New Orleans: Deux

At Commander's Palace, we were seated in the garden room with big glass windows overlooking the courtyard. I ordered chicken and mushroom gumbo, andouille encrusted shrimp and grits and a gin fizz. For dessert, Tay and I split a strudel and their bread pudding soufflé. The souffle was one of the best things I ate in New Orleans.

The four of us had Sazeracs at the eponymous bar in the hotel and enjoyed the ritzy ambiance. One sazerac per trip to New Orleans is good for me. I'm just not a fan of rye whisky.

Around 11, Tay and I walked the length of Bourbon street. It was friday night and there were apparently several sorority conventions in town so it was packed. You know you're crossing into Bourbon street by the smell of vomit. They should really rename it Hurricane street, which at least is a prettier name than Frozen Voodoo Daiquiri street. Watch where you step. Actually, I don't really mind it for the following reasons:

1. It's a huge tourist draw, and NOLA needs all the love it can get.
2. People really have fun there
3. It focuses obnoxious drunks into a predictable and controlled area, leaving the rest of the Vieux Carre relatively free for other people to enjoy.
4. It's a great example of how public spaces and pedestrian streets can work in urban contexts
5. The sociological implications of the bar balconies, communally lowered inhibitions, general intoxication, and a bead token economy encourage acts of spontaneous pectoral exhibitionism.

Tay and I finally made it through to Laffite's Blacksmith, a historic bar towards the end of Bourbon. It's a dark, old bar, lit only by tabletop candles and the glow from the frozen daiquiri machines. It does actually feel like the kind of place to drink from pewter mugs and recruit piratical sailors.