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This is a location with a Wikipedia page that includes words like ‘contraband’ and ‘illegal seizures.’ Ghost tours rotate around the location, supposedly one of the most haunted buildings in New Orleans (high bar). And in one sense, any sense of encroachment of “tourism” on a place like this might be a death sentence for an authentic dive bar.īut this is a building erected in the 1770s. The evolution of the dive bar over the past decade or so has inched it closer to the Bourbon Street template, complete with mystery purple frozen drink dispensed from an endlessly whirring machine behind the bar. We considered hitting up the Fruit Loop for goodbye nightcaps, but after three days of essentially nonstop drinking, we settled for a more appropriate vice - Café du Monde for one more powdery plate of beignets.Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop is a confusing dive bar to serve as the subject of a review like this one. After sampling po’boys, gumbo, jambalaya and beignets, the last iconic New Orleans food we had to check off our list was the muffaleta, a grilled Italian sandwich which we inhaled within minutes of it hitting the table. Our final meal was at Cochon Butcher, the sandwich store connected to Cochon where we’d had dinner at a few nights prior. Do yourself a favor and check out their blog, ProbablyThis. They were complete sweethearts and it was so nice to see that they were as adorable and friendly in person as they are online. We met them for afternoon daiquiris at the charming Cane and Table in the French Quarter. Be sure to ask for extra bread to soak up the butter.įor lunch we stopped by Turkey and the Wolf, a kitschy sandwich shop that was very busy even for a Monday afternoon, and with good reason - their sandwiches and lunch cocktails were delicious! Before leaving, we wanted to catch up with our Instagram friends Matt and Beau, two New Orleans lifestyle bloggers (and the inspiration for so many of our recommendations). I still have dreams about wood-fired oysters with chili garlic butter. We skipped the traditional entrees and instead ordered a swath of appetizers to share. Not only did she commit to day drag in 90-degree heat, but queen had a bibliography!Īfter getting seriously lost on the streetcar home, (do not trust GoogleMaps with streetcar directions!) we showered and headed to the Warehouse District to have dinner at Cochon, a popular restaurant specializing in butchered meats in the Cajun style. Her stories were fascinating and informative and shed a light on sex work, organized crime, voodoo swindling and a lot of historical pettiness.
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While walking tours are a dime a dozen in the French Quarter, Quinn, a local drag queen, ditches mainstream lore for a deeper dive into the history of women, queer people and people of color in the city. This was unequivocally our favorite moment of the trip. If we could recommend only one thing from this trip, it would be our next stop - the Nola Drag Walking Tour, given by local historian and drag queen Quinn Laroux. gumbo and po’boy, we snuggled back into our cushy bed at the Henry Howard.
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After a few drinks and a not-particularly-memorable bowl of 3 a.m. Its name, I can only guess, comes from its ability to separate you from both your sobriety and your goal weight. It wasn’t until our final trip that we were told to order “The Separator,” their signature drink - a delicious alcoholic Frosty topped with whipped cream and a cherry. Situated just a block from Bourbon Street, Good Friends felt like a dream neighborhood hang, a place where you could sit on the balcony sipping strong drinks as early-2000s nostalgia bops blasted from indoors. Our favorite (and thrice visited) was Good Friends Bar. We had a long list of LGBT bars in the “fruit loop” of the French Quarter, and we began making our way down the list.
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NoLa famously has no open-container laws, and despite my four years at a state school, I still get a rush from carrying a drink in public. We stopped at the first shop that we saw was selling alcoholic Slurpees (admittedly, not difficult to locate) and ordered the biggest frozen hurricanes they sold. While the rowdy French Quarter is, understandably, some peoples’ personal hellscape, to Scott and I, it was actually a blast.