Laissez les bon temps rouller, New Orleans, October 2012

The official plan was to do the neuroscience work thing and do some work. The unofficial plan was to cerebrally dissect the tourist traps of The Big Easy.

New Orleans is unlike any other American city I have visited in that it actually has some character. It is like other American cities, however, in that it left you cringing so hard your face would turn into an invagination. Where shall we start?

Bourbon St: Frankly ridiculous

Good joke....

Let's start on Bourbon Street. Bourbon Street on a Friday night is like Cardiff city centre. I.e. pure filth. Bourbon Street is George Best's and Gazza's one way ticket to Uncle Johnny Walker's bossom. Take a wrong turning while perusing the cultural delight of the French Quarter and you end up in this oasis of scum. I think very few places on Earth could turn a street in the heart of a broody, faux-medieval arrondissement into Satan's toilet. Everything you want to hate about American culture is concentrated along this Jastorf highway of gaudy, inexplicable bead throwing, breast flashing, distasteful dirt. But it was great fun. If God created San Antonio, Shag-aluf, Kavos etc, then Bourbon Street was created as spillover. I thoroughly recommend you to get on the Hand Grenades, Hurricanes and Jesters. The Jester is the self proclaimed 'world's strongest drink'. Sounds like the worse bad joke to me. Once you have tried Chernobyl's finest effluent and are still standing, back it up with a couple of ingeniously named 'Huge Ass Beers'. On my first night on Gazza Best Lane, eighty of my hard earned notes were literally pissed away. I did my bit for the global financial crisis by pissing my money away into the US economy.

My reward the next morning was a hangover more explosive than C4 made of vindaloo. Those test tube shots were not a good idea...  I was sending some serious feed forward inhibition to my medulla all day to keep things together. Pebble dashing my poster would not have gone down well in front of my peers. 

Only in America can you buy a couple of tossers

Having accepted the pearl handled revolver from Mr Sandman, I was fit and ready for the most important meal of the day - breakfast. The lucky recipient of my patron was Cafe Fleur de Lis. The interior meant business with no frills. Just people doing what Americans do best - eating, and enjoying shit coffee. For some inexplicable reason, I ordered a Bloody Mary along with my seafood themed omelette. Barring the gut retching tabasco flavoured tomato juice and vodka, my omelette was very palatable. It was pure American in that it was very over the top. It was a juiced up breakfast omelette with crayfish tails served with yellow Live Strong bracelets. I was pumped. The omelette certainly hit the spot and more. In fact I was ready to start my first day of the conference with a lie down.

Other meals of note included dinner at Le Bayou recommended by an interesting character covered in white powder. We just had tell the waiting staff that 'Louis' sent us and we would presumably be not be served horse meat in our meals. Well, that turned out to be complete jambalayas. Speaking of jambalaya, I ordered a sampler consisting of jambalaya, etouffe and seafood gumbo. Next. Nothing interesting to report. I trekked it across New Orleans one lunchtime to some pub (Coop's Place for the purists) for a bona fide Big Easy meal. It was aright. The cajun chicken Lipitor's best friend, and the jambalaya/etouffe thing was alright. I have had better in West Croydon.

Lunch at Coop's Place (that is a chicken wing, not a bit of horse)

I ended up at Cafe Du Monde one night, which I was told is the absolute must if one visits New Orleans. Again, what a load of jamabalayas. You seat yourself under a tent marquee after navigating your way on the floor, which is stickier than Elmo's puppet lining only to be served by a Russian waitress. The thing you have to get are the beignets because they are so standard they make QPR look like Barcelona. Fried dough with powdered sugar on top. There was so much of the white stuff, it looked as if Daniella Westbrook sneezed on it. The tea or coffee I had with it was alright though.

Lastly, Acme Oyster bar looked interesting as there was always a queue to get in. After waiting for around 30 min and accosting Louis about the embarrassment at Le Bayou we finally got our table. This place was 110 % American. After waiting in the balmy humid New Orleans air I was gasping for breath in the rarefied A/C processed air of the restaurant. I think I had a Po Boy sandwich of some sort, which was alright. Standard. Acceptable on a good day. The oysters on the other hand were a travesty. Richard III would have dug himself 10 feet deeper if one of these fried oysters turned up on his plate. I think it would have been alright if it hadn't been drowned in parmesan. It just ended up tasting like a grilled gym sock that had been fermenting in the back of a minibus.

All in all, the food was OK. Nothing special. You could get better versions of jambalayas, etouffe and gumbos if you ask one of your South Asian friend's mum to cook for you. The Big Easy is easily the best American city I have had the pleasure to visit. It is dirty, chaotic and charming.

The Ho Down says: Prepare to be on permanent detox after visiting Nawlins.