The original plan was to play our show in New Orleans and then spend the following day off driving to Austin.  In theory, that plan would make good touring sense.  It’s a nine hour drive to Austin and nobody likes a long drive followed immediately by a show.  But this was a different story.  This was New Orleans.  And we, like many of you out there, love New Orleans.  It’s a city ruled by good food, good music, good nightlife and a place where the clock is of almost no importance.   We knew that New Orleans was the place to spend our day off, long drive to Austin be damned!

We checked into the Omni Royal Orleans hotel on Tuesday night at 7pm, just a few hours before our show at One-Eyed Jack’s.  The hotel had previously been known simply as the Royal Orleans and that indeed is the same name as the Led Zeppelin song from “Presence.”  The band used to stay at the hotel and one look at the rooftop pool and adjoining bar suggests a suitable site for very debauched archetypically 70’s adventures.  It’s impossible to compete with the Zep (and that, my friends, is how we have outlived John Bonham) but 2am did find me, Linda, Andre and our local pal Rich trying to break into the pool area which had closed a few hours earlier.  We did not succeed. 

Now, the décor at One-Eyed Jack’s would also suggest debauchery.  Something between a whorehouse and a speakeasy, the club has a very nice gold velvet curtain behind the band and a wonderful bar up front.  Linda and I had seen Rudy Rae Moore (a.k.a. Dolemite) there a few years ago when the club was called the Shim Sham.   It was one nasty show.  Let’s put it this way:  “Ted Fucking Williams” would have been the cleanest song in his set.   We were exhausted but, nonetheless, soldiered through one long set and entertained both the audience and ourselves. 

But you want to hear about food.  I can hear you cry, “tell us about the food.”  Okay, everybody, back it down.  We all slowly came to life around noon on Wednesday and it was time to enjoy a day of leisure, gluttony and commerce.  We began at the Napoleon House, thankfully just a few strides from our front door.  The table was covered with muffalettas (a local sandwich specialty featuring various cold Italian cold cuts and an olive spread), roast beef po-boys, shrimp remoulade and a cocktail called a Pim’s Cup (gin, 7-up and cucumber).  The food and libations put us in the mood for a stroll through the Louisiana Music Factory, one of my favorite record stores in the US.  Almost everything they carry is local and you won’t find a better selection of New Orleans music anywhere in the world.  (they have a great website—check it out).  I picked up volumes 4 and 5 of the great “Funky Funky New Orleans” series.  Andre got a John Fred and the Playboys compilations that I need to check out before this drive is over.

Long naps followed.  I hate to sleep for even an hour in such a great city but we’d had a pretty intense pace in the last week.  And the main event lied ahead:  dinner at Cochon, a favorite of Peter, Scott and Chloe from previous trips in town with REM.  The restaurant is a spin-off of Herbsaint, one of the highest rated of the newer restaurants in town.  It was amazing.  We spent almost three hours there, telling stories, having some laughs, trying almost everything.  You should go there when you’re in town.  That’s all I can say.  Everything was good.  Go online and check out the menu.  We ordered most of it. And it was all good.  My personal favorite was probably the paneed pork cheeks with goat cheese arugula and beet rosti. 

At that point Peter and Andre and Chloe had had enough and retired to the hotel.  It was the right thing to do with an 8am wakeup call and the long drive and Austin show ahead.  But Scott, Linda and I were on a mission to have the last drink at Donna’s, a club on Rampart Street that features some great local music far off the tourist circuit.  Sadly, the club was closed but we ended up at Laffite’s Blacksmith Shop, bellied up to the piano bar where we were entertained by a woman who had made a jazz folk rock record in LA (and I have been using all of my Google skills to find her name to no avail—all I could find was a mention of the “slightly sad piano player” on one review site) in the 1970’s.  She played a few of her old songs, told some interesting and often bitter tales of her adventures in the music business (two words that really shouldn’t go together, if you ask me) and played some tearjerking renditions of “Deacon Blues,” and “This Masquerade” among many others, investing more emotion in lines like “they’ve got a name for the winners in the world, I want a name when I lose” than you will normally hear in a piano bar.   It was a perfect, poignant end to the evening.

After all that, morning came much too quickly but I acted on the advice of my friend Mary Herczog (check out her various guides to New Orleans before your next trip—you couldn’t have a better adventure planner for your trip) and went to Johnny’s Po-Boys to load up for our trip.  And now I am looking at a bag containing crawfish, catfish and turkey po-boys (not all mixed together—you think we’re nuts?) and a muffaletta as well as some bread pudding.  And that means it’s time to stop typing and move into lunch mode.  Gotta stock up on the fuel for our last show tonight in Austin. 

THIS JUST IN—Scott just found our piano bar late night serenading queen.  Her name is Angell Trosclair and sure enough she did make an album in the mid-70s and we did hear several of those songs last night.  Here’s the cover.