3 Days In New Orleans, USA, Mostly Beignets And Brass

I went to New Orleans wanting to eat well, hear horns, and walk until my feet protested. Three days is short for a city this loud. Three days is enough to know you will come back.

This itinerary is what I actually did. French Quarter on foot day one, ending with jazz in a tiny room. Garden District and Frenchmen Street on day two. City Park, Willie Mae’s, and a wine courtyard in the Bywater on day three. Mostly walked, occasionally cabbed, never rented a car.

Pack one outfit for late nights and another that can handle a sweat. The city is humid most of the year and beautiful all of it. Here is how the days went.

Day 1, French Quarter on Foot

A walking day with the Mississippi on one side and Bourbon Street on the other, threading the squares and the side streets of the Quarter. Morning starts with coffee at Jackson Square. Lunch is a Pimm’s Cup at Napoleon House. The night ends in a tiny jazz hall that has been doing the same set the same way for sixty years. Bring comfortable shoes.

Jackson Square

Morning one. Coffee still hot in my hand and a jazz trio setting up by Jackson’s statue. The white spires of St. Louis Cathedral were doing their thing against a sky that could not decide what it wanted to be. Painters lined the iron fence, canvases out, faces serious.

Honestly an hour goes fast here. Benches everywhere. Watch the artists, watch the street performers, watch the tourists watching everyone. A vendor selling tarot reads. Someone painting Andrew Jackson for the hundredth time that month. The Mississippi sitting fat behind the square.

I almost skipped the cathedral side. I am glad I did not. Walk straight across, two minutes on foot and you are at the door.

St. Louis Cathedral

Right across the square. The white facade is the postcard view but inside is where it actually happens. America’s oldest continuously active Catholic cathedral, built in 1718 on this spot, rebuilt twice after fire and hurricane.

Half an hour, tops. Keep your camera down if mass is going on, and it often is. Light a candle if that is your thing. The interior is calmer than you expect after the noise outside. Painted ceilings, stained glass that tells the story of St. Louis himself. Cool air. Quiet.

Heads up. Renovations are starting soon so the inside may shift in the months ahead. The small gift shop near the door is weirdly charming despite the reviewers who think it should not be there at all.

From the cathedral, cut through Pirate’s Alley and you are on Royal Street in five minutes.

Royal Street

Late morning, the cast iron balconies dripping ferns and a trumpet player working a corner like the street was built for him. Royal Street is what Bourbon Street wants to be when it grows up. Quieter, prettier, galleries and antique stores instead of daiquiri windows.

Give it forty five minutes. An hour if you like windows. Walk slow. Look up at the wrought iron and the shuttered French doors on the second floors. Duck into a gallery if the door is open. Buy nothing or buy everything. The energy here is calmer than two blocks over and that is the point.

Napoleon House sits at the corner of Chartres and St Louis, three short blocks west. Lunch.

Napoleon House

By lunchtime I needed to sit down with a Pimm’s Cup in my hand. Napoleon House is the move. Late 1700s walls, dim lighting, ceiling fans turning lazy in the front room. Sit there or in the courtyard, the courtyard is brighter and a few degrees cooler.

The muffaletta is the order. Round sesame bun, sliced meats, olive salad, drizzle of oil. The bread looks too thick and is not. Get the half if you are not built for it, the half is enough for one person on its own. The Pimm’s Cup is the house drink and it is fine, not life-changing. Stick with the food.

Plan an hour here. I ate slow, I people-watched, I left full. Cafe Du Monde is a six minute walk down Chartres toward the river.

Cafe Du Monde

Beignets. After lunch is the worst time for them and yet here we are. Cafe Du Monde sits on Decatur right by the river. Cash only, do not forget, there is an ATM if you do. The line looks insane and moves fast. They will sit you, take your order, and three beignets buried in powdered sugar will hit the table inside ten minutes.

Get the cafe au lait with chicory. Together they make sense. Apart less so. Try not to inhale while biting into one, you will regret it. Sugar everywhere.

Twenty minutes, tops. Tables turn quick. Musicians often playing right outside, free soundtrack while you eat.

Walk it off. Preservation Hall is back into the Quarter, about ten minutes on foot up St Peter.

Preservation Hall

Day one ends in a tiny room. After dark, no amplification, around sixty seats if you book the bench tickets and standing room if you do not. Preservation Hall has been doing the same thing the same way since 1961 and I hope they never change it. Forty five minutes of unamplified New Orleans jazz played by people who know exactly where this music comes from and why it matters.

Book ahead if you can. Standing is fine and cheaper, that is what I did. No photos. No video. Phones away. The band shares short stories between songs and it never feels rehearsed.

Wendell Brunious was bandleading the night I went, his wife on clarinet next to him. I came out grinning. Walked back to the hotel through the Quarter with the music still in my ears, a brass band busking on the corner of Royal as I passed. Day one done.

Day 2, Garden District and Frenchmen

Today the city opens out. A morning at the cemetery, lunch at the legendary Commander’s Palace, an afternoon browsing Magazine Street and reading under the oaks of Audubon Park. After dark, Frenchmen Street takes over with live jazz spilling out of every door. The streetcar is your friend on day two.

St. Louis No. 1 Cemetery

Day two began at the cemetery, which is a normal way to start a morning in this city. St Louis No 1 is the oldest in New Orleans, above-ground tombs packed close together, white plaster cracking and patching in the heat.

Heads up. You can only enter on a guided tour now, around twenty five dollars a head. Reviewers grumble about that and I get it. But the guide I had was good, the stories specific, and the upkeep makes sense once you see how fragile these tombs really are. Nicolas Cage’s pyramid-in-waiting is genuinely strange and worth the photo.

Plan an hour for the tour, give or take. Wear a hat. No shade and the sun bounces off the white tombs.

Commander’s Palace is across town in the Garden District. Quick cab, about fifteen minutes.

Commander’s Palace

Lunch at Commander’s. Twenty five cent martinis at lunch, you read that right. The turquoise and white Victorian building has held its corner of the Garden District since 1880 and the food has earned every year of that reputation.

Order the turtle soup with a splash of sherry over the top. The bread pudding souffle for dessert is the dish I would fly back for, arriving like a small cloud with whiskey cream poured over it. The service is choreographed in a way that is fun to watch, plates landing in front of every guest at the exact same second.

Reserve well ahead, especially for the jazz brunch on weekends. Plan two hours, the meal is unhurried on purpose.

Magazine Street starts a few blocks south. Walk it off, ten minutes on foot.

Magazine Street

After lunch, Magazine Street is the right gear shift. It runs six miles from the CBD up through Uptown and the stretch closest to the Garden District is the one to wander. Creole cottages painted in confident colors, boutiques, coffee shops, a vintage store with a dog asleep in the window.

I gave it forty five minutes and that felt right. Pop into whatever has an open door. There is no headline store and that is the point. Browse. Buy a postcard. Pick up a candle that smells like the city. I almost bought a hat I did not need.

Construction was happening in patches when I was through. Best done on foot anyway, parking is a hassle and you would miss too much from a car.

Streetcar back up to St Charles. Catch the green car heading uptown. Audubon Park is the stop you cannot miss, about fifteen minutes.

Audubon Park

Late afternoon called for trees. Audubon Park sits across St Charles from Tulane and Loyola and it is the calmest stretch of New Orleans I found. Big oaks dripping Spanish moss. A lagoon with ducks who clearly run the place. A wide path that takes runners, walkers, cyclists, dogs, all without anyone getting in anyone’s way.

Find the Tree of Life if you can, the huge spreading oak everyone takes photos under. Sit for a while. The stream-side stretch is the prettiest. Public restrooms, drinking fountains, benches everywhere.

Honestly an hour goes fast here. Two if you bring a book. The drizzle that started while I was waiting for the streetcar had stopped by the time I arrived, and the wet leaves smelled like every park summer I have ever loved.

Streetcar back downtown, about twenty five minutes. Dinner and music on Frenchmen Street.

The Spotted Cat

First night of music. After dinner I walked into the Spotted Cat. Five dollar cover, tiny room, the band wedged onto a small stage at the window, the bar packed shoulder to shoulder.

Order the Cat Nip cocktail. Drinks are cheaper than they would be three blocks over on Bourbon. Hand stamped at the door so you can step out and step back in, useful because the room is hot when it fills up.

Forty five minutes per set, multiple sets a night, different bands rolling through. If you want a seat, come early. If you do not mind standing, come whenever and just be ready for the squeeze. Back patio if the inside gets too tight, the music piped out there too.

Walk out the door and you are already on Frenchmen Street. Half a block in either direction is where the rest of the night happens.

Frenchmen Street

This is where the night actually settled in. Frenchmen Street is what Bourbon Street wishes it could still be. Six or seven live music venues in two blocks, several with no cover, sometimes a band playing on the sidewalk because there was no room left inside. Locals outnumber tourists, or maybe both are locals by midnight, hard to tell.

Pop in and out. Hear three songs, move on, hear three more. The Spotted Cat, d.b.a., Snug Harbor, Apple Barrel, all within a block. The art bazaar outside the Spotted Cat is worth a slow walk too, local artists setting up at folding tables after dark.

I ate from a pop-up window and called it dinner. Stayed out later than I meant to. Caught a cab back to the Quarter when the energy finally tipped past my reserves, ten minutes door to door. The horns were still going on Frenchmen as I pulled away.

Day 3, City Park and the Bywater

The third day slows down and then speeds back up. Start with the museum and the sculpture garden at City Park. Have the best fried chicken of your life at Willie Mae’s. Spend an hour at the Backstreet Cultural Museum learning what Mardi Gras Indian culture actually means. End the trip at Bacchanal with wine, pork belly, and a band playing in the courtyard.

New Orleans Museum of Art

Day three started slow on purpose. The New Orleans Museum of Art sits at the front of City Park and it is the right gear for a morning that does not want jazz yet. Stunning three story building, a collection that wanders happily across continents and centuries with no single theme to hold it down.

The non-European rooms surprised me. Mesoamerican pieces, a strong African collection, a lovely room of portrait miniatures clearly identified. Allow two to three hours if you are an art person. An hour and a half if you are not, plus another half hour in the sculpture garden outside, which is the highlight if you only have one stop in you.

Cafe inside is good. Get the Roberge cake if it is on. Louisiana residents get free entry on Wednesdays.

Walk straight out the door into City Park. No transit needed.

City Park

Straight out the museum door. Mid-morning bleeds into lunch. City Park is enormous and you will not see all of it, do not try. The bit right around NOMA is the loveliest, with the live oaks arching over the paths and the Big Lake reflecting whatever the sky is doing that day.

Half an hour, an hour if you take photos. Walk the loop near the sculpture garden if you can. The trees there are absurd, hundreds of years old, branches that bend down and touch the ground and keep going. Couples were getting wedding photos under one of them when I went past. The light through the moss is worth standing still for.

Lunch is calling. Willie Mae’s NOLA, the newer location, is on Baronne Street back closer to the CBD. Quick cab, about fifteen minutes.

Willie Mae’s NOLA

Fried chicken. By lunchtime that was the only plan. Willie Mae’s is the James Beard award fried chicken people fly in for and yes it is that good. Get the four piece plate. Order red beans and rice on the side, plus the mac and cheese. The cabbage if you have room. Cornbread arrives warm and a little sweet.

The chicken is seasoned all the way to the bone, crust shattering, meat juicy. I almost ate the bones. The gumbo is solid, not the standout, get the chicken first. The deviled eggs are sneakier than they look.

Reserve. They do walk-ins but expect a wait at peak times. Plan an hour and fifteen if you order well.

Backstreet Cultural Museum is back in Tremé, ten minutes by cab.

Backstreet Cultural Museum

Two more rooms of looking, this time in Tremé. After lunch. Backstreet is small but every inch is loaded. Mardi Gras Indian suits in glass cases, each one hand beaded over months by a single person, intricate beyond what photos can carry. Baby Doll culture, Jazz Funeral history, Maroon towns. Two floors of it.

The staff are not docents in the formal sense. They are people who know this culture from inside it, who will answer any question you bring with patience and detail. Suits, never costumes. That distinction matters and they will tell you why.

Plan an hour. Two if you want the full tour. It is one of the best museums in the city and almost no tourist makes it here, which is partly its strength.

Last stop of the night, Bacchanal in the Bywater. Quick cab, twelve minutes.

Bacchanal Fine Wine & Spirits

Wine in a courtyard, after dark, a band by the back wall. The trip ends here. Bacchanal is a wine shop, a wine bar, a small plates restaurant, a live music venue, all at once, all in a ramshackle building off Poland Avenue. Pick your wine from the front shop. Order a cheese plate or the pork belly or the bacon-wrapped dates at the counter. Find a seat in the courtyard, string lights overhead, a band already playing.

The pork belly is the order people will tell you about for years. The bacon-wrapped dates are a sleeper. Wine prices are gentler than they should be.

Plan two hours minimum. Three is better. Music starts around seven most nights.

I walked out into the warm Bywater air and called a cab back. Three days down. The horns from Bacchanal were still going as the car turned the corner.

Three days is not enough and that is the honest sum of New Orleans. I left with a list of bars I did not get to, neighborhoods I barely brushed, and one specific bench in City Park I am going to find again. Save room for one more pastry. Tip the musicians.

If you have a favorite I missed, tell me. I want to know which corner I should hit next time.