We are beginning of our fourth day in New Orleans. Much of my husband, Bobby’s, time has been working at the CAMEX convention, which is why we are here in the first place. However, we have had our evenings free to explore the city. On Saturday night we decided, or more to the point, Bobby decided we should go to the Napoleon House for dinner. The Napoleon House is in the French Quarter.
Let me step back here for a minute. It is February in New Orleans. Based on what one of our drivers for Lyft, Donald, said, New Orleans is very busy in February. A lot tourists converge on the city, even before Fat Tuesday. Not only that, but there had been a parade somewhere in the Quarter (that’s how the locals refer to it) earlier in the evening. And New Orleans is not on Eastern Standard Time; it is on Central time. Plus I was hungry.
So these are the circumstances that Bobby decided we should go to the Napoleon House at 8:30 NOLA (what I call New Orleans when I don’t want to spell out) time. The traffic was terrible. New Orleans is an old city. It has been around for a very long time, since at least the 1700s. Their streets are not very wide. At least not those in the Quarter. The people who were walking back from the parade were everywhere. Bless Donald’s heart. He didn’t once get road rage. Not ever when the emergency vehicle was coming up behind him and he had to move his SUV to the side. It about gave me a great attack!
The road was closed to traffic at one point, so we elected to get out and join the throng of people traveling on foot. Although they seemed to be going the opposite direction from us. There were plenty of individuals dressed casually, like us. And then there were plenty of people dressed, how should I say, interestingly. They were in various types of costumes, like I would have expected to see at Mardi gras. I wondered if they brought them from home or picked it up in town. One guy in particular stands out. He was wearing a cowboy hat, jean jacket, jeans and boots. Sounds normal right? It was right down until the pink tutu. Don’t even get me started with the guy who was wearing a clown costume! I guess what happens in New Orleans stays in New Orlenas.
Bobby had turned on Google maps so that we could find the restaurant. Unfortunately with all the people, we walked by it without even noticing it. Not our finest navigational moment to say the least. When we finally realized we had to turn around we were a good two blocks away. By now I’m pretty hangry (angry because I am hungry) and my feet are hurting and I’m trying to avoid loud and inebriated people on the streets.
When we finally make it to Napoleon House there is a waiting line outside the door (of course) but we go inside to see how long of a wait it will be. Turns out it was 45 minutes to an hour. Bobby must have sensed my frustration because he decided we wouldn’t wait.
Now we are back on the street with no plan of what to do about dinner. Not that there weren’t places to go, but because they were either way out of our price range or not our type of food or just plain too crowded, we kept on moving on. Thankfully we came to The Governor restaurant. It is a seafood and oyster bar. I was ready to keep walking because I was sure Bobby would not want to go. As I have explained in other posts, Bobby doesn’t eat seafood. He, however, decided we should stop. There were a couple of empty tables at the front of the restaurant. (Turns out the place has 2 levels, so I think it was pretty crowded upstairs when we arrived. ) It was around 10 pm local time.
We ordered the cajun pepper jack boudin bombs as an appetizer. These are deep fried rice and meatballs that included ground beef, pork, rice, pepper jack cheese, peppers and onions. (The onions were very small and I was very hungry for those of you wondering about me eating them.) The balls are served with jalapeno ranch dressing, which is very spicy. Bobby loved it; I chose to not use it, but only after I had tasted it and realized how hot it was! I must have missed the description on the menu! The boudin bombs were just enough to bring me out of my hangry zone and back to civility.
I ordered the gulf fish platter, which came with fries and hush puppies. The fish is fresh caught Louisiana fish deep fried in a light batter. Sometimes fish and chips can be more batter than fish. That is not the case at The Governor. The batter was nice and crispy. I had asked our server if it was a mild fish. She said it was a lot like catfish, without the bones. I remember going to my Aunt Juanita’s cabin in southern Indiana for a fish fry. The fish was catfish and I remember really enjoying it. The fish at The Governor was amazing! It wasn’t fishy at all. Very mild and super tender. I loved it!
Bobby got the buttermilk chicken and waffles. It is a deep fried chicken a breast served between Belgian waffles. It comes with a fig and cane syrup and fresh fruit. Bobby’s only problem with the dish was how to eat it. He was tempted to separate the chicken from the waffle, but didn’t want to do that because it would have felt like cheating. Therefore, he used his knife to cut it down and then dipped it in (and sometimes drizzled on it) the syrup. Our server told him he could get maple syrup if he wanted, but he didn’t want it. He liked the unique flavor of the fig syrup.
I was very pleased that we had found The Governor restaurant. It was nice to step into a place away from the crowds and get refreshed. Bobby started talking about going to another place to listen to some music on Bourbon Street, but I was exhausted. I told him I thought Saturday nights in the French Quarter are meant for the young. He said, “Well, your young tonight!” I begged him to let us go back to the hotel and the nice soft bed. He acquiesced and ordered a Lyft.
Upon reflection I think maybe the French Quarter is a place I could visit in the daytime. There are a lot of shops and places to see. But I’m O.K. with accepting that I’m not as young as I used to be. And I am glad at least we experienced the Quarter at night on a Saturday in February…once.
