lounge also hosts a fantastic Vietnamese restaurant. Working backwards, the evening ended with adamant finger pointing at the kimchee dumpling picture on the menu. There were only six of these handmade, gyoza-shaped hangover helpers, and I had to share with The Skipper. I could have eaten twelve, fried, with more kimchee on the side. I’m not sure if these guys are Vietnamese or Korean or Japanese, but I’m looking forward to a sober meal there some time soon. As it was, we slurred a block back to the Creole Inn, Tecates in hand, and I don’t know who took off my boots.

Before that, there were 3-4 Buds in a bottle from Big Daddy’s bar. More local than Lost Love, with corrugated aluminum on the inside, a very clean bathroom, and the kind of bar stools with cushioned backs that cradle you through the night. Lost Love had them, too. Do these bar stools migrate from bowling alleys in Buffalo to retire in New Orleans? We watched the ebb of the older crowd from the hood as the younger crowd with tats and mohawks flowed to the dj’s techno dance beats. We could have been in Brooklyn, except for the absinthe shots in plastic Dixie cups. And everybody was freakin’ friendly. Rod-at-the-bar suggested The Joint for BBQ instead of Irene’s for Italian. Done.

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