Goin to New Orleans

The Lady and I are headed down to the French Quarter this weekend, on a semi-annual pilgrimage. There are some things that just MUST be done, prices that have to be paid, duties fulfilled, and this is one of them. (Oh, yeah. Twist my arm.)

Her brother, Bill, lives in Ft. Lauderdale, and comes in twice a year to see their Momma. Bill is a large fan of oysters. Bill will eat an oyster any which way, but likes them just fine on the half-shell. The problem with Bill and oysters is that he claims Ft. Lauderdale don't know sh*t about oysters. He claims the oysters served in Lauderdale are rejects from the Louisiana restaurants.

I don't know anything about that, but last summer, Milady and I were in a seafood restaurant near Cape Hatteras, and the oysters there were definitely not the quality to which we have become accustomed.

Anyway, back to Bill and oysters. Bill claims that the best oysters anywhere, bar none, on this whole wide world, can be routinely found at Felix's restaurant on Bourbon Street, in New Orleans. I'm not prepared to debate that with him. So, twice a year, when Bill makes his pilgrimage to see his Momma, he stops off in New Orleans to eat oysters. The Lady and I have taken to meeting him down there and hanging out with him. We indulge ourselves just a bit. We leave the car at the hotel, and either walk or take a cab everywhere. We might be known to have an adult beverage or two. As a matter of fact, after a stop at Felix's the only other ceremonial stop we make is at Pat O'Briens.

We'll probably stop for a little while at Harrah's and play the nickel slots. Nickel slots are an old tradition in Louisiana, going all the way back to the truck stop at LeBeau, where I remember seeing nickel slots in the late '50's, early 60's. The gummint took them out in a fit of regulation sometime after that.

I'm looking forward to it. Just wandering the Vieux Carre, doing the tourist thing.