Mardi Gras - America proves it can hold its booze

With another entry on the bucket list successfully checked and yet more American myths dispelled, Mardi Gras in New Orleans proved to surpass all expectations. Visit The Big Easy any day of any week and you will find live music, people dancing on balconies and bead tossing but the frenzy really starts two weeks before Mardi Gras itself. As the weekend before Fat Tuesday arrives  the city gives up on normal day to day living and people take to the streets in their hundreds of thousands.

Just landed at the fantastically named Louis Armstrong Airport

Arriving in town on the Saturday, after an unbelievably early 3am start, The Missus, Blondie and I landed amid a torrential downpour and tornado warnings. Had it not have been for our extreme tiredness, the jolting dissent and drenching skies would have terrified us all in equal measure. Mother Nature's threats had nothing on the levels of pleasurable punishment that the next four days would bring and no amount of bad weather could have ruined the experience. 

Yet again, the USA proved itself to be an unimaginably huge country for my tiny little British mind. Despite getting up before the Gregorian calendar had even been adopted the sheer distance and unforgiving timezone changes meant that by the time check-in to the hotel was completed, it was already cocktail hour, though in N'awlins, cocktail hour is pretty much morning to when the cocktails or the money run out.  I'd visited the city once before, over Thanksgiving in 2000, and flippantly dismissed the Hand Grenades sold by street vendors out of the taps you normally see dispensing flat cola in bars. More fool me. Sometimes it is not wise to assume that just because a drink is served in a novelty souvenir glass it is not potent.

Settling in

Staying at the Festiva Frenchman the troupe couldn't  have been more perfectly placed for The French Quarter and hitting all the bars that locals hang out in. In fact, Frenchman Street is the place to be. The Missus done good again. Mojitos Rum Bar & Grill was instantly designated our local and while the ladies settled down to order I nipped back to the hotel to grab my umbrella as the rain decided really go for it. This was foolish move for Blondie was left to order me "a beer". On returning I found, much to my disgust, a bottle of Miller Lite. Let me tell you the three things that are wrong with this. 1 - Miller 2 - Lite 3 - Bottle. After a swift lesson in beer drinking, Blondie corrected her innocent error and, much to her credit, has not made the same mistake since. 

Is it actually possible to "take it easy" on the first night of a holiday? Experience has taught me that any attempt to gently ease into a holiday actually leads to monumentally large nights and Mojito's set the tone for the rest of  a trip, focused on four days of unevenly balancing alcohol, food intake and parade watching.

Crab turned up to eleven

New Orleans not only sells the most potent cocktails I've ever tried, all deceivingly  made to taste of harmless fruit juice, but has the some of the best food in the country. In fact Sunday night's meal in the pleasantly smart but not too stuffy Muriel's was, and I am sticking my neck out here, the best I've eaten since moving to the country. As the foolish ban of foie gras in SF creeps ever closer, I leapt at the chance to have the special for my starter. What food doesn't taste better with the threat of gout? It was melt in the mouth, fat heaven loaded onto sweet toasted brioche. Always willing to try a new fish, my main was  Puppy Drum, worth ordering for the name itself. While Andrew Jackson peered loftily down from his oil painted heights, I tucked into a light velvet fish, crusted in pecans served with a tower of crab meat and crab meat garnish. You can never have enough crab, so long as it doesn't give you food poisoning.

Upstairs room at Muriel's

After dinner the waitress invited us to explore the restaurant building. This was the second restaurant tour we'd been offered and I wondered if it's a local thing. The first was in Antonie's , a pleasant but gastronomically disappointing New Orleans institution. There we sat by a signed picture of J Edgar Hoover who I confidently but incorrectly introduced as Former President Hoover to passing, bemused Americans.  In Muriel's we were left to explore the strangely opulent boudoir-like upper rooms.

Decorated building in The French Quarter

One of the strangest sensations of living in the US is getting used to being surrounded by relatively new buildings. Perhaps the age, in comparison, of the French Quarter, is one of the reasons why New Orleans is so appealing to Europeans. It has a sense of history and an attitude to life that is easily recognised. The Sun came out, fittingly on Sunday, with the thermometer rising steadily for the rest of our stay, making beads sparkle as they hung, Mr T like, around revelers necks. The wrought iron balconies, decorated with banners, drapes and Mardi Gras casualties danced in the sunlight and swayed drunkenly as each day progressed into night, more cocktails were consumed and the parades rolled on, becoming ever more lavish.

We're gonna need a bigger float

No trip to New Orleans is complete without at least one Hurricane from Pat O'Briens. I couldn't tell how many the three of as drank from there and other bars as we stumbled around the city but nowhere took the opportunity to water down their drinks and despite all of the partying, all of the booze drunk, not once was there a cross word, a casualty in the street or any sense of ill feeling. The mood throughout the town was of goodwill and friendliness. 

                                                             Meeting two new friends

Even though Americans are significantly more comfortable striking up conversations with strangers than us reticent Brits, New Orleans make San Franciscans seem as friendly as Parisian waiters. Some were more friendly than others, particularly the sixty-five year old amorous Canadian woman who's advances I had to strenuously avoid, much to the embarrassment of daughter.  This perhaps was the night where things went a little too far, but then when it seems a good idea to buy a 32oz hang around the neck cocktail to tide you over when leaving a restaurant, sensibleness is not a top priority. 

The assault on senses and livers continued and even bordered on spring break style shenanigans on a few occasions. I was twice asked to show my penis, firstly by two girls who were, naturally, charmed by my accent but thought the natural progression from that conversation was, "Show us your ****!" I politely declined. Secondly while striking up conversation with a gay guy, Blondie also tried to strike up a deal for me, "get it out" (his words not hers) in exchange for giving Blondie some beads. I declined again.

Beads hang from a tree in The Garden District

While this may all seem debauched, the good humour that swept through the city meant that there was no offense taken and no aggravation, unlike in the UK. The only event at home that comes close to Mardi Gras would be the Notting Hill Carnival, where the police take to the streets in huge numbers, crowds jostle for position and tempers flare. In New Orleans space is shared, the trinkets and beads thrown from floats are often passed to others in the crowd so that everyone gets in on the action and everyone has a great time.  The police are present but they join in, passing beads from their cars and at midnight as Ash Wednesday begins, they clear the streets.

The ceremonious start of Lent

As the clock strikes twelve, police cars drive up Bourbon Street followed by mounted policemen, ceremonially clearing the streets and marking the start of Lent. People pour out of the bars or back onto balconies to watch the procession, cheering, clapping and thanking the police department for their work during the festival and no doubt throughout the year. A fitting, respectful and friendly end to four days without incident. Of course the crowd then file back into the bars because the night's not done yet and there's always time for one more drink and to make a new friend.