Carefree Times in New Orleans

Mother-in-Law Lounge, view from under the Claiborne Overpass

I've been thinking about getting a bat house to put in our garden.  There's one in the Couturie Forest in City Park that I've been admiring, a double, and I've been thinking it would be nice to have bats swarm out of our backyard every night.  They're harmless.  They'll eat the mosquitoes.  It will be something to see, especially for our goth guests, of which we've had none.

I don't know why we don't have a lot of gloomy types choose to stay with us.  Maybe it's all the color and whimsy we fill the house with.  We have had a few Ann Rice fans, but not too many.  We aren't located in the Garden District, and that's where I think most die-hard Ann Rice fans stay.  Lafayette Cemetery is there, across the street from Commander's Palace on Washington Street.  That's where the "cemetery scene" from the movie was shot.  I have no idea what happened in the scene because I haven't seen the movie.

I was going to post a clip from Interview with a Vampire, but I don't want to watch it.  I decided to post a clip of something else instead:

It might surprise you to learn that I'm not a big fan of the movie Gigi, either.  I thought it was boring.  Frau Schmitt and I saw it at the Prytania Theater, uptown.  I do, however, enjoy watching Maurice Chevalier.  He was very good at playing himself.  Much like your humble narrator.  He had something else in common with your humble narrator.  He knew how to wear a hat.

One of New Orleans nicknames is, "The City That Care Forgot."

Frau Schmitt and I went to the Ooh Poo Pah Doo Bar last week to watch Kid Merv play.  We're big Kid Merv fans.  It was our first time at the Ooh Poo Pah Doo Bar, even though it's only about eight blocks from our house.  Is is safe to walk to the Ooh Poo Pah Doo Bar?  Not if you read this discussion on Trip Advisor.  We walked.  I just told a young couple from Scotland to walk there from our house.  Everything in New Orleans looks crummy and run down if you aren't from here (except the Garden District, of course) and if you aren't from here, you're excused for feeling nervous.  If you feel nervous, take a cab.  If you're from Glasgow, you'll probably feel comfortable.  No worries either way.

If you want to know if I think Esplanade Avenue is safe, it's the subject of the second-most popular post on this blog.  You can usually find it in the column of popular posts to your right.  Our most popular post?  By far, it is "How Much Do Cigarettes Cost in New Orleans?"  You can usually find it in that right hand column, too.  You can find a lot of useful information in our blog archives if you have enough time to kill.  It's full of surprises.  

Sitting in the Ooh Poo Pah Doo Bar, I had a conversation with a fellow patron while we listened to Kid Merv.  It went a little bit like this:


Other than my plans for the bat house, there isn't much to report, if you can count that as something worth reporting.  I've been meaning to replace the pump in the fountain in our back yard, but I haven't gotten around to it yet.  I've had the replacement pump for two weeks.  It gives me something to talk about, as if I don't have enough to talk about.  By the time you get here, maybe I'll have the fountain working again.  Plugging in the pump while my feet are calf-deep in water is one of my least favorite chores.  Luckily, I only have to do it once a year or so.

The goldfish in the fountain survived the winter.  There are six of them.  They've all grown about 2 inches over the winter.  It was a fat December followed by a carefree February.  They are now about three inches long.

I'm like a proud papa, happy to show them off.

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade bed and breakfast.

Music in New Orleans

Fats Domino's house

I didn't go down to the Lower 9th Ward to take the above picture.  I swiped it from Wikipedia, which has an extensive article about Fats Domino's career.  The Wikipedia article describes the house as a mansion, and it may be thought of as such in the Lower 9, but it isn't the kind of gingerbread mansion you'll find in the Garden District or on St. Charles Avenue, uptown.  It is a stately house, however.  It's a landmark.

Most people don't realize Fats Domino is from New Orleans, or that he decided not to tour, nationally or internationally, later in life.    He is still alive.  He still doesn't tour.  He never wanted to leave New Orleans.  There wasn't anything good to eat anywhere else.  We here that a lot from people who came back post-Katrina.

Neither Frau Schmitt nor your humble narrator are music people.  We go out to hear live music, and there is plenty to hear, and we enjoy it, but we don't follow the bands or go to specific shows, except that we are big fans of Gal Holiday, who plays at Chickie Wah-Wah most Sundays, and we re big fans of Kid Merv, who plays on Wednesdays at the Ooh-Poo-Pah-Doo Bar as of this writing.

We're more like Richie Cunningham:


When Frau Schmitt and I lived in the Lower Garden District, I used to go to Lucky's Bar on St. Charles Avenue and the scene was often like what's depicted in that video.  There is nothing wrong with that, but it's nothing like Fats Domino.

Here's Fats:

Now, I should ramble on a bit about this and that and whatnot so that Mr. Domino can finish singing while you read along.  Fats Domino was born Antoine Domino which is a real Creole name.  The Antoine part if pure French.  The Domino part, I don't know where it comes from, but you meet a lot of people in New Orleans who have Domino as their last name.  It isn't their stage name.  It's their birth name.  Their last name is Domino on their baptismal certificates.

I've been reading the history of Domino Sugar, now known as Domino Foods, and the whole thing is very complicated to disentangle, but I think the company got its name after it bought a sugar refinery in New Orleans owned by one Walter Domino.  This is only my armchair historian's opinion and anyone writing their PhD dissertation on the subject should not quote our blog as a source.  It is pure speculation based on the evidence I've been able to uncover over the course of a few cursory afternoons.

Who says we don't take our job of relating New Orleans history seriously?  They have no idea how much effort we put into our profession.  Actually, most people who stay with us do.  Frau Schmitt and I are constantly correcting each other over the breakfast table, presenting what we know so that guests have the most accurate picture of what New Orleans is, how it got to be this way, and where it seems to be going.  We have two different points of view that tend to converge in the happiest middle sweet spot.  It's right in the middle of Esplanade Avenue.

We aren't the Bickersons or the Lockhorns.  We are much more pleasant to be around than that.  Ours is not an inn that runs on affectionate dysfunction or ennui or inertia.  It functions through the love we share for what we do in this marvelous city we call home.  Home is where the heart is.  We are ambassadors for our neighborhood and, larger yet, for New Orleans, which some people call America's most unique city.  We certainly feel that way and that's what we try to share.

We live in a city dense with details that overlap and intersect, all in a wonderful web that is both confounding and charming at the same time.

Let's have one last video clip.  This one is Louis Armstrong singing Blueberry Hill:



I could, of course, write and write and write some more about Louis Armstrong, but he is one New Orleanian who's story must wait for another day.  I'm not going to tackle it in this format, just as I defer from discussing Fats Domino in depth.

You can hear the same song sung many different ways when you hop from club to club in New Orleans, or even when you just walk down the street.  All of them are right.  We live in a city where music and magic are in the very air.

Listen for yourself with an open ear and an open heart.  New Orleans will treat you right.  I found my thrill on Esplanade Avenue.  You will, too.

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade bed and breakfast.

Fun New Orleans Facts

Mural on the side of the Mother-in-Law Lounge

Hey!  Is that Kermit Ruffins?!?  It should be.  That picture is part of the mural on the uptown side of the Mother-in-Law Lounge on North Claiborne Avenue.  This is our 301st post on this blog and the 3rd in a row in which we won't be discussing the Mother-in-Law Lounge.  If this is your first visit to our blog, welcome aboard. It's nice to have you here.

To get you up to speed, your humble narrator is an innkeeper in New Orleans who tends to ramble over two or three topics per entry, sometimes tying them together, sometimes just jumping from subject to subject according to his whim.  We're in the middle of a bait-and-switch serial in which I use pictures of the Mother-in-Law Lounge to illustrate things that have nothing to do with it directly.  We are also on our second installment of including video clips of Maurice Chevalier in the movie "Gigi."



Thank Heaven for little girls.  I've often had the same sentiment myself as I wistfully sit at a café table watching the world go by.  It's like that refrain from Ernie K-Doe: "And ohhhh water!/  I can live without lemonade!/  But to live without girls,/ I can't live without girls/ It's like a man with a hole in his head!"  Frau Schmitt sometimes notices a faraway look in my eye and she'll ask me what I'm thinking about.  My answer is always the same: "You."

If you want to hear Ernie K-Doe sing those lines in his own inimitable style, refer to the end of our 300th post where there's a video.  If you don't feel like counting to 300 from the beginning, here is a shortcut: it's the entry before this one.

The Mother-in-Law Lounge used to be Ernie K-Doe's Mother-in-Law Lounge.  Now it's Kermit's Tremé Mother-in-Law Lounge.  You don't believe me?

It's true

Here are some fun bullet points I got off a placemat.  They would make for a good PowerPoint presentation, in case anyone ever asks me to give one:

* 69% of U.S. shrimp are harvested from the Gulf of Mexico.

* 70% of oysters harvested in the U.S. come from the Gulf Coast.  In blind taste tests, 85% of Americans prefer Gulf oysters over all other varieties.  ---That's more than the percentage of people who prefer Pepsi over Coke in a blind challenge.


* 90% of U.S. crawfish (pronounced crayfish where I'm from) comes from Louisiana.  [I've heard it said that 90% of the crawfish harvested in Louisiana stays in Louisiana.  I'm too lazy to look it up, but I believe it.  People eat a lot of crawfish in Louisiana.  A lot.]

* Louisiana is the top alligator meat producer in the world.  It's a $12 million industry in the state.

* Louisiana is the top shipper of live #1 male crabs to the Atlantic Coast.  

* There are 70 turtle farms in Louisiana.

I could go on and on and on, but that's enough of that.

I'm sitting at a café table on North Carrolton Avenue as I write this, watching the world go by.  I can't hear anything because the jukebox is playing loud brass band music (go figure, we're in New Orleans) so I had to rely on my eyes to figure out which brand won the Coke vs. Pepsi Challenge.  I also can't hear the words of the Gigi clip I posted above, but I already know them.  Thank Heaven for little girls.

I don't have a camera, otherwise I would post a picture of what I see.  I see Pandora's Snow Ball Stand.  It's open and there's a line about twenty deep.  It's snow ball season in New Orleans, and I'm not talking about the kind of snow that falls from the sky.  It't the beginning of April and the daytime highs have been running between the high 70s to low 80s on the Fahrenheit scale.

If you stick to the French Quarter, you won't find any snow balls.  There isn't enough money to be made slinging snow balls to be able to afford French Quarter rent.  You have to go out into the neighborhoods to find and enjoy this particular New Orleans treat.  What is it?  Ask me when you get here and I'll tell you.

Here is another picture instead.

I love New Orleans

This is what I see when I'm sitting at my desk in our lobby and I turn my head to my right.  The lobby is a veritable odditarium full of interesting things.  You'll never be bored in New Orleans.

Neither Frau Schmitt nor your humble narrator are New Orleans natives.  When I lose my temper, which is exceedingly rare, and I am talking about crawfish, which is less rare now than it was before we chose to live here, I sometimes lapse into my natural accent.  I slip and call dem crawfish, those crayfish.  

I'm a New Orleanian of a certain distinct type, but I'm not a native.  I don't think I'll ever be considered a Louisianian no matter how long I live in New Orleans.  Those are two different things that can overlap but are not necessarily the same.  Nothing lost, nothing gained.  I am a Nutmegger by birth and by the grace of God.  I always will be.  If you don't know what that means, I'll tell you over breakfast.

Here is a hint:  The official song of my home state is similar to what follows.  It's not the George M. Cohan Broadway version but the more traditional one, the one that a brave tattered army of patriots sang during the Revolution of 1776.

I could go on and on and on, but that's enough for one day.  The moon has been nacreous these past few morning when I've been out getting pastries just before sunup.  If that's not a sentence that will boost my SEO traffic, I don't know what I'm doing.  

I don't know what I'm doing.

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade bed and breakfast.

The Best Oysters in the French Quarter

Mural outside the Mother-in-Law Lounge, New Orleans

You might think I'm going to finally tell you about the Mother-in-Law Lounge on North Claiborne Avenue.  If you do think that, I hate to tell you that you are wrong again.  I'm going to tell you about a quintessential New Orleans experience, and, at the same time, I'll tell you where I think you'll find the best oysters in the French Quarter.  That's a tall order to fill.

Frau Schmitt had French class yesterday, leaving your humble narrator to his own devices.  This isn't necessarily a good thing.  We are in the middle of our busy season, and we are feeling a little fagged and shagged and worn out, a little frayed around the edges, a little weak and, speaking for myself, at least, a little susceptible to bad influences.  I'm in the kind of mood that can lead to a little minor mischief if I'm not on my guard.  I briefly let my guard down, yesterday, in a self-indulgent moment.

Let's have a little musical accompaniment to go along with today's post, shall we?  From 1966, Mr. Johnny Sea:

Some things never change.  Johnny Sea is still alive.  He was born in Gulfport, Mississippi, about an hour and a half east on Interstate 10 from where we live.  He has a website and he's now going under his birth name of John Seay, Jr..  I'm sure someone convinced him to change the spelling of his name for stage reasons, so that people would know how to pronounce it.  Ernie K-Doe did the same thing.  He was born Ernie Kador, Jr.  

Mural of Ernie K-Dow and Allen Toussaint depicted on the side of the Mother-in-Law Lounge

Back on topic, I enjoy dining on raw oysters.  Frau Schmitt does not.  Since she had class yesterday, I decided to treat myself to a lunch of oysters in the French Quarter.  This is the decision that led to my downfall.

I was thinking of going to Acme Oyster House, which usually has a line outside that goes down the block.  Yesterday afternoon was no different, even though it was a Thursday at 1:00 and there aren't any convention-goers in town that I'm aware of except for the pop culture symposium held for college librarians at the Marriott on Canal Street.  The only reason I know about this is because one of the presenters at that convention is staying with us.  

I'm not one to wait in line, so the line outside Acme scratched that option off my list.  Will I ever go to Acme?  Maybe in August when we don't have many visitors to New Orleans.  There shouldn't be a line then.  #2 on the list was Felix's across the street from Acme.  There wasn't a line outside, but there was a press of bodies inside that were pressing against the front door.  It wasn't pretty.  I didn't go to Felix's either.  Now, I'm going to tell you a secret.

Dickie Brennan's Bourbon House is on the corner of Bourbon Street and Iberville Street in the French Quarter, within spitting distance of Acme and Felix's.  I always like the Bourbon House, which feels palatial inside.  It is the first place Frau Schmitt and I ate at on our first afternoon in New Orleans, so many years ago.  I remember it well.  Just ask Frau Schmitt.


I decided to try the oyster bar at the Bourbon House, and, sure enough, there was plenty of room.

As I read a book and watched the shuckers go about their work, I ordered a dozen raw oysters ($15.00 this time of year).  I got a shucker's dozen: thirteen succulent raw oysters with all the trimmings.  They were delicious.

The bartender asked me if I was finished, and I was, of course, but I was enjoying reading my book and I was enjoying the atmosphere of the oyster bar, so I said I'd like to take my time.  Check back with me in ten minutes or so.  It was then that a worm of desire wriggled into my brain.  Dickie Brennan, according to local lore, and the blurb on the menu, likes to eat his raw oysters with caviar spooned on top.  That thought occupied my mind so much that I couldn't concentrate on the book I was reading.  I treated myself.  When the bartender returned, I ordered a half dozen oysters with caviar (also $15.00).

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, "Mr. Fancy-Pants Innkeeper fritters away his afternoons eating oysters and caviar.  This B&B business must pay pretty good!"  Let me disillusion you, gentle reader.  This does not happen every day.  It was a fluke.  I do often fritter away my afternoons, but it's usually by running errands for the inn or standing in line to pay my taxes at City Hall.  It's very rare for me to spend $30.00 for lunch, or even to have lunch in the French Quarter, but I do what I have to do so that I can talk about it with our guests and to be able to make recommendations.

Here's a recommendation:  Try the oysters with caviar at the Bourbon House.  They are delicious, in a different class from the regular oysters.  They are excellent.

It's not just the oysters and the caviar that make this platter particularly tasty.  Each oyster only gets 8 or 10 tiny fish eggs on them.  The shuckers dust the oysters with some kind of seasoning that looks like dry Creole mustard seeds, but isn't.  It's that dusting with the caviar that take these oysters to another transcendental level.  Aphrodite on the half shell.  I'll get them again.  Maybe next year, when I can afford them.

So those are the best oysters in the French Quarter, in your humble narrator's humble opinion: oysters with caviar at the Bourbon House.  Treat yourself right and order them with champagne, which I didn't do but I probably will when I get the chance.  That's gonna be one decadent lunch.  

As long as we're having a musical review over the course of this post, here's a video of Ernie K-Doe's second-most famous song.  In the United Kingdom, it may be his most famous song.  It was commandeered by the Boots Pharmacy chain as their jingle a few years back.  If you aren't British, Boots is the equivalent of Walgreens, CVS, and Rite-Aid all rolled up into one on the other side of the pond.  Here come the girls.  That soundtrack is pure K-Doe.  You can see his face about 2:21 into the video, but I recommend watching the whole thing rather than skipping ahead.  He really belts it out after 2:21.


We live in New Orleans.  We try to eat everywhere and we try to go everywhere at least once, but usually twice or thrice.  We try to be able to recommend things to people who don't live in New Orleans.  That's our job, to make your New Orleans adventure a memorable one in the best way.  Sometimes, our days are spent like humdrum innkeepers.  Other days, we live like Maurice Chevalier.  I'll remember yesterday well.  I lived to tell the tale.  Call me Ishmael.

À votre santé,
La Belle Esplanade bed and breakfast.