We Have An Accordion In Our House

It's morning in New Orleans!

We have a new accordion in our house.  I know many of our regular readers can say the same thing but I felt compelled to mention that we have one now, too.  Keeping up with the Joneses, and all that jazz.

Naturally, I haven't taken a picture of our new accordion because I'm lazy and also because our new accordion is only new to us.  It's really an old accordion that came via FedEx yesterday.  From what I understand, it won't make any noise beyond a squeezed wheeze.  This is fine because neither Frau Schmitt nor I play the accordion.  We haven't even tried it out.  We've only admired it with our eyes.  We don't know enough about playing the accordion to noodle on our new (to us) accordion.  It's a conversation piece.

Look at the negative space between the E and the x in Fedex on the side of a Fedex truck.  That space forms an arrow pointing forward.  The people who designed the Fedex logo didn't realize it when they made it.  It was serendipity.

Once you see that arrow, you can't stop seeing it.  It's right there.  Things happen like that sometimes.  I should know.  I live in New Orleans.

Shane, which isn't her real name, stayed with us recently and she offered to send us her accordion for the cost of shipping.  Naturally, we agreed.  We like it when our guests help us build up La Belle Esplanade's mythology and when they help us build up the unique collection of oddities we house in our lobby.  Our lobby is a veritable odditarium.  Shane, which, again, is not her real name, sent us the fabled White Accordion.  

When I opened the box, I got a jolt of the shivers.  Then, I got a shot of the jitters.  Then, I got the shakes.  Then, I got the heebie-jeebies.  Then, I got the hot sweats.  Then, I let out a long whistle after I unwrapped all the packing: Whoooo-oooo-wheeet.  This was a lucky day in the Big Easy.

Thanks, Shane.

Shane says this is the greatest accordion song of all time:


I had to promise I would play this song when I installed the White Accordion in our inn.  This one is for Shane (not her real name).

I was corresponding with someone recently who has been to New Orleans and he asked if I knew where he had been while he was here.  "It was a high-ceilinged hall, like a beer hall, and they were playing zydeco music, of course, and they served all the New Orleans food you have to eat when you are in New Orleans like alligator and boiled crawfish.  Do you know where that was?"

Zydeco music is actually very uncommon to find in New Orleans, so the "of course" was a little misleading.  Also, Frau Schmitt and I rarely go anywhere that offers alligator on the menu.  I know where he's talking about but I'm not going to name it.  If you want to go, ask me when you're here.

People often confuse Cajun with Creole.  Cajuns play zydeco music  and they eat alligator.  Heck, Cajuns eat anything that moves.  Just look at the signs at the Baton Rouge Zoo.  They all contain recipes and they all start with, "First you make a roux."

The accordion is not a Creole instrument.  New Orleans is the birthplace of jazz.  New Orleans jazz is built around the trumpet, the tuba and the banjo.  Most people don't know that, but it's true.  You don't hear many banjo players anymore but if you play the jazz tuba, you can find steady work in New Orleans.

Is the Waltz of the Monsters done yet?  Here's an example of zydeco music:


You'll find people playing the washboard in New Orleans, but that isn't a Creole instrument.  It's used more often in Louisiana country music than it is in Louisiana city music.

I hate to tell you this, but few people speak French in New Orleans.  That's the language you'll most often hear, after English, out in the swamp.  If you are in St. Bernard Parish, you'll hear Spanish, too.  The people speaking Spanish aren't Cajun.  They are Los Isleños.

Then, to tell you about the rest of my day, I went to Parkview Tavern to rehydrate myself after going to the Creole Country Sausage Company.  I'll tell you, it's hard being a professional innkeeper.  We have enough sausage to last us a long while.  It's delicious.

I was talking to six of my cronies, comrades, compatriots, or whatever you want to call them, and we got to more talking and then we talked some more.  Mike, who's the youngest of us, said, "You know who we remind me of?"  

It turned out we all did know who we remind him of:



Stay tuned for further updates on the storied White Accordion and other irrelevant news.  If you choose to stay with us, remind me to tell you the story about the time I met Robert Vaughn.  It's a real thriller-diller.

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade, your boutique bed and breakfast inn in New Orleans.