When you last checked in on us, La Cat and I were watching Love Actually and Road Trip (simultaneously!) whilst ensconced at the Ambassador, shaking underneath the sheets, knowing that at any minute the phone would ring, and the call would ring forth:
“TIME TO PUT THE BOOZE UP IN THE MOUTHS!!” would say Jaysus, or something, well, likely more eloquent. But with that general sentiment.
Instead of dealing with “taking showers” and “going out to dinner,” the four of us decided to just hoof it over to the House of Blues and go ahead and get settled. We figured the food would be slightly expensive, but warm, and we were right! I can’t speak for everyone else but I had macaroni and cheese and they served it in a little cast-iron skillet and it had bread crumbs on top, kinda casseroley, and quite frankly, macaroni and cheese and booze for dinner is basically what I dreamed being a grown-up was going to be like.
I’d never been up to the Parish Room at the HOB—in fact, I can only remember going to the House of Blues once before, to sorta catch an Iron & Wine show—and I was pleasantly surprised. Dark, woody, and decorated in . . . oh, hell, I don’t know, they had buck-fifty Miller High Lifes. You’ve already read about us having a Massive Night here, ain’tcha? And how we went to One Eyed Jack’s later, and people traded Hold Steady stories and “state signs”?
One Eyed Jack’s was a particular treat: in my memory it is swathed in red velvet, sumptuous and deep, bottles glittering behind the bar. Even if Jaxxie tricked us to get us there: “we’re heading back to the hotel! Honestly! This is the way!”
When we finally crawled out of bed the next day, La Cat and I headed uptown for some Juan’s Flying Burrito on Magazine, but it was closed, dammit! So we just drove around until we saw a nice and inviting spot—Theo’s Pizza, which turned out to be a great idea.
We watched the Saints march towards a demolishing win over the 49’ers (but nothing like whipping Dallas Sunday night! WOW!) whilst eating custom pies. Mine: onion, black olive, and mushroom. La Cat: something with DGC on it. We were basically full after one Coke and one breadstick, and at this point the thought of alcohol basically made me want to pass out. Of note was our server’s awesome haircut, cool portraits on her biceps, and generally well-scrubbed All-American look. And the Coca-Cola had crushed ice, yum!
Then I had to take my partner in crime to the airport and almost run out of gas on the Lake Pontchartrain bridge. Still—one of the most fun trips I’ve had in a long, long time, with some of my favorite people in the world.
Flashback: Jaxxie on Bourbon Street Pizza.
The Parish room is indeed a pleasant surprise. And though the Saints ream-steam-and-dry-cleaning of Dallas was awesome, it seemed to have sucked more wind out of their sails than they could recover by this past Sunday. Or something.
love juan’s.
hate you.
god bless NOLA