New Orleans has something for everyone. It’s a city for the young and the old. It’s for music lovers and foodies. It’s for hippies and hillbillies. Moms can go and whip out their mommy mounds to prove they’re still edgy, and dads can be battle-tested to see if they can stay awake past 10pm. NOLA has so much to offer, but these were my favorite things:

 

The Grub


New Orleans wears spice on its food like Flavor Flav wears a clock. We tried it all: jambalaya, Po’boys, blackened gator, dirty rice, red snapper and crawfish. It was all decent, but it could benefit from a little more subtlety. The oysters though, now that’s where it’s at!

Charbroiled Oysters

Here’s a radical statement: the charbroiled oysters at Drago’s were the best things I’ve ever eaten. I don’t typically eat oysters. Like most oyster deniers, “it’s a texture thing”. But these little treasures were amazing. As soon as one of these little blessings touched my lips I had a religious experience.

 

Atop the oysters sat a mix of Parmaginao and Romano cheese, some kind of sacred sauce and a pinch of parsley. I wanted to be baptized in the melted butter that was drizzled over the top. The seafood shaman grills the oysters until they are hot, bubbly and charred to perfection. The dish is an absolute banger. Go try it! Making a trip just for these oysters is perfectly sensible. And honestly, it’s a sin not to.

 

Beignets

UNPOPULAR OPINION ALERT: Beignets are overrated. But ideal for those wondering what diabetes would be like. A beignet is a pastry with a mountain of powdered sugar on top. The way people act though, you’d think it’s cocaine on top. The most popular beignet dealer in the city is a place called Cafe Du Monde. If you’re lucky to score a seat at one of these trap houses, the tables will look like an eighties nightclub… powder everywhere. The line to get one of these crack pastries is a mile long and full of locals scratching their necks feening for their next fix. I took one bite of these diabetic dandies and woke up with an Epipen dangling from my arm. Besides sugar, I didn’t think they had much flavor. So if I’m not a fan of beignets why am I mentioning them under my favorite things? Because I loved watching all the tweekers lose their minds over them. Such a treat.

 

 

The Vibe


As the kids say, if you’re trying to “catch a vibe”, New Orleans is the spot to do it. I can think of a million words to describe the city, but none more fitting than the descriptive powerhouse, “fun”.

 

If you find yourself bored in New Orleans then you’re dead inside. And there’s not a witch doctor in the city that can save you. Everyone is just trying to have a good time. The people were great, the music scene was obviously on point and the bars were fully stocked. It’s like Vegas if you subtract the nudy lady cards covering the sidewalks and add in the smell of urine.

 

Ryan was there on business so I spent a decent amount of time roaming the streets by myself. And although I was alone, everywhere I went I met people. One day, I bellied up to the oldest bar in New Orleans, Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar. Within five minutes, I was all ears to stories being told to me from an old jazz musician. That same afternoon I met the captain of the boat that accompanied Diana Nyad (age 64) on her historic swim from Cuba to Florida.

 

Interesting people were everywhere and all had a story to tell. I could have sat there all day long. I was living inside a punchline. “A guy walks into a bar…” The jokes started to write themselves.

 

True story. A man walked into the bar. He was wearing giant, white platform block heels, a short jean skirt and a cute little crop top. He was flamboyant and fabulous and I loved him immediately. He sat on the wooden bar stool next to me. He must have been a regular because the bartender called him by his name, “Hey Jessie, what can I get for you?” Jessie was wiggling around on his seat trying to get comfortable as he replied, “how about a stool softener, honey.”

 

I immediately ordered another drink. The vibe I was catching was pure gold.

 

 

The Gators


The swamp is an alternate universe. It’s eerie and unusual. The weeping trees, the murky waters… you just know some creepy shit goes on back there. I think it’s where the souls of sexual predators and serial killers go and linger. Regardless, when you suck down hurricanes like water, going out in the swamp with strangers in hopes of locking eyes with a gator seems like a great idea. So that’s what I did. I climbed aboard an airboat and headed deep into no man’s land.

 

The tour guide was a bit of a weasel. A little squirrelly. I recognized his type. He’s the kind of guy who views shoes as “restrictive” and has a strange diet. I had my man pegged from the jump… big ferret meat guy. Zero doubts. Dude has a freezer full, guaranteed.

 

Now, when you meet people like this you have to be careful. These type of people can be reckless… Maybe due to rabies, who knows? Either way, I recognized his crazy and I knew I was going to have to toe the line between being friendly and being friends. If you draw attention to yourself in the presence of a critter like this, you can find yourself in some hairy situations.

 

And that’s just what happened to me.

 

No one boarded the airboat with a death wish and this bothered our tour guide. He wanted someone to touch a gator. He started heckling people. And in record time, I got too chummy. I laughed at his jokes and exchanged some friendly banter… all while maintaining perfect eye contact. Needless to say, it was quite the blunder.

 

So now he didn’t want just anyone to reach down and get handsy with a gator. He wanted me to. He leaned in hard with the peer pressure.

 

“Touch the gator!” He commanded as he took his bare foot and started stroking the dome of the alligator.

 

Then he rubbed his foot down the back of the gator, placing his leg on a platter for the beast to feast on. That move was especially troublesome to me because it demonstrated the total number of fucks this man gave, which after adding it all up, amounted to none.

 

He didn’t stop there.

 

He leaned over the boat and planted one on the lips of the swamp dragon and said, “I love you, baby.”

 

Now I was concerned. This move changed the game. Things were getting weird and “swamp ass” just took on a whole new meaning.

 

So now I’m in it. I’m deep in the follicles of a hairy situation. I didn’t know this guy’s ceiling for recklessness, but it seemed like he wasn’t going to stop until it was too late. I mean the man just kissed a gator. I had to act.

 

“OK, I’ll touch the gator.” I said.

 

I forced myself to forget that the dinosaur had the jaw strength to devour Chris Christie in a single bite and I reached down and grazed the noggin of a 7ft. swamp monster.

 

 

It was stupid, I know. It was also amazing. And I would recommend it to anyone. I had ferret for dinner that night though, so that could be the rabies talking.

 

Checking New Orleans off the To-Do List.