starting New Orleans not with a bang, but with a whimper. March 2016


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It’s said there are no atheists in foxholes, which may be true. But I’d add that there are definitely no atheists suffering with food poisoning. I was laid low low low this Wednesday. Frick, it was awful. My only silver lining, and it was shitty one (pun intended? Perhaps), was that at least it wasn’t happening on an airplane. Imagine the announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen, did anyone happen to pack a waste basket in their carryon, because there’s a woman trapped in the bathroom and we’ve run out of those tiny barf bags.” Too much information? Probably. Apologies.

And I spent my time, when not praying and whimpering (to tie into this post’s title), having a pity party that if I had to spend the weekend in NOLA eating bland foods, I would cry one million tears. This whole trip started when my pal Sarah asked, “you wanna eat your way through New Orleans?”

But when I got up this morning for our flight and found, to my dismay, that my bout with gastroenteritis wasn’t over, all worries about not getting to eat rich and spicy foods went out the window and it just became about surviving the 5 hours on the plane. Happily my prayers were answered, and while the time at the airport wasn’t great, once we boarded, my iron gut powers activated  (or something). And I didn’t become the latest viral video because something horrifying took place. And my “meal” of apple juice and a few peanuts went well.

Okay, let’s move on. On our flight Nichole made great use of the bendy sticks to make some epic eyewear. Art powers!!

Wiki Stix
Wiki Stix

Terrible rains and thunderstorms have heaped havoc upon LA the last 2 days. And our pilot sure was concerned about turbulence, but we lucked out. And even had a dry spell when we landed to a really gorgeous sunset.

Taxis are a flat rate from the airport. This proved especially great when our taxi was blocked because a st Patrick’s day parade was going through the French quarter. And so we got to see the parade for 10 minutes, as well as the madness that is Bourbon Street area on a Friday night. Including the very drunk older woman who kept trying to open the locked minivan taxi door and get in. Our driver kept saying, “no. I have passengers already. Please no.” Then a guy walks up and says, by way of explanation, “This is my mom.” “Ok. But I still already have passengers.” The guy looked in the window, saw the 4 of us sitting inside,  I waved, and he said, “oh,” and pulled his mom off of the car door. So, ya know…

Finding a dinner option that wasn’t swimming in cream or spice or deep fried provided a challenge. But bless the place we ate for offering their one “diet” option of a grilled chicken breast on top of salad. (Text predict wanted that to be “grilled chicken breastfeeding,” and I’m not even sure how to process that).

We’ll be doing the requisite Cafe du Monde for beignets tomorrow morning. (Well, the other 3 will be, and I’ll keep them company). It’s open 24 hours and we have 3 more days, so I’ll get my fried dough covered in 4″ of powdered sugar at some point.

Laissez les bonnes Temps roulez. (And I’m too lazy to check my half-remembered french spelling, so apologize if that’s incorrect). Good night everybody.




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