As a travel writer (and as a traveler), I seek out the places that feel emblematic of the place I’m visiting, with a storied history and local cuisine, with atmosphere, character and grit. Some of those places, sadly, have been felled by the pandemic as I learned in a NYTimes story yesterday. Oddly, we drove past The Rieger restaurant in Kansas City during a day trip there on Saturday and vowed to return once we can to eat at a place that not only had inventive food but allegedly a bathroom that gangster Al Capone once peed in. Sadly it is no more, as the NYTimes story reported. I had been to three of the nine restaurants mentioned in the story – including the Brookville Hotel in Abilene and the Cake Cafe in New Orleans.
I first went to the Brookville Hotel – which specialized in fried chicken and biscuits – in the mid-1980s when I lived in Wichita. The 1.5 hour drive to the tiny worn town of Brookville was worth it, to eat in the old tumbledown hotel that was mostly (or maybe completely) a restaurant by that time. I took many a visitor there as well, since it was so evocative of old time Kansas. A lot of atmosphere was lost when the restaurant moved to a faux hotel recreation on the edge of Interstate 70 in Abilene but the chicken and biscuits were still great. Our memory is the wait staff only asked two questions: What kind of salad dressing do you want? What do you want to drink? Otherwise the order was chicken and biscuits.
I wandered into the Cake Cafe a few years ago while exploring the Marigny and Bywater districts. It was a cheerful alternative feeling coffee house, painted yellow on a quiet corner. Very cozy and they were advertising their NOLA-classic King Cakes with the little plastic baby in them. I had only an orange juice, resisting the tempting pastries (which I now regret) and sat outside, back in the pre-pandemic days when you didn’t do this for your health and safety.
The pandemic has caused so much devastation – first and foremost, deaths and lasting health consequences for people, but also devastation to businesses and livelihoods, some that make a place distinctive. On a happier note, we did get carryout at two Kansas City classics that appear to be hanging in there — ribs from Gates BBQ and a chicken dinner with cinnamon buns (not biscuits) at Stroud’s. We need to remember to keep patronizing these places, helping them to survive.
What a difference sunshine – and warmer temps – make! The city and river looked particularly lovely in the sun. And I was much more comfortable walking around. I even took off my light down coat instead of shivering inside it.
I walked for blocks and blocks around Bywater and Marigny, charmed (and sometimes amused) by the houses, many all tarted up. I stopped for an orange juice and resisted eating the pastries (including small portions of King Cake) at the welcoming Cake Cafe in Marigny. I also enjoyed the new-ish 
Dirck and I had a great lunch at 
Wish I had discovered the $3 day public transport pass earlier here. Then I wouldn’t have overdone it by walking miles and miles on Sunday. I bought a pass with cash on the St. Charles Streetcar and used it all day to wander around the city. When I got tired or when the walk to the next spot was too long, I hopped on a streetcar or bus. And I did my old trick of hopping aboard the streetcar when walking became an issue, riding all the way to the end of the line and back which is a great ride, past gorgeous stately homes and Tulane and Loyola Universities and Audubon Park and the gated streets across the street (Audubon Row).
I followed the Fodor’s walking tour in the Garden District, which took me past a number of beauties, some homes of famous folks, from the former confederate president Jefferson Davis to the actor John Goodman and the author Ann Rice. (Along Prytania and Coliseum Streets between Washington Avenue and First Street; First Street between Prytania and Camp Streets.) I also went past Lafayette Cemetery #1 which I meant to revisit (next trip) and Commanders Palace, where we ate during my first NOLA trip in the late 1980s. Lunch was a corned beef sandwich at the funky Stein’s Deli on Magazine Street, where I also did a little birthday shopping for my daughter at Grandma’s Buttons (jewelry made from old buttons) and Funky Monkey (vintage.) I really wanted to eat at Turkey and Wolf but it is closed on Tuesdays…
I got off the streetcar in the Warehouse District, had some hot chocolate (it’s still cold here but the sun finally came out around 3 p.m. What a difference!) while sitting in a mod comfortable chair in the coffee shop of the Contemporary Arts Center and browsed briefly in the gift shop of the Ogden Museum of Southern Art (both look well worth a visit), which had some lovely work by, yes, southern artists. But the biggest shock was when I was strolling casually past the galleries nearby on Julia Street. First I spotted new work by Eric Fischl, one of my favorite big name artists. But in the next gallery I chanced upon a solo show of work by an artist I know — Elliott Green, who I went to high school with my brother and is his close friend/former NYC roomate circa the early 1980s. Crazy. And I loved his new work!
Road trip day! I drove about an hour west to the Whitney Plantation. What a change from the plantations I’ve visited in the past. Since the late 1980s, I’ve visited three. The first one, Oak Alley, I think, was all Scarlett O’Hara, little to no mention of slavery. The second one, the Laura Plantation, seven years ago, was the rare woman-led plantation and slavery got a brief mention.
The Whitney Plantation, opened in 2014, is entirely about slavery, with moving memorials that list all “the enslaved” (our guide’s term) by name and include photos etched into memorial walls and quotes with gruesome memories recalled by elderly people who somehow managed to survive the brutality of being enslaved on a sugar cane plantation/factory. There is also an emphasis on children who were slaves, with poignant sculptures of kids who lived there. Each visitor gets a pass to wear with a specific child’s name, a photo of a sculpture of the child and a quote from the elderly person who was once that child. Clever touch and it had us all looking in the church and old worn shacks and the Big House (which had a more sinister vibe then other plantations I’ve toured) for our child. Apparently the other plantations have cleaned up their act a bit and now mention slavery more, although none to the extent that the Whitney does. I was reminded a bit of concentration camps I’ve been to in Europe.
Lunch was a bowl of hot gumbo at nearby B & C Seafoods on Vacherie, where I ate seven years ago with my London pals, Francine and Russ. Solid roadside joint with friendly servers and locals.
From there I drove about an hour north and east to tiny Abita Springs, to visit a small folk art/grassroots art place called the Abita Mystery House, an old gas station packed with entertaining clutter/“found objects” that make fun of Southern stuff (UFO reports, Mardi Gras parades, voodoo). Reminded me of the town of Lucas, the grassroots art capital of Kansas.
I finally got my bearings after finding my way out of this massive hotel and into the French Quarter. It was harder than you’d think but only the first few minutes because of the strange way the hotel entrance is situated plus construction everywhere. I ended up at first behind the hotel on the Mississippi riverfront, where an old fashioned cruise boat was parked.
Once I emerged from the walkway, I found Canal Street and walked away from the river north a few blocks and hung a right on Decatur Street. In a few minutes I was in The French Quarter, in Jackson Square, in St. Louis Cathedral, all of which were particularly clogged with tourists, many wearing Saints gear because there is a big football game here today, at another massive structure near our hotel, the Superdome.
As I left the cafe, a brass band was playing “Oh when the saints” while bystanders in Saints shirts boogied and cheered. I do love the spirit of this city. I wandered further east, crossing Esplanade Avenue and glancing not too fondly at The Frenchmen Hotel, where we stayed 7 years ago. Not the best experience. Walking up Frenchmen Street to dip briefly into the Faubourg Marigny neighborhood, I looked at the lineups listed at the music clubs, seeing famous names like Neville and Marsallas. Charmaine Neville is still singing at Snug Harbor, where we saw her in the late 1980s.
I tried to avoid Bourbon Street but had to cross it a few times to get to other streets like Royal, Chartres and Dauphine. As always, the architecture in the French quarter and Faubourg Marigny neighborhood is a charming eyeful. Brick mansions with elegant wrought iron balconies, small whimsically painted wood cottages, Creole plantation houses but I didn’t find the shops or galleries particularly interesting. What I liked best were the quiet residential streets, where the loveliness of the architecture and landscaping is not marred by tacky shops and loud bars.
Dinner, by design, at Compere Lapin, was very different from last night’s. Warehouse district (a six minute walk from our hotel) rather than Uptown/Carrollton; large and lively exposed brick space, attached to a hipster hotel vs. small and intimate in an old house on a quiet street. And the food was sort of bizarre, but it generally worked. The chef is from St.Lucia so there is Caribbean influence (coconut milk, bananas) but mixed with New Orleans, French and Italian notes. The waitress talked us into getting a goat curry with Thai flavors, cashews and gnocchi made with sweet potatoes (but fortunately not sweet tasting ) that was superb and completely original. The black eyed peas were also unusually prepared, with bacon and crispy fried Onions.
The last time I tried to fly to New Orleans, in 2012, it was a bright sunny day and my flight was delayed for hours and then cancelled. Mechanical problems. So I had a good feeling this morning when we woke up to a snowstorm in Iowa. And of course there are the uncertainties about flying, thanks to Trump’s partial government shut down. Sure enough, our flight took off with only a slight delay…for de-icing. And I made a point to thank the TSA agent in Des Moines for his service!
We had one of our best meals here seven years ago and were not disappointed …again. Char-grilled oysters with preserved lemons, duck confit, boudin balls with garlic aioli, smoke wagyu brisket with Parmesan fries, Blackened shrimp & grit cake, Krispy Kreme bread pudding. Yes, we are very full. And I got serious indigestion later. Dirck also tried sazerac, the classic powerful New Orleans cocktail, and I had a delicious Pimm’s cup (with citrus ,cucumber and ginger.)
We won’t be staying at the Frenchmen Hotel again in New Orleans – it has its charms but was too noisy, too disorganized (we’re still trying to sort out our final bill), and too uneven in terms of the quality of the rooms and especially the beds, particularly the sofabed. But I did get some ideas for our next visit if we stay in the French Quarter including: The Hotel Royal, The Soniat House Hotel and we’d gladly return to The Provincial Hotel (where we spent our last night.) I’d still prefer to stay in Uptown or the Garden District – which was our original plan until Hurricane Isaac knocked the b&b where we were booked – Chez Ellie Marie – out of commission. Next time! (Ellie Marie is right by two restaurants we really liked – Boucherie and Camelia Grill.
TakeBetsywithyou 