After Crepe Nanou,* we rolled across the street to Creole Creamery. I was full of mussels and other good things, but as a wise person once observed, "ice cream fills in the cracks." CC pushes the flavor envelope pretty agressively, harder even than Cristina's. I had a small dish of chocwork orange. Then cinetrix and I were on the radio, guests of our gracious host. Then a brief stop at the Maple Leaf, where Re-Birth was playing. The venue was prohibitively crowded, which was frustrating, but it did allow us to enjoy the spectacle of a prominent local chef relaxing on the pool table in his boxers.
The next day, our last, did give me the chance to get my Bluebird on, with an old friend we'll call Cookie. I googled to find a link with address and hours, but the story of the man asking for Huevos Rancheros as he roused from a coma tells you what you need to know. In a town where coma-inducing food is not unknown, a coma-ending dish is worth remembering. Be mindful, post-K, they are only open Wed-Sun, and only until 3 pm.
Cookie and I walked off breakfast on Magazine, allowing me to look in at the Big Fisherman, which allowed me to load up the Bailey Works carryon with boudin, andouille, and tasso. (At airport security, not an eye was batted -- I'd worried that the boudin might look like C4 on the x-ray, but I imagine they get practice distinguishing.)
Our visit was winding down. We collected cinetrix from Rue De La Course, where she had been doing some for-profit internet type stuff. Our friends, Big & Tall, were tailgating for the Sugar Bowl, 
and we stopped by to evaluate their football preparedness levels. This was my first SEC tailgate, and it was educational. At least in this lot, there was an emphasis on campers. Campers have bathrooms, which is useful.
The level of football preparedness was high: before noon for a seven pm kick, the grill was going, and we were plied with beer from full coolers. It may have been the bowl, and the experience of tailgating adjacent to a major city's financial district, but I
did not see the kind of wretched excess I expected from LSU tailgaters in this lot. I saw lots of sausages and pork chops -- solid, fundamentally sound tailgating, but I expected to see whole live gators being deep fried in converted tanker trucks -- but perhaps that kind of thing only happens at LSU/Florida games. The poodles with "LSU" and "Go Tigers" wre impressive. We saw them the next day, when they had been dyed purple and gold. I was also impressed with the young and plucky ND tailgaters adjacent, who had made the trip from Indiana with case upon case of Natty Light, and an awl, which they employed to consume the beer more efficiently.
We bid adieu to Big & Tall, and headed to the airport. To my shock and horror, I realized that I'd been po-boy free for well over 24 hours. We had some time before our flight , and there was one of those perverse airport outposts of a notable dining institution. In this case, it was the Acme Oyster House. In Miami, I'd pulled a similar stunt with the MIA La Careta. Here, the effort to wring one more culinary moment out of a trip was more of a letdown. The other sandwiches had set a higher standard, and the shrimp and oyster po-boy was indifferently prepared and grossly overpriced. Still pretty good, though in a perfect world, a stop by Central Grocery on the way to the airport would have been a better call. That concludes the itinerary. As time allows, a few more thoughts on the experience.
*Last night, I fished in my pocket for some matches, and came up with a book from Crepe Nanou. What I had not noticed before is that on the inside of the matchbook are places to fill in your name and phone number. Conceivably, this could be so that a well-meaning stranger can return your matches to you, when you lose them, like the anoraks of childhood. However, one could, I imagine, write one's name and number on the insde of a book, slip it to an attractive stranger, and precipitate a liason! It's almost like Crepe Nanou has a line of carriages stretching down Prytania St.
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