Last night’s clement weather dissolved into a cooler overcast morning, threatening our first full day in Vieux Carre. Bourbon Street sits ghostly, misted with drizzle outside Roux on Orleans windows, the hotel’s lobby-side brasserie. The clatter of utensils and the drone of families, college kids, and couples, surround our table of four. Jude, Mitchell, and Stacy dine on royal bourbon eggs with crabmeat and southern-style buttermilk pancakes. I consume a dish I’d savored on my last visit: a tasty Creole-spiced chicken and waffle drizzled with bourbon syrup and whipped honey butter. Hair of the Dog—Bellinis, b****y Marys, Breakfast Martinis, Champagne, Mimosas, and other colorful elixirs—grace adjacent tables, a remedial start for another Mardi Gras day.
Stacy, who always leaves scraps on
