No Name Business

A photo from our new website

When's our new website going to be ready?  I'm told next week.  So much for 30 days.  I've done my part.

I've been putting off writing a new entry for our illustrious blog because it's going to be moved to a new address.  It's going to be directly on our website, which has its advantages for SEO reasons.  [See here for my opinion of SEO.]

We're going to be switching to a Wordpress template.  I'm told I'm going to love it.  So far I'm less than thrilled because I'm itching to get started.  I don't know what's taking so long.  

So, instead of writing today's installment on Wordpress, I'm lounging around the New Orleans Odditarium sipping on A Fifth of Beethoven":



Who doesn't love Walter Murphy?  Here's a fun fact: just like Walter Murphy, your humble narrator's father worked briefly for Korvette's before moving to greener pastures.  

Today's installment is merely filler, a website update, not that anyone particularly cares about our software provider woes.  

Frau Schmitt and I have had all sorts of adventures willy-nilly all over New Orleans.  I'd love to share them with you but they'll have to wait.  I know the anticipation is killing you, just like that Heinz Ketchup commercial.  ---If you don't know what I'm talking about with that allusion, ask me about it over breakfast.  

In the meantime, I've got a meeting scheduled with the New Orleans No Name Club.  The club is interested in using our back gardens as a meeting place in the summer.  In the winter, they'd like permission to use the lobby.  We're going to negotiate terms this afternoon in the Pipkin Room at the Rib Room.  If that sentence doesn't make any sense to you, well, you've never been to the secret dining areas hidden in the Rib Room.  

Well, those links should keep you occupied for awhile.  Don't say I didn't give you much today.  I let other pages do the heavy lifting for me, instead.  After all, I'm off on important business---No Name business!

Frau Schmitt and I are waving to you in this picture

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade
...where every morning is a curated breakfast salon.

New Orleans Innkeeper Jinxed by Voodoo!!

Something is wrong with the blogging software so I'll have to proceed sans illustrations.  This is no great loss, considering my photography skills.

We've been 16 days without an update on this site, which is a record, I think.  There is nothing worse than going to a hotel's website and clicking on the blog to discover there is nothing but a lonely post from 2011.  There is nothing worse than a dead blog.  It shows that the innkeeper doesn't care and that he or she (or they as the case may be) is content to leave irrelevant stale content up that is no use to anyone.  It makes you wonder how they feel about dusting.

Not here though.  We run a clean inn and we like to provide fresh blog content on a regular basis whether or not our past and future guests find it useful.  That's how we roll on Esplanade Avenue.

Rather than wait until Day 17 of no new installments, let us soldier on together without the usual bells and whistles that illustrations bring to the table---

Why hasn't the blog been updated for 16 days?  It's because of an unfortunate turn of events that may or may not be circumstantial and accidental.  You see, your humble narrator has been in two minor motor scooter accidents twice this past week.

The first one was on North Dorgenois Street, at the Esplanade Avenue intersection.  Don't ask me what happened.  One second, I was gently applying the breaks while approaching a stop sign.  The next second, I was on the ground with my trusty motor scooter on top of me and abrasions on my left foot, right 1st finger knuckle, and blood running out of my left elbow.  Frau Schmitt took me to the urgent care clinic on N. Carrollton Avenue where I got 5 stitches in my elbow.  Said the doctor, "I can see the bone.  I'm going to put some stitches there."  He didn't say which bone.  It didn't feel like my funny bone.

The very next day, on the same scooter (remember, I just called it trusty), I was following Frau Schmitt on Ursulines Avenue three blocks upriver from Esplanade Avenue.  I went over a bump in the road that I go over every day.  The handlebars started to shake until they shook out of control and down I went.  It wasn't a straight shot, either.  The road took a bit of my skin from me as I slid under the scoot.  New abrasions: left thigh and right forearm.  Another trip to the very same urgent care clinic.  They weren't expecting to see me again so soon.  No new stitches, though.  We all yukked it up as the doctor dressed my fresh wounds.

My limbs are wrapped with bandages and I walk with a limp.  I bear it all with dignity, as one might expect.

I'm convinced my trusty motor scooter has been jinxed.  If you think like me, I guess that means we're both right.

I went to where my scooter is usually parked next to our house and I found a very interesting piece of evidence that my hunch is correct.  In the alleyway between the orange house (2216 Esplanade Avenue, La Belle Esplanade) and the blue house (2212 Esplanade Avenue, the home of our esteemed neighbor) I found a dried chicken foot that had been painted black.  I sincerely doubt a chicken just accidentally dropped its black-painted foot right where I park my scooter.  I think it was planted with malevolent intent.  I suspect voodoo---of the worst kind.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking "Who would jinx our humble narrator with a black chicken foot?"  I have to admit, I have no idea.  Believe me when I tell you, I've given this matter a lot of thought.  Like Boston Blackie, I am the enemy only of those who make me an enemy and I am a friend to those who have no friends. I'm quite a guy.



I don't have any enemies that I know of in New Orleans.  I asked Frau Schmitt if she could think of anyone who would want to lay a jinx down on my scooter.  "Everybody likes you," she said.  "I can't imagine anyone wishing something bad would happen to you."  Frau Schmitt is usually right about these things.

The proof was there in the alleyway, though, a dried out chicken claw painted black.  How long it had been there, I can't say.  It wasn't there last Monday.  I know that because I had dropped a shiny penny in that very same spot on Monday and I didn't see the chicken foot when I stooped to pick up the penny, which was heads-up, naturally.

The nearest I can figure, maybe the jinx was meant for my evil doppleganger, Whettam Gnik, but the last time I saw him he was frozen in an Antarctic ice floe.  That's a story for another day, however.  We don't have space for it here.  Maybe he escaped his icy prison somehow.  Maybe he escaped alive.



Whettam Gnik never had any friends that I know of, except for myself, his good twin.  Remember, I am the friend of those who have no friends.  Whettam Gnik always was a handsome man.  It is not inconceivable that I was mistaken for my doppleganger and someone put a jinx on me in a case of false identification.  These things happen.

I hope that's the case.

If my supposed enemy reads this blog, please be aware that the author, Matthew King, a respected New Orleans innkeeper, and a pillar of civil society, is not Whettam Gnik, that scoundrel who cheated you out of your inheritance twenty years ago by marrying your widowed mother and hiring a crooked lawyer and throwing you off a bridge.  That was him, not me.  You've jinxed the wrong man's scooter.

Anyhow, I'm on the mend now and regular updates should resume their usual schedule of two to three times a week.  Thank you to our regular readers who have been inundating us with email missives worrying about my whereabouts.  Thanks, as always, to Frau Schmitt, the better half of this operation, for acting as my nurse while keeping everything running smoothly at our boutique New Orleans inn located at 2216 Esplanade Avenue.  Good memories are made on our street.

Tune in next time when I will hopefully be able to provide some pictures to accompany the usual scintillating text.  I've got a rough draft of the next installment which is about a bar that you've only seen in dreams.  It's a historic New Orleans bar located in a place where you might least expect it.  You never know what you'll find when you turn a corner in New Orleans.  You may find yourself flat on your back with a motor scooter on top of you!  Actually, you won't.  If you're just visiting, you'll more likely be getting around on foot, or by bus, or by Uber.

Until next time,
À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade
...where every morning is a curated breakfast salon.

Running the Numbers In New Orleans

A fish below the ice in City Park

I noticed today that we've received our 333rd review on Trip Advisor.  I remember when we didn't have any.  For a smidge over two years, we've been ranked the #1 place to stay in New Orleans, and in all of Louisiana, really.  It's quite a feather in our cap and one of which we feel justly proud.  Believe me, we never thought we'd be ranked #1.

For those readers who haven't read reviews of our inn, and there are other places where you can read reviews about our inn besides on Trip Advisor, but, Trip Advisor seems to be where everyone thinking about coming to New Orleans goes to help make up their minds of where to stay, here's a breakdown by the numbers:

La Belle Esplanade

333 Total Reviews
323 Excellent                    
10   Very Good
 0    Average
 0    Poor
 0    Terrible

307 in English
 12  in French
   7  in German
   3  in Italian
   2  in Swedish
   1  in Dutch
   1  in Norwegian
   1  in Portuguese

Those are some pretty impressive numbers, if I do say so myself.  I always find it interesting to see how many reviews are written in languages other than English.  Very few, it turns out.  We don't have many but I think we have more than anyone else in New Orleans, though I haven't made a systematic study of the matter.  Let's just say we are a cosmopolitan inn.

We have no control of what our ranking is on Trip Advisor.  The number is based entirely on the ratings we receive from our guests. We know some other innkeepers who try to game the system and have friends or professional services submit reviews on their behalf.  Trip Advisor frowns on that and they seem to do a pretty good job of weeding out the falsehoods.  

Every one of our 333 reviews was written by someone who stayed at La Belle Esplanade.  I know because I recognize everyone who wrote a review.  When you run a small boutique operation the way we do, you get to know your guests.  This isn't a 400-plus-room hotel.  We only have five suites.  We spend a lot of time talking with our guests every morning.  It's a nice way to do business.

It's nice to stay here, too, apparently.  We don't have room service, but we are always around if you need help with something.  We don't have a microwave in the suites, or even in the building, but this way the house never stinks of popcorn or fish.  There isn't any valet parking, instead, you just park on the street in front of our house for free (not that you need to rent a car---you don't).  We have free wi-fi, too.  We're not here to nickel-and-dime you.  Pay the going rate and we'll throw in a lot of lagniappe.

So, not to boast or blow our own horn, but we're very happy and humbled to have the chance to do what we do.  We enjoy being innkeepers.  It ain't work when ya like whatcha do.  We're looking forward to reading and responding to the next 333 reviews.  Now, how many will that make?

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade
...where every morning is a curated breakfast salon.

Have I mentioned you can like us on Facebook?  I hear all the cool crowd is doing it nowadays.

Innkeeper Endorses Trump!!

Fool riding a goat

I thought we needed a boost in blog traffic so I wrote an interesting headline for today's installment.  I'm not really endorsing a future President Trump.  While we do have freewheeling conversations around the breakfast table every morning, and I don't necessarily discourage the topic of politics as much as curtail it, you'll never know my political leanings.  Your humble narrator is a cipher when it comes to my politics.  I have a long history of being a man of mystery and I don't want to let the cat out of the bag now. 

The image above comes from an ongoingly updated archive of medieval manuscript illuminations from Discarding Images.  Let it never be said that your humble narrator doesn't have a variety of variegated interests.

Now, what were we talking about?

The spirit of New Orleans

Our favorite painter, Whalehead King, who has executed (and I use that word justly) most of the original artwork in our inn, is working on a new masterpiece for La France Suite.  It's gonna be a real kinger-dinger!  I was in his studio tonight to get a glimpse of his sketches and the progress he's made so far on the 4'x4' canvas that's going to hang over the bedroom (non-working) decorative fireplace in La France Suite.

The fireplace used to work when our inn was built, but that was over 130 years ago.  There is a fireplace in every room in our house but none of them contain fires.  You provide the spark that burns in your heart when you fall in love with New Orleans.

We asked Whalehead King to replace the Degas print that's hanging there currently and he happily said he was able to figuratively blow the roof off this project.  Here is a photo of what the new original painting will be replacing:

Cotton brokers in New Orleans à la Degas

If you want to see a reproduction of that painting, you can stay at the Degas House, which is a wedding venue and bed and breakfast a block away from our inn.  If you want to see the original, you'll have to visit Ville de Pau, in France.  I read French better than I speak it but I don't read French all that well.  If you want to read the extensive English wikipedia entry on Pau, well, here ya go.  It seems like an interesting place, all things considered.  As interesting as New Orleans?  Regular readers of this blog already know the answer to that question.  I don't need to belabor the obvious.

If this is a bit of an itsy bitsy teeny weeny short entry today, it's because it's French Quarter Festival this weekend.  Ask any innkeeper in New Orleans and they'll be happy to tell you that this is their busiest month!  I don't know what other innkeepers do to keep themselves so busy when nobody is checking in or out because the house if full for the weekend, but it's a good excuse for me to write a short entry.  I know what Frau Schmitt and I have been doing and she says it's free time well spent.  She is usually right about these things.

So there you have it.  If you want to see original artwork, produced locally, so locally you can smell the turpentine wafting over our back garden, you know where to find us.  We're a block away from the Degas house and a mile outside the French Quarter.  Try getting a quiet night's sleep in the Quarter this weekend!

To all of our American friends who live in states that haven't had primaries yet, remember to go out and vote for your man when the time comes.  Oh, you can vote for a woman, too, this year so far if you are so inclined.  A little birdie told me that.  I'm not making any endorsements.   

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade
...where every day is a curated breakfast salon.

Crawfish New Orleans Style

You can spot the skunk ape behind the bush

Let's take a look of an idealized French Quarter for a few minutes.  Yes, we're back to our Elvis marathon...




I wish someone would call me King Creole, but I'm from Connecticut so that's never going to happen.

Do vendors wander the French Quarter streets in mule carts singing about crawfish nowadays?  No.  Nor do they sell gumbo from a hand-pulled cart or carry baskets on their heads as they tout their wares to all who can hear.  It's a myth.  It was a myth in 1958 when Elvis came to New Orleans to shoot a movie.

Played at a theater near you

According to the film's plot, after Elvis' character's mother died and his father lost his job as a pharmacist, the impoverished family moved to the French Quarter.  Let me tell you something: today, there are very few, if any, impoverished families living in the French Quarter.  The Quarter has some of the priciest real estate in New Orleans.  A lot of it is rented out on AirB&B.

I'm not going to recap the whole plot of King Creole.  It makes about as much sense as anything in New Orleans does.  The movie is one part folderol, one part balderdash, one part myth-making, another part of nostalgia, and a dollop of sentimentality.  Toss in a  dash of bitters and the whole shebang makes for a satisfying and toe-tapping cocktail.  Sounds like any day here, really.  That's why Frau Schmitt and I love where we live.  All the world's a stage...etc.  Etcetera.

Frau Schmitt is usually right about these things.

Does a remix add any value to the original?



Regular readers already know that your humble narrator has established a reputation as being an old fuddy-duddy.  I'm not so interested in the myth and the overall narrative and the cotton candy and the pecan pie on the other side of the levee.   I just enjoy wandering our city on foot, saying hello to everyone I encounter along the way, engaging in idle chitchat and learning some actual news from the street.  We live in an amazing city.  I could make up stories about what I do every day but the prosaic truth of my errands and to-and-fro are profound and entertaining enough.

We really do live in an amazing city.  We don't eat crawfish everyday.  We don't eat jambalaya or gumbo or barbecue shrimp every day.  We do eat well, though.  In New Orleans, it is almost impossible not to eat well.  We are content.  In New Orleans, it is almost impossible not to be content.  Most people are positively, genuinely happy.  It's that kind of a city.

If you want to escape your cares, come to New Orleans.  Life is different here.  Come as a visitor but stay like a friend.  You can stay at La Belle Esplanade...where every morning is a curated New Orleans breakfast salon.  We look forward to sharing our city with you.

There was a song from the King Creole soundtrack that hit #1 on he Billboard Top 10.  It wasn't Crawfish.  It was Hard Headed Woman.  I wasn't alive then so you can't blame me.  How does a Youtube fan video compare to the original film clip in which the song first appeared?  I'm not here to judge.




New Orleans is all things to all people.  It is The City That Care Forgot.  

A tip of our fedora to Megan and Lauren!
À votre santé, nos amies.

The Music Never Stops in New Orleans

Our dining room

I am not sitting in our dining room as I write this.  In fact, it is afternoon, long past breakfast time.  I have to put something as the first picture because this is going to be a video-heavy installment, my favorite kind.

It is getting close to Mardi Gras Day.  Because of this, there are marching bands practicing all over the city.  We ate lunch uptown this afternoon while running errands, and a school band marched past the restaurant windows.  We were eating at Martin Wine Cellar, nothing fancy.  

In New Orleans, you can go to the liquor store to have a sandwich.  You can also go the deli to buy a bottle of wine.  How do we tell these two kinds of establishment apart?  It takes practice.  

When I'm puttering around the inn and nobody is around, for a change of pace I like to listen to a little soft Chinese pop music:


I don't speak Mandarin, but I think they're singing about New Orleans.  That's what my heart tells me.

Mardi Gras season just started the other day.  The first parades of the year rolled on January 6.  It's a short season this year.  Mardi Gras Day falls on February 9.  We were talking to Marc at Martin Wine Cellar and he said he doesn't like a short Mardi Gras season.  Just about everyone we know agrees with him.

We still have some nights empty if you are thinking about visiting New Orleans for Mardi Gras.

Even though it's a short season, we aren't too busy, yet.  It's still early and people who aren't from New Orleans don't know that Mardi Gras is unfolding before our very eyes.  It's a magical time to visit New Orleans.  

Since we aren't too, too busy just yet, Tammie the Housekeeper isn't around as much as she usually is during other times of the year.

Tammie the Housekeeper

When Tammie isn't around, Frau Schmitt and I do most of the housekeeping.  It's nice to keep in practice.  The other day, Tammie left her iPod at the inn and I noticed it in a drawer in the lobby.  Naturally, I wanted to see what it's like to be Tammie the Housekeeper while performing housekeeping duties, so I put on the headset.

"You might learn more about Tammie than she wants you to," Frau Schmitt told me.  She is usually right about these things, but I didn't listen.  Instead, I listened to what Tammie the Housekeeper listens to on her iPod.



I should have listened to Frau Schmitt.  

I'm sitting on the back balcony of Le Pelican Suite.  I'm overlooking the neighborhood.  It being a Saturday, the high school down the street isn't in session so that marching band isn't practicing today.  They won't march around the neighborhood until we get closer to Mardi Gras Day.  Instead, some pick up brass band is marching around the streets in back of our house.  They aren't bad but they could use a little practice.  They sure are enthusiastic, though, and their enthusiasm is infection.  Even though they don't always keep the beat, I find myself tapping my foot as I type.  I don't have any sense of rhythm to speak of anyway.

We live in a very interesting city.  You never know what you'll see. Come down and find out for yourself.

Like my grandfather, I've always preferred the Conway Twitty version, myself:


À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade
...where the rest comes easy.

Where the Rest Comes Easy

The scene of the crime

I don't know who started the rumor that Shania Twain stayed at our house last weekend, but I'm here to quash it.  She didn't.  Neither Frau Schmitt nor your humble narrator has ever met Ms. Twain, nor do we expect to meet her any time in the future.  One never knows, though. 

If you were wondering what the main hallway looks like at Auld Sweet Olive Bed and Breakfast, well, your curiosity has been satisfied above.  I don't know how Nancy got the rights to sweetolive.com, but I consider that to be a bit of a coup.  That's a nice url.  The Lookout Inn has a nice web address, too: lookoutneworleans.com.  That's what Kelly and Mark said the day they opened the front door from the inside for the first time: "Look out New Orleans!"  They've been doing good work from that day onward.

When we first opened, we considered calling La Belle Esplanade the Shady Rest Hotel.


It turns out that there already is a Shady Rest Hotel, albeit not in New Orleans, or even in the U.S. for that matter.  It's located in Port Morsby.  Where?  It's a city of over 300,000 people in Papua New Guinea.  It's the 139th most livable city out of 140.  

Do you know what people in Louisiana like to say when we read our state's ranking in any quality of life survey?  They say, "Thank goodness for Mississippi."  No matter how badly Louisiana performs in rates of infant mortality, education levels, drinking water quality, income inequality, cases of incest, unemployment, literacy, FASD, what have you, take your pick, we always have the Magnolia State ranked just below us at #50.  Thank goodness for Mississippi.

That's how the people in Port Morsby feel about Dhaka, which is the capital of Bangladesh, if you didn't know.   The Guardian (a British newspaper, if you didn't know) calls Port Morsby the world's worst city.  Maybe they haven't heard of Dhaka.  ---No, they have; at the time, Port Morsby was ranked the world's worst city, Dhaka was two slots above it, with Karachi sandwiched in between.  Karachi is the capital of Pakistan, if you didn't know.

The one way in which Louisiana beats Mississippi in their mutual race to the bottom of every ranking, and in which Louisiana beats everywhere else in the world, for that matter, is that Louisiana has the highest incarceration rate.  That's right.  More people are imprisoned per capita in Louisiana than any other place in the world.  Some people will tell you that this statistic indicates that it's safer here than any other place in the world.  Makes you want to visit, doesn't it?  

An interesting map

As you can see on the map, Louisiana is the only state to earn a solid dark navy blue color scheme.  Take that, Mississippi.  God bless Louisiana.  


Let's lighten up this conversation a little:




I've been meaning to go to Meyer the Hatter for the past couple of weeks, not because I need a new hat but only because I want one.  Wanting a new hat isn't a very good reason to buy one when a man already owns about twenty hats.  I do wear them all, however.  It's not like I collect them to get dusty on a shelf; I put them to good use covering my head.  A lot of people think I'm bald because they never see me without a hat.  I can neither confirm nor deny this rumor.

Thanksgiving Day is the opening day of horse racing season in New Orleans and everyone goes to the track (which is a ten-minute walk from our house) dressed to the nines.  Many of the men wore top hats this year, as they do every year.  In New Orleans, you can wear a top hat any time of year and no one will bat an eye.  

You can wear a blue homburg and nobody will bat an eye either.  In fact, you might just get a compliment or five over the course of running errands around the city.

You can't be afraid of color

I'll never forget when Eisenhower and Nixon both wore homburgs while toasting each other with tea during the 1953 inauguration, but I digress, as I sometimes do.

This has nothing to do with New Orleans

I haven't purchased a top hat yet because I don't really have occasion to wear one, not that anyone really needs to have a reason to top off an outfit with a topper.  

I've decided that the next time I go to a Christmas party at Auld Sweet Olive Bed and Breakfast, I'm going to wear a top hat.  I've got a year to think about it.  Regular readers will be kept updated on my decision-making process and dithering over the course of the next year.  If that isn't a good enough reason to stay tuned to this blog, I can't think of a better one.  I hope Nancy invites us next year.  If not, I'll just wear my new top hat at a jaunty angle around the city.

I'm biased, of course, but I think you'll enjoy visiting New Orleans. I don't know anything about you, dear reader, but I'm confident making that prediction because everyone loves New Orleans.  We live in a magical city.  From what I hear, it's much nicer here than in Port Morsby in Papua New Guinea.  It's more pleasant than Dhaka, too.  It's no Anatevka.


  
What have we got here?  A little bit of this, a little bit of that.  A pot, a pan, a broom, and more than one hat.

We look forward to meeting you.

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade (labelleesplanade.com)

Top Choice in the New Orleans Lonely Planet Guide

Une belle fille de l'Avenue d'Esplanade

I have some interesting good news to share.  Before I do that though, I'll tell you about how my writing today's entry came about.

First, I cracked my knuckles and I limbered up with a few rounds of calisthenics.  Then I sauntered over to the hi-fi and picked some appropriate music to accompany today's literary endeavors.  Here's what's spinning today: Leroy Anderson.




Pretty appropriate, eh?  Leroy Anderson was born in Massachusetts but after serving in WWII, he got wise and settled down with his wife in Woodbury, CT.  Besides being a very successful composer, he served on the boards of the Hartford and the New Haven Symphonies.  I've always thought his crowning achievement (outside his many, many compositions) was his stint as the manager of the Waterbury Symphony Orchestra.  Waterbury is one of my favorite cities in the whole world.

In case you don't know, and it has long ceased to surprise me that some people don't know this, the CT above stands for the great state of Connecticut.  Hartford is the state capital.  New Haven is the home of Yale University.  Waterbury is known as the Brass City.  I could go on and about Connecticut, my home state, but most people aren't as interested as I think they should be and I assume you aren't, either.

So, with the Typewriter Song playing in the background, I saw on the right hand side of the YouTube screen from which I cribbed the above clip a related clip that I thought will be of interest to the kind of folks who enjoy wasting their time reading our blog.  I'd like to thank you for stopping by today.

A lot of our guests, Europeans mostly, ask if many New Orleanians speak French anymore.  I'm sorry to disappoint them, but the answer is: No.  Nobody speaks French anymore.  Graves are inscribed in French, but nobody is sitting around the breakfast table saying, "Pouvez-vous passer le miel, s'il vous plaît?"  [Can you please pass the honey?]

This disappoints some people, especially people from France.  They've heard that New Orleans is the most francophone and francophile city in the United States.  That is true, of course, but, still, nobody speaks French.  

After digressing and noodling about, I ate half a shrimp po' boy left over from lunch and I decided it was finally time to share with you some news that I find very exciting.  Frau Schmitt finds it exciting too, and she is usually right about these things.  

I was on the Lonely Planet website last night and guess what inn is a TOP CHOICE in the next edition of the Lonely Planet Guide?  If I'm writing about it, you probably don't have to guess.  Here's the link to proof.

Some people will think we paid to get that little blue ribbon in the upper left corner of the screen.  Nope.  We had no idea.  We didn't ask for it.  A few months ago, I reported that a writer from Lonely Planet had contacted me and I gave her a tour of the inn.  We chatted for a long time.  She saw every room.  She saw the kitchen, which is usually off limits, and we had a long discussion about breakfast.  She told me that how we serve breakfast is becoming, more and more, the more desirable way to go about it for people seeking an authentic destination experience.

"An authentic destination experience."  See?  I can sling the industry lingo just like the pros do, when I want to.  

La Belle Esplanade, a boutique New Orleans B&B inn

Only four bed and breakfasts made the Top Choice in the guidebook's latest addition.  We are the top choice for Tremé and Mid-City, our part of New Orleans.  We find this very flattering because there is some stiff competition, especially Ashton's Bed and Breakfast, just one block away from our house.  When we are fully booked, I always tell people to check at Ashton's.  If we're full, they usually are, too, but it never hurts to look.

Also making the Top Choice list is our friend, Nancy, at Auld Sweet Olive Bed and Breakfast.  A tip of the fedora in Nancy's direction, which I always do anyway.

This is the second guide book in which we appear.  The other one, ironically enough considering what I just wrote above, is published in French.  We love French guests.  Frau Schmitt is taking French lessons and she can speak conversationally, which is the best way, with our French-speaking guests.  

Needless to say, but I will anyway, Frau Schmitt also speaks German like a native German-speaker with our German-speaking guests.  Her English is impeccable, too; she did earn her Master's Degree in the U.S., after all ....AND, she know a smattering of Spanish!

Me?  I play charades and draw pictures to get my point across.  Sometimes it works.

The giraffe's head in our lobby

Our schtick, if I may borrow a word with which Jerry Lewis would be well familiar, is that we tend to steer people away from places that are listed in the guidebooks.  Not all the time, mind you, but often enough that we're getting a reputation for that.  Now that we are showing up in guidebooks, what will people think?

If I worried about what people think, this blog would be very different, wouldn't it?  I would have spent today telling you about the seafood festival that's going on in City Park this weekend, or about Southern Decadence, a big gay pride festival that happens in the French Quarter every Labor Day weekend.  Instead, in the middle of August, which happens to be the month in which Leroy Anderson wrote this composition, I offer you this:


Christmas and New Year's Ever are coming!  Make your reservations early!  Remember we are a Top Choice place to stay in New Orleans.  You can do a lot worse.  Believe me.  I know.  I've been to your other options.  You can do a lot worse.

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade.

Ode to Golden Flake Potato Chips

It's unexpected

By the time we're done with this installment, you're probably going to wish it was about dancing cats after all.  Well, if wishes were fishes we'd all be eating bouillabaisse.  

The local brand of potato chips is Zapp's and I've featured the various Zapp's flavors and packaging on this blog before.  When you go to the supermarket, though, there are some other local brands, i.e. local to the South, that you may not have heard of if you are from up North.  One brand, in particular, is the official potato chip of Talladega Superspeedway: Golden Flake.

Go 2 DEGA

Golden Flake is the official potato chip of a lot of things, most of which I have no idea what they are since I don't follow sports, including college football.  You can tell I'm not from Alabama, or from Louisiana for that matter.

Golden Flake is the inexpensive brand of potato chips found in the South.  I don't buy them often, but when I do I like the mesquite barbecue.  You just learned something personal about me.

Dip Style

You might think I like this flavor because of the taste.  They're all right on that front.  You might think I like this flavor for the way the crinkle cut construction holds up to aggressive dipping.  No, I don't ever have any dip in the house.  You might think I like this flavor because it's on sale.  You're getting closer, but that isn't the real reason.

I like Mesquite Barbecue Golden Flake Chips because of the doggerel on the back of the package.

Take your poetry wherever you can find it

You'll have to squint to be able to read the poetry in that picture, so let me transcribe it for you here:

A taste like barbecue.....it is true.

But with a touch of smoke.....just for you.

Mesquite barbeque spice in dip style chips because they are stronger.

This makes the flavor last even longer.


Amen, brother.  I get all misty-eyed whenever I read that out loud.  Try it yourself.  I can wait till you're done.

Some people (I'm looking at you Stacy) think that I make up some of the things I write about here.  I really don't have to.  I may emphasize some things for dramatic effect but when you have your eyes open for magic, you'll find it everywhere you look in New Orleans---even on the back of a bag of inexpensive snack food.

Now, since this is a blog about a boutique New Orleans bed and breakfast inn on Esplanade Avenue, let's get down to business.  Here is a picture of the sitting room in Le Pelican Suite:

Note the blue ceiling

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade bed and breakfast.

Marxist Innkeepers in New Orleans

A Marxist Innkeeper in New Orleans, LA

The jacket gives it away.  That and the cigar.  Everything I learned about being an innkeeper I learned from Marx Brothers' movies:



If you are curious about how I learned to ride a camel, I learned that from Bing Crosby and Bob Hope:


If you're wondering how I learned the secret of a happy marriage, I learned it from Frau Schmitt.  I remember it well.  I also picked up some tips from Maurice Chevalier, for what they were worth:


If you want to know why everyone who tangles with my derring-do ends up at the same angle that herring do, well, I refuse to be outfoxed:




If you are wondering what any of this has to do with a New Orleans, you are not alone, no doubt, dear reader.  

But wait, what about that plaid jacket your humble narrator was wearing in the first photo?  Two words: Spike Jones:



If you have sat through no other video clip thus far, sit through this one.  I was at the Sazarac Bar in the Roosevelt Hotel this afternoon and while what transpired wasn't an exact reenactment of this scene, it was close enough---especially after 1:39.  Enjoy.

You never know what you'll see in New Orleans.  

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade bed and breakfast.

A New Orleans Quickie

St. Joan of Arc in the French Market, New Orleans

I know it's hard to tell most days, but it does take me a significant chunk of time to put together these fascinating articles for your enjoyment.  Today, pressed for time, I am going to be uncharacteristically brief.  You see, we are going to the Professional Innkeepers Association of New Orleans (PIANO) social mixer at Auld Sweet Olive B&B, one of our favorite B&Bs in the city.  Check out their website.  

People ask, with +/- 140 B&Bs in New Orleans, if there is a lot of competition between innkeepers in the city.  I have to admit that the answer is, not really.  If there is any competition, it's only of the most friendliest kind.  [I know I just used a double positive.]

I think part of this is because among the kind of people who choose to stay in a B&B over a hotel, it's because they find that a boutique catered experience is the more better option. [See what I just did there?]

The number of B&B rooms available at any given time is dwarfed by the number of hotel rooms available.  Really, for some people, the hotel is the better option.  I'm not trying to be a snob when I say this, but some people prefer familiarity over adventure.  

I'n not trying to say that it's an adrenaline-tingling adventure to stay in a small boutique New Orleans B&B the way it is to rappel down a cliff.  I'm saying that when you stay at a B&B, it's not off the rack.  Being an innkeeper is the ultimate small scale business.  After all, innkeepers open their homes and their lives to their guests.  Sometimes, when I lead guests through our lobby, I like to say, "Welcome to our world."  Nobody working in a hotel ever said that, at least not in a good way.  

In a hotel, it's more like, "The manager is out to lunch right now and there's no one with the authority to solve your problem.  I know what to do, but I'm not allowed without prior approval.  I've only been here for two months and I'm still on probation and I don't want to lose this job.  Welcome to my world."  

That paragraph needs a smiling emoji at the end but I don't have any at hand.  You know what I mean. 

Bedroom in our Clio Suite

We take great care to decorate every room in each of our five, two-room suites with care and attention to detail, to make it seem homey, if your home is a dream come true.  The bedroom in the Clio Suite doesn't even look like the picture above.  The bed has a canopy now, and flowers, and fairy lights.  All of La Belle Esplanade is a constant work in progress as we try to make it better and more interesting for our guests.  

So far, we seem to be doing a good job.  For the last 15 months, we've been ranked the #1 B&B in New Orleans on Trip Advisor by our guests.  15 months.  That's longer than we ever imagined when we opened the doors in September 2012.  It's gratifying to learn we are doing something right.

Sitting room in our Clio Suite

People ask if I always wear a hat.  No, not always, not when I'm singing in the shower.  Whenever you see me, I'll bet you a dollar that I'll be wearing a hat, though.  I like hats.

Fall innkeeper uniform

I'll be wearing a hat tonight when Frau Schmitt and I hobnob with our fellow innkeepers.  They're a boisterous lot, full of joie de vivre and plump with facts about this city we call home.  You can stay in a hotel anywhere, and much of the time you don't have any choice. In New Orleans, you can stay in a licensed bed and breakfast.  Think it over.  Make your reservations early.  We tend to fill up long before the big chain hotels on Canal Street do.

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade bed and breakfast.

Life of a New Orleans Innkeeper

Our front porch

Nobody wears full length pants or long sleeves this time of year in New Orleans and it's only May.

The busy season is winding down for us.  People like to ask when our busy season is.  It's from the end of January until the 4th of July.  Then, things pick up again in the middle of September and we're busy until the end of November.  Then, we're busy around New Year's Eve.  Now you know.

A similar picture

We are continually blessed with good guests.  We hear a lot of horror stories from fellow innkeepers but, for some reason, we don't have any hair-raising tales to tell.  Ever day is a pleasant pattern of relaxed conversation in the morning and then people go out to have adventures in this magical city we call home.

Some people ask if we ever hold a wine tasting in the afternoon.  No.  We're in New Orleans.  I don't have to invent things for you to do.  You shouldn't be hanging around the house, anyway.  You're on vacation---I don't normally use this name for our city, but I'll say it--- Go enjoy the Big Easy.

A real Maltese firecracker stayed with us this weekend.  Remember, Tracey, that hot ticket who thought Tammie the Housekeeper doesn't exist?  Well, this Maltese firecracker was a hot ticket, too.  She was sharp as a pin, paying attention to everything.  It's guests like that who keep us on our toes, let me tell you.

I don't mean this in a bad way.  We like it when people notice what we do.  I don't think many of our guests give our suites the white glove test, though we wouldn't mind if they did, but if they do, we never hear about their findings.  

The Maltese firecracker said, "You two have thought of everything."  I wouldn't say everything.  The inn is still a work in progress and we are always adding lagniappe and fiddling with the details.  We've thought of a lot and we've been doing this almost three years, now.  We like to think we've gotten better along the way from opening day to here.  YMMV.

It's a big work in progress even if most of the pieces are already in place by now.

I'm beginning to detect a theme

We end today with a musical interlude.  Travis Trumpet Black Hill died last week while he was touring in Japan.  He used to play every Monday at the Ooh Poo Pah Doo Bar, a few blocks behind our house.  He was a very talented musician who will be missed in New Orleans and in our neighborhood especially.  He had a promising career ahead of him that was unexpectedly cut short under circumstances I'm not going to go into here.  



As you can hear, Trumpet Black could really play.  That clip was taken in Armstrong Park last year.  So far, 125 people (including your humble narrator) have viewed this clip on You Tube.  125?!?  Listen to that, man.

I saw his funeral procession this afternoon under the Claiborne Avenue overpass.  I didn't go to gawk because I don't like to do that.  I don't mind telling our guests about second line parades that are going on in our neighborhood, but when people ask if I know where there's going to be a jazz funeral, I usually say that I don't.  

One: I don't really follow those things.  Two:  Howzabout a little respect for the dead, eh?  If you stumble across it, that's one thing, but I don't want to feel like I just sold tickets to somebody else's funeral.

Living in New Orleans is already like living in an aquarium.  Nobody minds much that visitors watch everything we do and ask us a million questions about what it's like to be here.  I just showed an apartment to a fellow and, when I was done, I asked him when he'd be ready to move in.  "Oh, I live in Pensacola.  I was just wondering how much apartments go for here and what they look like on the inside."

He's staying in an illegal short term rental he found on Air B&B.  "There's no privacy but it was cheap and I'm meeting a lot of interesting people."  I'll bet.  He wanted me to show him the inside of our inn, "just in case for next time." Unfortunately, I had other things to do at that very same moment.

Live here long enough and you'll get used to things like this. 

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade bed and breakfast.

A Dog's Breakfast in New Orleans

A dog in New Orleans

Meggen and I are irregular correspondents.  She sometimes writes to me.  Who knows why?  She always says that your humble narrator makes her laugh.  I don't mean to.  Maybe I bring a smile to your face, too, gentle reader.  That isn't my intent.  This blog's mission is only to inform, not to entertain.  What it informs you about is a matter of conjecture on my part since I just make it up as I go along.

Let's start this ride, shall we?

I know why Meggen wrote to me the other day.  It was to tell me that La Belle Esplanade was featured on the front page of the website she runs, Find Everything Historic.  You can waste a lot of time there if you click the link I've provided.  

If you search for travel destinations on Find Everything Historic, you'll only find one listed in the great State of Louisiana.  Guess which one.  I like Meggen.  Frau Schmitt likes her, too, and Frau Schmitt is a shrewd judge of character.  

Find Everything Historic

Meggen also told me that she wants to feature our blog on her website.  I said that would be fine.  I said, "The blog is a real dog's breakfast, for what it is worth.  People seem to enjoy it.  If you feature our blog, make sure you call it a real dog's breakfast.  There's no point in wasting a good phrase."

Truer words were never typed in an email.

When I typed it, I didn't really know what a dog's breakfast is, except for something that a dog would eat, which can mean just about anything.  I looked it up on Urban Dictionary, which I don't normally visit since most of the things defined on it are things I would rather not think about.  According to Urban Dictionary, the phrase "dog's dinner" has the advantage of being more attractively alliterative (which, itself, is a phrase that is attractively alliterative), but I prefer dog's breakfast, which, truth be told, I've always associated with a dog eating its own vomit.

This went in an interesting direction.  Remember, I did just say I make these posts up as I go along.

Street vendor at a second line parade

I've said it before and I'll say it again, you never know what you'll find when you walk around New Orleans.  The city is a feast for the senses.  

I was talking to our guests from Washington State this morning.  They arrived yesterday.  They went to the French Quarter for their first day in the city, as most people do.  "It didn't smell very nice down there," they told me.  They're from Tacoma, WA.  I used to live in Tacoma so I'm familiar with "the Aroma of Tacoma."  The French Quarter doesn't smell anything like that.  The French Quarter smells like, well, there's no way to put it delicately, it smells like vomit and piss and overripe garbage.  

That doesn't sound very good, does it?  It is what it is.  The French Quarter is beautiful and it really is something to enjoy, all olfactory considerations aside.  It's like being transported back in time.  Believe me, the French Quarter smells the best it has in 300 years.  Imagine it with horses.  When you are in New Orleans, you aren't in Minneapolis anymore.  It's a different kind of city.  We live in the sub-tropics.

That explains everything.

A new B&B in New Orleans

The old Police Jail and Patrol Station on the corner of Dumaine and North Dorgenois Streets is being converted into a bed and breakfast.  It's an interesting neighborhood in which to undertake that project.  It's close by to us and we wish them the best of luck.  It's a beautiful building that deserves to be restored.  I should tell Meggen about it.  She loves everything historic.  Just in case you don't believe it's an old police jail and patrol station, I took a photo of the sign carved in stone over the front door.

New Orleans Police Jail and Patrol Station

You never know what you'll find in New Orleans when you turn a corner.

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade bed and breakfast.