do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?

Still down here but heading home (just for overnight) tomorrow evening. I have condensed 15 years' worth of Cajun/Creole dining into ten meals and my digestive system is beginning to crave soft boiled eggs and dry toast (though my taste buds are still whooping it up a block down on Bourbon St.). A foodie's roll call: Fri. lunch at EAT, pre-gig gumbo at the Tavern of the Court of Two Sisters, late fried-seafood dinner at Coop's Place; Sat. lunch at Pier 424, dinner at NOLA (cutting-edge Cajun via Emeril); Sun. brunch at Brennan's (where my hair almost got flambeed along with the Bananas Foster) and dinner at Commander's Palace (truly the Restaurant at the End of the Universe--at least till I finally score a table at Alinea back home); Mon. brunch with Gina at Camellia Grill, dessert with Bob at Pat O'Brien's (no Hurricane that early), dinner at Desire (watching the storm roll in & out); leftover bread for breakfast, the mandatory beignets and cafe au lait at Cafe Du Monde (managed to avoid getting powdered sugar on my black pants & sweater, listened to fine streetwise Dixieland band--worlds better than the three ancient jobbing musicians halfheartedly reading charts in the Convention Ctr. lobby); and classic French/Creole dinner at Antoine's--where we were so stuffed, despite sharing appetizer & salad, that dessert was merely a concept for another day). Stomach still groaning, and have one more lunch to conquer--can't bear the thought of breakfast--before heading to the airport. A great stay--wonderful food, music (especially Gina Forsyth, with whom I had the honor of playing Fri and hearing as part of the Bruce Daigrepont Cajun Band at Tipitina's Sunday--even got Bob to dance!--and buskers better than most cities' pros: everything from jazz to folk to country to bagpipes to even a Klezmer trumpeter), scenery, history, delightful St. Charles Ave. streetcar rides (will take home the memory of Mardi Gras beads festooning trees and trolley cables as well as scattered all over the "neutral grounds," or what we Yankees call median strips), and wonderful joyful people. Wish I could say the same for my lodging: the Hotel Ste. Marie, apparently where Service With a Smile Goes to Die. Small room, thin walls (I learned the couple in the next room have postnasal drip, sleep apnea, dyspepsia and an active love life--all without asking or even meeting them); hard pillows (no feather or down ones--heck, even Holiday Inns have those on request); the extra blanket I asked for turned out to be an old Vellux one washed so many times it was nearly a rubber sheet. Twice one desk clerk promised to get a taxi when the valet was absent, only to get distracted by something-or-other; when I asked for a Band-Aid for my sorely blistered toe, she grudgingly gave it to me as if I'd demanded a pint of her blood; another clerk sent us to the wrong place for dinner (a smoky bar with bad snacks instead of the seafood place we found on our own next door); tonight one refused to give us a late check-out past noon tomorrow (and our room wasn't ready when we arrived Friday); a continental Breakfast buffet consisting of stale croissants, danish, canned o.j. and coffee that was consistently and sullenly torn down 10 minutes before stated closing time; a card slipped under our door at 1:30 saying they'd tried to make our room up at 2 pm; glacial and non-secure wi-fi; a computer-printer combo so slow it seized up when we tried to check in and print boarding passes; no restaurant or bar, nor fridges/minibars/gift shop; and tonight, when our keycards inexplicably stopped working, said clerk had to call two colleagues to re-code them: she didn't know how. On the plus side, there was a lovely courtyard and outdoor pool (but no indoor pool, hot tub or exercise room), and a comforting lack of tiny livestock. Oh, I've stayed in worse places for about the same money (nonetheless, not by any means a budget hotel) but there are other and nicer hotels in New Orleans, especially when our next visit will involve neither a convention nor festival. Other observations: I like fun, alcohol and music as much as the next person, but over the past 20 years or so Bourbon St. has morphed into the Eternal Spring Break From Hell. Love the Cajun and blues bands and buskers; not so much the strip joints, really bad Jimmy Buffett and Sixties/Seventies cover bands (especially when three of them are each playing simultaneously next door to each other), and profusion of voluminous alcoholic drinks (when did they invent the "Hand Grenade," an invitation to both accelerated cirrhosis AND diabetes?). I'm sorry, but I do not want a "Big Ass Beer:" I prefer one dispensed from a keg, bottle or tap. Note to women my size and age--do you REALLY want to wear shorts and tank tops when it's 50 degrees? And did your moms really raise you to go to dinner at nice restaurants in cartoon-character-adorned apparel past the age of ten (and do you wear that stuff back home)? Then there are all those souvenir shops that belong to the chain "T-Shirts Guaranteed To Get You Jailed for Contempt at Your Next Trip to Traffic Court." I'd relate some of the slogans, but I'd have to wash out the keyboard with soap afterwards, which would doubtless ruin Bob's laptop. Speaking of which, the Mobile Devices Revolution is still in beta. I tried, really tried, to stay connected via only smartphones and an iPad (I HATE using this Windows laptop), but typing on onscreen keyboards really bites; batteries drain faster than your checking account in Vegas; and Web-authoring and editing on an iPad is a nightmare, what with the lack of a screen-top menu bar. iPads are nice to have on one's person, but they can't replace a computer once you're in your room and have work to do. My next iPad will be a MacBook Air.

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