The next afternoon, free of the convention, we hung out in the French Quarter. From our perch at Johnny White’s on Bourbon Street, we watched the scene below. Right at 6 p.m., a guy dressed up as a giant hand grenade started his shift outside the the Tropical Isle bar, promoting their signature drink. We watched as people embraced him in photos and, occasionally, punched them as hard as they could. The poor guy. I’m so glad that I don’t have to work as a grenade.
Our last meal was at Le Foret, an elegant, new restaurant in the Central Business District. Like August, it’s a white tablecloth affair with servers adorned in ankle-length aprons who reflexively call everyone “sir” or “ma’am.” We wanted sazeracs, and since our server and the bartender couldn’t agree on the superior way to make one. Rye whisky with absinthe or Maker’s Mark with herbsaint? So he brought us a version of each.
From there, we had more cauliflower soup, this time a slightly more delicate variation studded with lobster and topped with just a hint of caviar. Mike ordered the tasting menu which had a serious standout item: a foie gras “soup” with layered with gruyere. Think French onion soup, but with foie gras. The lush, soft texture of the liver paired with the salty unctuousness of the cheese was arguably one of the best things that I’ve tasted in the past couple of years. In fact, I barely remember the rest of the meal other than it was all good. I’m not sure if that’s due to the fabulousness of the foie gras dish or that we started dinner with double sazeracs.