PrettyFakes

A lot of folks have written and called wondering what all the Glam Menagerie drank up when we were in New Orleans on a mission to be awed by the Hold Steady. The answer is: everything we could find. In the interest of brevity, I present some highlights—our official Guide to Getting Wrecked When You Go See the Hold Steady in New Orleans!

Beds!
Our krewe dozed at three establishments truly representative of New Orleans—and at three different price points! Would you like exposed brick walls, twenty-foot high ceilings, antique furniture, and ancient, rigid beds—all for a reasonable price? Well, you can join La Cat and me at the Ambassador, which was very reasonably priced and a perfect weekend crash pad for two rock and roll enthusiasists. You might have to walk a bit, but the savings will be worth it.

Would you like something slightly more romantic (and pricey), perhaps in the French-style? Then you could stay with Jaxxie and Jaysus at the Monteleone, and revel in its soft beds, rooftop pool, and famous rotating Carousel bar in the lobby. French Quarter location means yr dumb friends will always be coming to you!

Our pals the Special Guests were cradled in luxury at the W, where basically I walked around pointing at furniture and saying “ooh!” The beds were of a feather-based, European royalty nature. To put it all in perspective, at the W they printed out instructions when we asked about a local restaurant; at the Hotel Monteleone a doorman was always on hand to grab a suitcase or hold the door; and at the Ambassador, nobody actively tried to rob us.

Booze!
Since we were all trickling in Friday nite, Jaysus demanded the traditional rock and roll New Orleans dinner: a slice of pizza and a daquiri in Bourbon. And you can’t go wrong at any of the 8,000 locations of Mango Mango!, where the Cubano electronika is loud and the drinks are shockingly potent. It was cold that night, but the free test-tube shot you get with each daquiri helped keep my blood dancin’.

Our real goal Friday night was the R Bar, who had a sidewalk sign outside that announced “Baby, it’s cold outside—come in and have an Irish coffee.” And indeed we did, comforted by the majestic crimson warmth and, uh, skeletons of this Fauborg Marigny treasure. JSBX was on the stereo, and Garbage Pail Kids movie was on the wall, and La Cat and Jaxxie talked about, I don’t know, something, as Jaysus and I embarked on a truly legendary drunk. In no order: those wonderful Irish coffees, Goldschlager, a couple bottles of the delicious lambic of Brouwerij Lindemans, Buttershots, possibly some Jager, and . . .

Oosh. Yeah, I had a great time. I randomly drank a shot of Jack Daniel’s with some guy I met in the bathroom—”I’m at work, so I can’t get too drunk,” he told me, and I disputed that he was working—it was around two in the morning, after all. He told me he was working on a movie and I thought that sounded pretty cool and drank another drink in his honor.

On our way home we staggered past the bright lights of the movie set and I think Jaxxie wanted to check it out but maybe a cop stopped us because we weren’t in period dress? I really have no idea.

Chomps!
By the time La Cat and I struggled out of our beds the next morning, we realized that a) we basically hadn’t eaten in a full day and b) we had marching bands playing in our heads and c) I had apparently had a dance party in our room the night before, jitterbugging on my bed to a mashup of Jay-Z and Nena (“99 Red Problems”) and, uh, throwing graham crackers all over the place. So we needed some calories.

We dialed the Special Guests and headed to Petunia’s, recommended by no less than Sally J. Nordan herself, and legendary for their soothing bloody Marys. The four of us fought amiably about Memphis politics, Jackson real estate, and beloved Sen. Barack Obama before our waiter delivered seventy thousand pounds of eggs, grits, and potatoes. Me oh my, where the omelettes amazing—supposedly made of three eggs, but more like seven, and stuffed with cheeses and mushrooms and I’m basically freaking out right now just thinking about them. The bloody Marys were fireworks-spicy and the mimosas were delicious and strong, and the converted home in which Petunia’s rests so comfortably was warm and friendly.

Then we went back to the Ambassador and fell asleep after looking through the dying dregs of Tower Records. The rest of our gastronomic round-up, tomorrows!

This entry was posted on Monday, December 18th, 2006 at 12:58 pm and is filed under Gorjus, In the South, The Rock and The Roll. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.