the cajun word for 'fat' is?

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Last week I went to New Orleans and ate all of the things.

This included but was not limited to:

Frito pie from a dive bar. Because on our first night, it rained and we didn't have jackets or umbrellas or anything. So we tried to wait for the downpour to stop so we could walk back to the hotel. Which meant we kept drinking. And drinking. And drinking. Which then resulted in a truly genius decision involving a lot of nacho cheese.

It tasted better than it looked, I swear.

(In case you were wondering, the rain never did stop that night. We ended up taking a cab back to the hotel. And it was only five blocks from the bar. Wimps.)

Oysters the size of my face. Dear Atlantic Ocean: Steroids much? (For the record, this dinner at Restaurant R'evolution was my favorite of the whole trip. And the manager was from Seattle. No, I did not ask her if she was a Seahawks fan because I wanted to still like her.)


Bone marrow. Again, from R'evolution, which I cannot praise enough. If you are in New Orleans, go immediately. And also make sure you order the black truffle beef tartare (which made me want to roll on the floor with joy), sweetbreads, roasted beet salad, scallops with foie, and a custardy dessert. And wine to pair with everything, of course.

Go big or go home.

A shit-ton of shrimp. The ones in the photo below were from Sylvain, which also had a whiskey selection that made me swoon and a gorgeous courtyard with lots of dark corners. 


(And yes, in case you are wondering, pretty much every restaurant we went to was dimly lit, which clearly contributed to the quality of these food photos.)

Pork rinds, non-stop. God, I'm so Filipino.


These were from SoBou, which was where we also found ...

Terribly embarrassing 25-cent martinis. That's right. My drink was blue. It was like my 21st birthday all over again. But with -- you guessed it -- more shit-tons of shrimp!


Pecan pie in a jar topped with -- wait for it -- a PORK RIND. Dear god, who knew deep-fried pig skin and powdered sugar were a match made in heaven?


A fancy-pants gluten-free take on the Key lime pie, from John Besh's August. I still recall the very first wine-pairing dinner I ever went to -- at Justin in Paso Robles in 2004(-ish), and Besh was the guest chef. After the meal, I hung out with him and his team, smoked cigars and drank Port. My mind was blown then; my mind was blown again. Funny how life comes full circle.


A bacon Bloody Mary from Cafe Fleur De Lis. Also known as the breakfast of champions. It made having to stand in line next to a random dude wearing a shirt that said "I love beaver" totally worth it.


Eggs Florentine with creamed spinach. Because I needed a side of something to go with that Bloody Mary.


Everything on the menu at Cure, except for one sandwich (you know, gluten and all) and two cheeses. And by everything, that meant more pork rinds (squee!), beets, maitake mushrooms, steak tartare, the ham plate, a cheese plate, the chocolate cake, and these awesome (but poorly lit) deviled eggs with housemade mayonnaise:


You know you have issues when the bartender says: "You guys really like to eat." And then gives you an extra piece of chocolate cake for the road.

Other food highlights sans awkward photographs: Crawfish nachos in bed (yes, that's exactly why there is no photo), vegetable soup with a side of WiFi at Merchant, the lunch buffet at Dooky Chase's (where I ate so much fried chicken, andouille sausage, collards and red-beans-and-rice that I thought I was going to need a crane to lift me out of my chair), all of the pralines (but especially the rum-flavored ones) from Leah's Pralines, and the token McDonald's hashbrown that saved me from a terrible hangover one morning.

God, it was an incredible trip.

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