Debauchery recap

For the third year in a row, I tagged along with P as he attended a cocktail convention in New Orleans. No, I didn't go to the "History and Importance of Ice in Cocktails" seminar as yes, I was more inclined to find myself suddenly surrounded by a promotional rum event and given a free pair of sunglasses, personal water mister and manicure when I'd just been hanging out by the hotel pool reading a book ... but I did learn a few things anyway.

I don't like Negronis. Not even when the gin and Campari are correctly balanced. Speaking of gin, my hotel key card:


Poor, exhausted phrase!

We arrived at the Hotel Monteleone as the street in front of it was being set up for "the world's largest" Genever Kopstootje toast (the Genever Kopstootje [pron. kop-stow-tjuh] is translated as "little head butt" and represents the traditional Dutch version of a beer and a shot) to kick off the convention. Normally an event like this would cause me to drop my bags, roll up my sleeves, and jockey for a space.


Photo courtesy of David Grunfeld, The Times-Picayune

But it was something like 9am. And as I found out later, they were toasting with light beers. Light bottled beers. I'm glad I took a nap instead.

A couple days later, Ricard turned the same street into a Pétanque court (similar to Bocce ball) to get everyone excited about that lovely anise-flavored liqueur.


Photo courtesy of Crave

But I'm getting ahead of myself. That first night, we went to a huge party at the World War II museum, wherein scores of well-known bartenders dressed in wartime garb were mixing drinks and handing them out to anyone with a free hand.

Outside, in front of the museum, there were two charismatic goats and a hardworking cow hired by Hendrick's gin to supply milk for almost-impossible-to-make-fast Ramos gin fizzes. P and I were psyched to see the animals, but they turned out to be a bittersweet sight to behold. Looked after by their attentive (and I'm pretty sure, sober) handlers, and certainly up to the challenge, they looked sad anyway, like they just wanted to get the heck out of there. Who could blame 'em. I'm sure parties thrown by goats and cows are much different.

I was also distracted by the weirdness of so much boozy socializing under dive bombers and in front of huge war photographs and memorabilia. P reminded me the end of World War II was a joyous occasion, and how museums are often chosen for huge parties and of course get paid for it, and yeah, yeah, yeah, OK.



But I mean, come on.

I know: It's not very New Orleansian to think too penetratingly about anything in the midst of a party, especially one with free drinks and free oysters and free sailor hats and other liquor company swag.



Oh, the swag!



What can I say. My skepticism follows me everywhere.



New Orleans is a fascinating and beautiful place, and I'm lucky to have the chance to get to know it a little better each year.

Where else could Walgreens be



?

Read about last year's trip here and the year before here.