Hand Grenades, Frog Legs and Drunken Whores

It turns out that drinking in New Orleans is a popular extreme sport. I do not recommend that you try the gringo slushy drink found on Bourbon Street called the hand grenade. I asked the bartender what was in it and apparently she did not even know. Imagine Red Bull with more sugar, if that is even possible.

The food here is fab. Oysters, crawfish etoufee, gumbo, blackened red fish, jambalaya, bbq shrimp, beignets and pralines to name a few have recently lined my stomach walls. I’m going to look like Fast Bastard in a week if I keep this up. I also tried some blackened frog legs. Poor Kermie. They looked like fat chicken wings with tiny feet and tasted like a strong white fish.

I had dinner at a really expensive restaurant Friday night. I sat at the bar and beside me was an attractive woman wearing a hip vintage dress. Her first course hadn't even arrived and she was quite drunk. She described herself as a functioning alcoholic and after about a half hour of chatting it turns out she is an internet escort from Kansas. I lied and told her I had a girlfriend. She said not to worry because I wouldn’t be able to afford her. She said married men treat her the best and the single guys are jerks. I asked her if it bothered her that she slept with married men. She said no, “he’ll just find some other whore.” Colourful people here in New Orleans.

Blues was spilling out onto the street Saturday night when I stepped into a shoe-box club on Frenchmen street called The Spotted Cat. The crusty old black singer was using metal thimbals to play a washing board that hung around his neck. It felt like the real deal.