New Orleans! Home of pirates, drunks, and whores! New Orleans! Tacky overpriced souvenir stores!

February 15, 2016 Comments Off read Louisiana, South, Travel, USA

When I was in my early twenties, I would have loved Bourbon Street. I would have definitely reveled in the seediness with a Huge Ass Beer(tm) in each hand, a poboy strapped between my boobs, and I would have offered bites of the sandwich to anyone in exchange for strings of tacky plastic beads, plus I probably would have come home with at least six new t-shirts with slogans ranging from mildly suggestive to banned in three states. Now that I’m older, saggier, significantly less rock ‘n’ roll, and way more possessive of my sandwiches, Bourbon Street doesn’t really do it for me. Every morning, the streets are literally hosed off from the previous night’s debauchery, and the smell that arises from said hosing can only be described as the scent of bad decision making.

It could be solely that I am older and more cynical, but especially during daylight hours, it feels like every tagline on Bourbon could be followed by “…you assholes!” “Pizza by the slice…you assholes!” “Huge Ass Beers…you assholes!” “Barely Legal Club…you assholes!” “Put some spice in your life…you assholes!” “Balcony upstairs party party party…you assholes!” “Home of the hand grenade…you assholes!” Even the stuff that’s sold as sincere is kind of bullshitty. Take Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, for one. It’s advertised as the oldest bar in the United States, a pirate bar, and it is a pretty old bar, but not the oldest–it wasn’t a bar at the same time it was an actual blacksmith shop. They also claim that the Lafitte brothers (the pirates in question) used the place as a base for their smuggling operations between 1772 and 1791. However, the elder Lafitte didn’t even come to Louisiana until 1803. And then there’s the faux aging on the outside of the building, which makes it look less authentically old and more like a pirate bar as built by Disney. The only thing I would buy as being authentically old in the building is the bathroom, which will sincerely make you regret breaking the seal on your bladder with the aforementioned Huge Ass Beer…you asshole.

Which isn’t to say that dreams don’t come true on Bourbon Street or that nothing good happens there. I was meeting up with friends to take a tour nearby, so we decided to grab lunch at NOLA Poboys on Bourbon beforehand. They actually didn’t have a permit for their deep fryer at the time (waiting on a visit from the fire department) so anything that would normally be fried on their menu was unavailable–which I was totally fine with because I do occasionally eat things that haven’t been deep fried.

I ordered a hot ham and beef sandwich, and while the sandwich itself was delicious, the truly wonderful thing happened in the wake of the sandwich, when I went to wash off the gravy that had dripped down to my elbows. You see, ever since I first encountered one of those super powerful hand dryers that flap the skin on the backs of your hands around like it’s trying to push it aside and dry you at the mitochondrial level, I have wanted to stick my stomach under one and see what happens. The problem is, these dryers are always right out in the open, so you never really get a level of privacy that’s particularly conducive to this type of scientific experiment. However, the bathroom at NOLA Poboys was an all-in-one unit, complete with super hand dryer, and thus, science could happen.

…As my gut whipped around like the Blob caught in a freak tornado, I may have shed a tear composed of 90% joy, 10% shame. Bourbon Street is truly a magical place.

District: Donuts Sliders Brew

February 12, 2016 Comments Off read Louisiana, Masticating With Mellzah, South, Travel, USA

“I’d like four donuts, a cinnamon roll, two biscuits, and three coffees…for here.”

As the words left my mouth, there was no doubt in my mind I was the fattest person alive. However, I feel that if you only have time to visit District once, you’d do the same. It helped that I had two willing partners in donut-eating to try the bounty that you see before you.

Clockwise from the upper left (ignoring the coffees): banana pudding donut, pad thai donut, plain glazed donut, buttermilk drop, maple praline donut, buttermilk biscuit, brûléed cinnamon roll.

It is a goddamn good thing this place is outside of easy driving distance for me or I would be dead inside of a month. Did you even know that a cinnamon roll could be brûléed?! Because I didn’t, and that shit is a revelation. Cinnamon rolls are basically already the perfect pastry, and adding the crisp crackle of torched sugar on top takes it up into the stratosphere. What kind of mad science is this?! Is it possible to make something too delicious for your tastebuds to even perceive it? I feel like if any donut shop has a chance of making that discovery, it’s District.

In terms of the donuts themselves, the pad thai donut was my clear favorite. Sweet but not as sweet as the others, it definitely had the distinctive flavors that made you think of pad thai without crossing over into “Oh weird, this is too much” territory. Next was the banana pudding donut, which was aaamazing but so dense and rich that a bite was enough. The maple praline and the plain glazed were both good donuts, but I felt like neither really compared to the other two in terms of flavor impact. Following up all that sweet donut and cinnamon roll with a savory biscuit is necessary to pull yourself out of the too-much-sugar zone–I preferred the standard buttermilk biscuit to the buttermilk drop in both texture and flavor. I need to go back to District and try their sliders. All of them. Maybe with a donut bun.

Bugging out at the Audobon Insectarium In New Orleans

February 10, 2016 Comments Off read Attractions, Louisiana, Masticating With Mellzah, South, Travel, USA

People have an almost primal reaction to insects. After all, they are the most alien-looking creatures we encounter on a regular basis. As Jeffrey Lockwood puts it at Popsci, “You could think of our fear and disgust of insects of being as a conspiracy of evolution and culture.” I myself feel a combination of fascination and disgust with insects, which is dependent on the type of insect I’m encountering and the context of said encounter. After all, it’s one thing to obsessively hunt insects in Animal Crossing, and another to have your mother scream while braiding your hair that your head is covered with bugs, prompting a call to the principal who came over and picked both bugs and eggs out of your hair at the kitchen table which then prompted an announcement over the school loudspeaker about there being an outbreak of lice and that no one in the second grade should be sharing coats or hats or brushes and everyone knows it’s you. Hypothetically speaking, of course. One thing to have a butterfly flit around you in the garden and another to have a horde of spiders flooding out of a cardboard box in your direction. I think that the Audobon Insectarium in New Orleans enjoys playing with this juxtaposition of fascination and repulsion, placing enormous scaled-up insect nightmares next to smaller, cuter real life versions with tiny presents and holiday trees in their enclosures.

The Insectarium must also enjoy getting a good shriek out of people. In the Richard C. Colton, Jr. Underground area, you walk into a very dimly lit room, where something promptly bursts out of the wall in your direction, which caused Jason to squeal like a little girl and brought vivid flashbacks of Tremors screaming to the forefront of my mind. The entire rest of the underground area, I was on edge, waiting for something else to move or jump or slither past…so of course, nothing did.

However, all of that anxiety really works up an appetite, so thankfully, I was right on time for the opening of The Bug Buffet, where chefs whip up various dishes containing insects to teach you about the environmental benefits of eating insect protein, and you get to try any and all of them that your little heart desires. I decided I was going to try and set aside everything I’d been taught about the grossness of bug eating and take it on its own merits (or lack therof, depending on how things turned out.) After all, I’ve almost certainly unknowingly eaten any number of insect parts or rat hairs or any number of things that would make me heave if I thought about them too closely, so it probably wasn’t going to kill me*.

On the menu for that day:

fried waxworms with cinnamon and sugar
cajun crickets
fried waxworms with taco seasoning and chili powder
chocolate “chirp” cookies with roasted crickets
cream cheese and onion cricket dip
mango chutney with poached waxworms
tomato salsa with crab-boiled mealworms

The only thing I didn’t try was the salsa, and that was out of a greater objection to the cilantro in the salsa than the mealworms themselves. If you can get out of the “oh gross, bugs” mindset, they taste kind of like nothing. Maybe the crickets had a slightly nutty flavor, maybe. Mostly, they just take on the flavor of whatever is around them, which is good in the case of apple pie waxworms and maybe not so great in the case of devil-weed mealworm salsa. While I daintily picked out a solitary waxworm and apple combo to place on a wheat thin (the preferred cracker of insect-eaters everywhere), I realized I had the chefs to myself so I could annoy them with my particular brand of hard-hitting questions. I learned that all of their insect supply is farmed and shipped to them, which I found relieving as I was envisioning them just sweeping the dead and sick and just plain unsociable ones out of the bottom of the cages–you know, waste not, want not and all that. I also learned that, no, neither of them have witnessed someone take a bite of something and start dry-heaving right there in line, setting off a vomit chain reaction that led back to the entrance of the Insectarium and right up Canal Street all the way to Bourbon. They were also more than happy to provide me with information about their supplier in case I was interested in hosting some lavish insect eating affair in my own home.

Along the walls in the Bug Buffet, they also had some photos of insect cuisine that I think I would find a lot more, ahem, challenging to consume. Things that would take more than one bite to eat and which I’m imagining would sort of ooze into one’s mouth like a fruit gusher…which aren’t even that pleasing as a fruit-based product, and would be even less palatable as bug goo. Look, I said I was working to set aside those prejudices, not that I was wholly successful and one step closer to being an all-around perfect human being.

And then, next to the door of the tiny termite cafe, they had this diorama that nearly made me lose my snacks. They can call it a roach’s christmas, but I feel a more apt title is “Christmas is ruined and for baby jesus’ sake, clean the kitchen” which I suppose is just a matter of semantics.

….and another hard no. Please and thank you, I would rather have lockjaw than drink whatever flakes off of a cockroach when it’s been boiled. If it works, though, a lifetime supply of tetanus remedy is really economical–you can step on rusty nails left and right and just keep using the same cockroach as those hardy little fuckers will survive the apocalypse and surely think nothing of a little boiling water, shaking it off and nonchalantly strolling away to go make a nest in your sandwich.

In the room dedicated to insect defenses, there was a box labeled “put your hand in here if you dare,” to teach you a lesson about how quickly a spider can strike. Both remembering the incident in the underground area, Jason passed, and I hovered in front of the box like the world’s largest and most afraid baby, moving my hand closer and then yanking it away. A kid witnessed this dilemma of adult babydom and rushed right over to cram his hand inside, screaming when the harmless puff of air went off and making everyone in the room collapse with laughter. Good thing it was him and not me, I may have thought. But never you worry, I got my comeuppance less than ten minutes later at their interactive video insect show, where the chair unexpectedly punches you in the back to simulate an insect sting and I shrieked like the devil himself had popped out of the ground in front of me and wanted to have a serious discussion about my potty mouth. So, if you’re counting, that’s no fewer than three screams in one museum, which is damn impressive for a museum. Maybe more on a crowded day at the bug buffet.

After all of that screaming, I was definitely ready for a more chill time in the Insectarium’s butterfly garden. Unfortunately, the butterfly garden was where every shrieking kid in the greater New Orleans area decided to hang out, grabbing butterflies out of the air and bellowing at the top of their lungs, while the employees fruitlessly tried to tell people to look with their eyes and not their hands. I wonder if the same thing would be an issue in a roach room, or if everyone would still be screaming and touching, but for different reasons.

*The same cannot be said of those who have shellfish allergies–you may also be allergic to insects so eat with caution if you’re dead set on doing so.

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