New Orleans in a Jacket I Can't Afford

A jazz brunch, a balcony, and a dinner that began with turtle soup.

In Istanbul a splurge means one very expensive fish. In New Orleans it means a jazz brunch, a balcony, a Sazerac poured with ceremony, and dining rooms where my suitcase had not prepared me for jackets. I bought a jacket. This was the first splurge.

I checked into Hôtel Balcon Fleuri on Royal Street, a creole townhouse with ferns, a courtyard fountain and a wrought-iron balcony over the antique shops. I stood on it for a long time pretending to be a minor character in a Tennessee Williams play, the one who gets the good lines.

Brunch was at Salon Bamboula, with a trio in the corner, eggs Sardou, and turtle soup with a splash of sherry poured at the table. The trumpeter played "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans," and I already did. In the afternoon I walked Royal Street through the galleries and antique shops with their chandeliers and swords, then sat in Jackson Square to watch the painters hang their work on the railings.

The evening was the expensive part: a Sazerac at Bar Absinthe Verte, then seven creole courses at Maison Crépuscule, ending with bananas Foster set on fire beside my chair. I watched my money burn and enjoyed every second.

Lived December 06, 2025.