Day 8 in NOLA - Who dat?

Who dat?

Who dat say they gonna beat them Saints?

For lunch on Saturday, I headed uptown to swanky Commander's Palace. This elegant, well-appointed sanctuary is a haven for the well heeled. Oh my. Is it ever. And it is the kind of place where, upon spotting a couple of discombobulated, undercaffeinated tourists loitering on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant, a gracious hostess who hasn't even begun work yet will go out of her way to steer them towards the nearest coffee house. Thank you Miss Carol (anyone out there know who she is?).

So I made a reservation (confirming on the phone that yes, I was aware of the dress code and had even dressed up for the occasion) and streetcared it over to the Garden District. I believe I sat in the Patio Room, but all of the rooms I saw were lovely. And the jazz combo was playing beside my table when I arrived, so all in all, I can't complain. I started with a Sidecar. (Brunch. New Orleans. Right.) I finished with the ultra girly and delicious Hibiscus Martini. And my food was divine. I started with the shrimp and tasso dish and it was amazing. Pickled okra and spicy glazed shrimp with a kind of spicy Cajun ham. Delicious. Oh, but wait! I lied!!

I started with a shot of the butternut squash bisque of the day (topped with whipped cream, if I'm not mistaken - oh the decadence). That was from the chef, just for kicks. Plus garlic bread, again, just for kicks. Then... my meal was taking longer than expected (but who was I to notice, sitting there with my cocktails and live jazz?), so my waiter brought me a bowl of turtle soup. Yes, you read that right. Turtle soup. It was on my to-do list, and it was delicious (I kind of doubt anything on the menu at CP is less than delicious). Slightly spicy, rich and thick, with beans (black beans?) and greens and finished tableside with a drizzle of sherry.

Completely unnecessary.

So then I had my "appetizer" and on to the main course. Shrimp and grits (yes, I asked the waiter if it would be overkill to have shrimp and then more shrimp, but he just looked at me, incredulous, and said that of course it wouldn't).

A terrific experience, and I'm glad I made it there for the jazz brunch. I may go back, if my pocketbook can stand it.

Later in the afternoon, I tried to get my ten dollar shot and a haircut, but I hadn't factored in the Saints game. There were no barroom haircuts to be had on Saturday, not by a long shot. So I wandered around and finally wound up in a bar that a colleague recommended as having the best Bloody Mary's in NOLA. They were pretty good.

And the Saints won.

And after I left the bar, I ran into this:



It was black, it was gold, it was a party in the street (though admittedly, every day on Bourbon Street is a party in the street). Go Saints!

To close the day, I grabbed a decent (not amazing) crabcake at the Red Fish Grill. Did I mention the Brennan dynasty? This would be another outpost. The crabcake was pan fried, and therein may lie my difficulty. It didn't hold a candle to Faidley's, and I think it's merely because it wasn't deep fried. Why on earth wouldn't you deep fry it? Doesn't deep frying make everything better?

Who dat? Who dat? Who dat say they gonna beat them Saints?