I imagine telling people you’ve never been to New Orleans is kind of like walking into Comic-Con and announcing that you’ve never seen “Star Wars.” There are gasps and protestations, usually accompanied by eyes popping out of heads and mouths agape. Honestly, I’m surprised nobody has fainted.
This is especially true if you’re a food writer. Visiting New Orleans is seen as a rite of passage, something you do when you’re still young and reckless, but also a place you revisit when you’re ready to drink in the city’s other charms – including the revered culinary scene.
Not visiting sooner has been a glaring blind spot in my food-writing career (and, frankly, my career as a formerly reckless youth). After all, how am I to judge a D.C. version of a po’ boy, gumbo or beignets when I can’t compare them to the real things?
Well, thanks to the good people of Windsor Court Hotel, which sits just a block or so outside the famed French Quarter, I can now scratch New Orleans off my To Do list. I spent four blissful days as their guest in New Orleans this November, and I plan to share these experiences with CityEats readers through a short series of blog posts that will take you through my daily adventures.
I invite you to travel along, maybe mix yourself a Sazerac and drink every time you read the word “boobs.”
Just kidding. As you’ll soon learn, I’m too old for that kind of trip.