Broke But Not Starving
Eating in New Orleans on the cheap
We’ve established that I was on an extremely tight budget when I was in New Orleans. The bulk of my money paid for lodging and a new addition to the world’s dumbest tramp stamp. Otherwise, what I had was spent on food. Cheap food. I have no complaints about this.
A side note: I don’t want any opinions on this, but for the past year I’ve been treating my polycystic ovarian syndrome with one of those injectable drugs that tends to cause weight loss. It’s been good. And an extra perk: I spend less on food now that the gremlin in my brain that reminds me about the bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups exists in the kitchen has been sedated with a blend of peptides. Between meat sticks, protein bars, and a passed-out gremlin, I didn’t need nearly as much money for food as I used to.
When I came out of my tattoo appointment, though, I realized that I had screwed up. The day before I had driven from Memphis to Jackson, Mississippi, which left a three-hour drive to Joel’s tattoo shop. I had eaten half of a bacon and cheddar scone, half of a high protein bar, a meat stick, a cup of hotel coffee, and a latte named after a Eudora Welty novel before I arrived. Since I was early I hopped into Perk Coffee and Community next door. Nothing in the pastry case called to me, but milk and whipped cream in a strawberry mocha count as food, right?
Coming out from my tattoo, into 85-degree heat and sun after being stabbed thousands of times and running on crumbs and caffeine, you might be surprised to learn that I immediately went from post-tattoo euphoria to being pretty sure I was about to experience the milestone of puking on the sidewalk in the French Quarter. Between those weekly shots and my vestibular issues, I’m prone to random episodes of vomiting if I let myself get too hungry. But I was determined to not throw up on Rampart Street. At least, not from getting tattooed without enough caloric support. I sat in my car, took the tiniest nibble of a protein bar, let it settle, took another bite, let it settle, took a drink, and whoa! I was fine.
Fine, but I knew it wouldn’t last for long. I needed what everyone needs in New Orleans when it’s a sunny Monday pushing 90 degrees at happy hour—a giant cheeseburger and a baked potato where chunks of melting butter are doing the backstroke.
While the idea of a baked potato in the heat never sounds appealing, I inevitably go face-down into it as soon as my plate arrives. Any shreds of cheddar that fall off the burger get tossed into the potato, and it’s dinner plate symbiosis at its best.
Port of Call has been on the edge of the French Quarter on Esplanade for longer than I’ve been alive. Thank God no one has tinkered with the original decor from when it began life as a tiki bar steakhouse. They still have a menu of tiki cocktails and punches, but since I’d just dodged a vomiting incident, I stuck to water. Which was bottled. Because New Orleans has busted something like eight or nine water mains since the beginning of the year, including one that morning.
Brunch the next day happened at Ayu Bakehouse, an oft-recognized bakery/café on Frenchman Street in the Marigny, a few blocks from my hotel. While my meeting with Amzie stole the show, it still would have been well worth the trip for the food, even if I hadn’t met him.
Since Ayu is extremely popular and I, as usual, was running extremely late, I missed the item I planned to order: a breadstick stuffed full with all the ingredients for a muffuletta sandwich. At $6 a pop, I wanted to grab a few to throw in my room fridge for snacks. Alas. Instead I had a grab-and go chicken salad sandwich on crispy, buttery grilled bread. Studded with fresh little rings of Serrano peppers, the chicken was far more interesting than the usual gluey, bland stuff a lot of places serve.
Being on a budget meant going easy at the pastry case, which included brioche-based goodies and gorgeous French delicacies. Since I learned about Ayu during King Cake season, I chose their individual chocolate babka knot, which was actually chocolate-hazelnut, since it was filled with Nutella, just like one of their most popular King Cakes. So glad this isn’t limited to Carnival season, because it’s just as deliciously rich and decadent as you’re thinking.
And have you ever seen a prettier latte?
I spent that afternoon at City Park, happy that I had plenty of room for a plate of hot beignets and a café au lait at their Café du Monde outpost. There aren’t many things as pleasant as sitting on their portico, reading, people-watching among the live oaks, and snacking. This activity should be prescribed for people suffering from intense malaise.
By the time I headed out in the late afternoon, I was under-hydrated, over-caffeinated, and losing a fight with a big migraine. So I went back to the hotel, napped, woke up still feeling like shit, so instead of hitting Bud Rip’s for Rosalie’s Tacos, I got a catfish po’boy delivered, which I ate in bed while watching “The Jeffersons.” Life could be a lot worse.
But! It just kept getting better because I woke up the next day without a migraine and
I found a parking spot within a block of Elizabeth’s in the Bywater!
While this was only my second visit to Elizabeth’s, I’m confident in declaring it my favorite restaurant in New Orleans. Or maybe anywhere. The food is beyond compare. Just solid from-scratch favorites made with impeccable technique and exceptional quality ingredients. I saw a chef give a Sysco salesman the boot while I was there.
Last time I was at Elizabeth’s, I asked a server to hold one of their biscuit next to the giant hair bun on top of my head to compare the size. That caught the attention of a couple at the next table, who struck up a conversation. Susie and Greg are fellow Midwesterners (Ohio) and music lovers, and we clicked instantly. We still keep in touch and I’m hoping to catch them at least one of the two times I’ll be passing through their town this summer.
Brandy, the server I pestered that day last May, was working. Once the lunch rush ended I reintroduced myself, (“Hi … About a year ago I made you hold a biscuit up to my head to show it was as big as my bun…” “I remember you!”), and told her about the friendship forged because of that photo. And she got teary-eyed, this woman who waits on hundreds of customers a day, who remembered me, and remembered Greg and Susie, and was amazed at what came from me asking for a ridiculous favor. I got teary, too. It was wonderful.
I spent the rest of the day wandering the Bywater, which meant a stop at a new joint tattoo artist Joel told me to visit—Chance in Hell Snoballs. Now, we know I love a Hansen’s Sno Bliz snoball. So much so that I have one tattooed above my ass—also courtesy of Joel. But I didn’t want to go uptown, and of course I want to support small businesses in the Bywater.
Chance in Hell doesn’t have the bazillion flavor options you’ll find at Hansen’s, which is fine because there’s such a thing as having too many choices, especially for indecisive, scatter-minded folks looking for the next sugar fix. Like Hansen’s, Chance in Hell has soft, fluffy ice, and they make their syrups in-house, not shying away from creativity. While the locavore in me wanted to get a Pontachoula strawberry snoball with condensed milk, the novelty of the blackberry sweet tea won. So did the giant-headed Labrador I got to pet when I walked in the door. And so did I because I got a blackberry sweet tea snoball and dog pets in my favorite neighborhood.
That night I considered hitting Hot Stuff, the meat and three place from the Turkey and the Wolf geniuses. But really? I was still pretty full from Elizabeth’s. I stopped by R Bar for a couple of evening cocktails, and someone came in wearing one of their t-shirts, which said “Meat and 3” on the back with Dale Earnhart’s three. I asked her if she worked there, and she didn't. Just loves the restaurant and had to buy the shirt because her mom worked for NASCAR in North Carolina for her entire career. She gave me some dirt on some drivers while we drank.
Eventually I ordered two slices of pepperoni pizza and a house salad for delivery from Pizza Delicious. Because their name is correct and I was also in dire need of vegetables. Another dinner in bed while watching “The Jeffersons”? Don’t mind if I do!
My plan for the day of my departure was lunch at Bywater Bakery, but when I got there the sidewalk tables weren’t set up, thanks to a big thunderstorm that rolled through the night before. And I forgot that there’s a dining room behind the kitchen. But that was fine. I grabbed a box of pastries for the ride—ube white chocolate roll, double peanut butter cookie, wedding cake cupcake, and a giant magic cookie bar, because I love magic cookie bars just about more than any other baked good. This one was definitely made with real magic. A friend in LA called as I was waiting for my café au lait, so I whiled away some time outside on a bench, sipping my coffee and touching base with my other favorite city.
Pastries do not a lunch make, and these were earmarked for the ten hours I would be spending in my car, so I headed uptown to hit Turkey and the Wolf for lunch on my way out of town. I should have been more adventurous and gotten the collard green melt or the fried bologna sandwich, but since I was going to be on the road, I played it safe and got the same perfect ham sandwich I got last time I was there a few years ago, along with a bowl of the best fries in the world.
Turkey and the Wolf hosts a community fridge, stocked full of meals and snacks for people in need to grab without hassle. Guests can order a pay-it-forward for $8, which provides a meal. Even my broke ass had enough to buy a sandwich for the fridge. Because there but for the grace of god go I. My money was tight enough that I kept half of that catfish po’boy in my hotel fridge, just in case. Because you just never know. I was lucky to not need it, and grateful for the chance to take that worry off of someone else. Even when we have a little, we can give a little and make a lot.
Wanna help New Orleaneans eat? Give a few bucks to Second Harvest Food Bank if you don’t have a trip to Turkey and the Wolf on your agenda.
This reminds me so much of my NO expeditions. EAting at deli counters and stacked fridges, bodegas, drop in bakeries, trucks parked in Congo Square — and still, the best eating of my life. Xoxoxo
Thank you for feeding my soul Robin!!! You absolutely made my day!!!