Or is it French 1/4?
During my few days in New Orleans, my only free time is usually dinner. On this trip, I took a colleague over to the stodgy old Galatoires ("Gal-uh-TWAs") for a nice French Creole meal. When I couldn't decide between a Martini and a glass of bourbon, the gentleman serving us suggested "Why not one of each, sir?". Done.
The rack of jackets available for under-dressed male patrons.
Notice how many were in use by the number of empty hangers.
A pneumatic press assists the formation of Connecticut shade-wrapped
Nicaraguan filler on Bourbon St.
There are better restaurants elsewhere, but the deep wear and soul (I almost said 'patina' again) on this place made me think of Locke-Ober back home: old, traditional, a little stuffy, but still pretty fun . Though they require jackets on men, they sadly allow jeans and sneakers. You'll also find smartly dressed elderly patrons drinking liquor, laughing, and being lovingly fussed over by the wait staff. Next to us, two women in their mid-eighties with perfect hair, smart suits, and conservatively worn pearls sipped gin and told each other stories in a beautifully southern patois.
The next night, a chef friend of mine gave me more food than was sensible at the kitchen table of
Revolution. Very pricey but since I was his guest, I avoided the pain of the bill. They know exactly what they're doing in the kitchen. For atmosphere though, I prefer Galatoires.
Next post will be from southern Florida, where we are hiding out while the staircase is torn up and replaced. I hope that the majority of the loud construction directly disrupts certain neighbors of mine.
Hopefully, the new devices I procured will allow us some fresh grouper off the Atlantic coast. I am guaranteed to get a sunburn, and hopefully not a spear through my own foot or a shallow-water blackout.
Because this is a men's style blog, I want you to be under the false impression that my entire time there will be like the guy below watching the regatta.
In reality, I will be the inelegant and disproportionately pale guy asking his wife to spray him with another shellacking of SPF 30, but I won't tell anybody that part, and neither should you. Deal?
More old images here.