The Big Easy

There was a day in July when I mourned the end of field trips.

...but that was before I had ever experienced a business trip.

A little more work, a little less bus -- but still, good deal.

Enter New Orleans.

Last week I headed down to the Big Easy for an education conference.

Dirty city, good food.

Here's the famous Bourbon street, with golden boy dancing for all the drunk people.

I think he made more money than I did that day? But it's cool, I can't dance like he can.

He does have the benefit of being black, though.

We watched another group of street performers in front of this cathedral.

They were hilarious and filled with racial comments that white people could never get away with.

That night we headed to Mulate's for some southern Louisiana cooking.

There was a sweet old man almost half my height that danced every dance that night.

He asked me to do a little country swing number. I was honored.

I found out his name is Bill, he travels around with the band and dances every song,

and after our duet he gave me a little certificate that said I was an "official Cajun dancer."

Even dirty, smokey cities have cute, old Bills.

Over the week I ate (or was talked into eating):

Alligator gumbo, barbecued oysters, fried calamari, Louisiana redfish,

crawfish stew, jambalaya, red beans and rice, bread pudding, dirty rice...

...and beignets from the famous Cafe' Du Monde!

I've been craving one of these since I saw the Princess and the Frog,

and I didn't even know what they really were until I ordered one.

Deep fried dough loaded with powdered sugar.

Yum.

Deep fried (almost anything) loaded with powdered sugar.

Yum.

We ate that healthy (right?) snack while walking along the Mississippi River,

and listening to steamboats play music.

I wanted to be Tom Sawyer.

Ok, maybe Becky Thatcher.

And that was my week of southern hospitality.

Plus, #38. And counting.