Are there any Parrotheads out there? Come on, ‘fess up. I’ve heard that Jimmy Buffet concerts are a blast. My cousins in Pittsburgh go whenever he’s in town. There’s dancin’ and drinkin’ and more drinkin’. And lots of good food in the parking lot tailgate parties. Plus, audience participation, singing along to “Margaritaville” and “Why Don’t We Get Drunk And…”
Did I mention there was drinkin’?
And besides Margaritas, what else would you drink at a Jimmy Buffet concert but a Hurricane? The home of the Hurricane is Pat O’Brien’s Restaurant in New Orleans. Last time I was in New Orleans to attend a professional conference, I took my Mom with me and we stepped out into the French Quarter a couple of nights. If you’ve never been to the French Quarter and Bourbon Street, let’s just say that Mardi Gras in New Orleans is never *completely* over come Ash Wednesday. There’s a lot of people meandering down Bourbon street with their Hurricanes in their hands and stupid smiles on their faces.
We met up with some friends and new acquaintances at Pat’s and then went to Preservation Hall not far away. Even before Katrina, the French Quarter was premeated with the strong sense of decay and things falling away. It’s shabby chic, peeling paint and drapey old trees. Contrary to what you may expect, Preservation Hall is not like the Carnegie Hall of Dixieland jazz. It’s more like the living room of some decrepit old southern shotgun mansion. The place is dark and dank and you have to sit on small wooden benches and it smells a little like pee and liquor. But the music is jumping and the musicians sit back in their wooden chairs and play like “ain’t nobody’s business if I do”. Each one takes a turn while the others take a break to wipe the sweat from their faces or sit patiently with their trumpets on their knees. Then they all join together for one last cacophony and musical gumbo. It’s divine.
That night, my Mom was accompanied everywhere by a nice looking man her own age that my friends and I had met during the conference. He had his left arm stuck in his pocket and I sometimes got a glimpse of the stump that was at the end of it. We drank some Hurricanes and bar hopped to hear some Zeidico. On the way, the man lured my mother into one of the ubiquitous adult toy stores on Bourbon Street. I tried to warn her before she went in but she was paying no attention to me. So, I waited outside for her. A few minutes later, she flew out of the store clearly shocked by what she’d seen. I asked one of my boy scout friends to take her back to my hotel and we partied without her.
The next morning, I asked her what had gone on in the store and she said the man said he would buy her anything she wanted so she bolted. I laughed and said something about I never expected that from such a shy guy with one hand. She looked at me funny and said, “He only had one hand?”
Did I mention there was drinkin’?
Hey, here’s the recipe for the Pat O’Brien Hurricane. This is an easy one to make virgin for those of you in recovery. It sounds like it would be just as tasty with iced tea instead of dark rum.
Hurricane Recipe
1 ounce fresh lemon juice
4 ounces dark rum
4 ounces passion fruit syrup
Crushed ice
Orange slice
1 Maraschino Cherry
In a cocktail shaker, add lemon juice, rum, passion fruit syrup, and crushed ice; shake vigorously for 1 to 2 minutes and then strain into a tall glass or hurricane glass.
Garnish with an orange slice and a maraschino cherry.
Please drink responsibly and tip your wait staff generously. (Didja see Rico’s flair?)
PS. If you feel so inclined, the good people of New Orleans have a project you might like called, Make It Right. Show Brad a little love.
Filed under: General | Tagged: cocktail hour, Parrotheads | 10 Comments »