Some people, when they go on vacation, spend their entire time lounging by the pool, or on the beach. I, on the other hand, like to go places and do things - as I'm sure is evident to anyone who's been reading my trip logs. Still, no matter how much of a vacation is spent going and doing, it's nice to take a day and just relax and sleep late. And so it was with this day. After a late breakfast (or early lunch), we went back to the hotel and relaxed for a while. Terry took a nap.
Later that afternoon, we visited the Southern Food and Beverage Museum - affectionately known as SoFaB. The bulk of the museum consisted of exhibits for each one of the Southern states, with displays of food and beverage items from that state - grocery items, traditional recipes, popular restaurants, etc. There was also this "alcohol wall," covered with liquor bottles and bar utensils through history:
Nearby was this exhibit about absinthe (w), an herbal liqueur with a notorious reputation. It had a reputation of being a highly addictive and dangerous hallucinogen. In reality, it was no more dangerous than other alcoholic drinks; its bad rap apparently was due to unscrupulous vendors selling adulterated product. Please note: the guy behind the bar is a mannequin.
Notice the display box on the wall at the left side of the picture, filled with metal implements. These are absinthe spoons. Apparently, the preferred way to drink absinthe was to place the specially designed slotted spoon over the glass, put a sugar cube on the spoon, and drip ice water on the sugar. The sugar would dissolve, and the sugar water would drip into the glass. This would sweeten the drink, and also bring out the herbal flavors.
In one corner of the museum, we encountered another person behind a counter, but this one was live:
This woman rents kitchen space from the museum to make salsa. The large container in front of her contains corn, onions, different varieties of chili peppers, and water. After letting them marinate together for the appropriate amount of time, she'll puree the mixture into salsa, bottle it, and sell it in the museum's gift shop.
After leaving the museum, while waiting for our Lyft ride, I spotted an interesting sculpture across the street, and went to take a look. It turned out to be a memorial to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr:
A plaque said that the arms represent people reaching out to each other across the racial divide.
Before dinner, we went for drinks at Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop. We had previously driven by the place on our city tour, when I took this picture:
It was a little busier when we were there this day:
Lafitte's is one of the oldest buildings in New Orleans. It also purports to be the oldest bar in New Orleans, but that's debatable. According to Wikipedia, however, it is "possibly the oldest building in the United States housing a bar."
Its actual connection with the pirate Jean Lafitte (w) is also controversial. Again according to Wikipedia, Lafitte "may have spent time there in his earlier years. He was said to use it as a base for arranging the transfer of smuggled goods. His brother Pierre Lafitte was a blacksmith.... As with many things involving the Lafittes, including the possibility that they used the structure to plot illegal seizures and the sale of contraband, no documentation exists."
Lafitte's is particularly notorious for a concoction called a Voodoo Daiquiri, or "Purple Drank." It'a a mixture of crushed ice, grape juice, bourbon and Everclear - that's a brand of liquor which can be anywhere from 120 proof (60% alcohol) to 190 proof (95% alcohol)! Sort of like an adult Slurpee. Terry had one; everyone else had more sense.
While we were there, I heard a commotion outside, and went to take a look:
Apparently, brass bands don't restrict their parading to Mardi Gras. This one had a second line consisting of one woman:
The guy in the blue suit wasn't part of the parade; he was a bystander who got into the act.
Our plan at this point was to go back to Frenchmen Street for dinner and music. On Google Maps, we had found a restaurant on Frenchmen Street that looked good. When we got there, though, we discovered that the restaurant was a food truck! We ended up eating at another restaurant.
We then went to Bamboula's, a music club which supposedly is known for zydeco (w), a Creole music genre characterized by accordion, washboard percussion, and French lyrics. But when we got there, the band we found playing was a hardcore blues band. They were good - the guitarist was particularly good - but they weren't zydeco.
The music in New Orleans isn't only in the clubs and bars, as evidenced by the brass band we saw earlier, and this group we passed on the sidewalk:
We called a Lyft to take us back to the hotel, and that was when we had the only truly bad experience of the trip (even worse than walking in the rain). The Lyft driver absolutely, positively, adamantly refused to take us with Kettle. We tried to tell him that by law, he's required to take real service animals, but he was having none of it. He cancelled the ride, and the app automatically got us another ride. Of course, we reported the driver, but we never did find out what happened to him. I can't quite bring myself to say I hope he lost his job (I'm too good natured - Terry, on the other hand, has no such reservations), but if he did, he certainly deserved it.