New Orleans

Matt and I flewdown to New Orleans—one of my favorite cities in the world, his hometown—a fewweeks ago. My mother and her boyfriend, Charley, joined us.

Stepping outside that firstmorning, I inhaled the thick, warm air. It smelled like earth, like dew, likethe tropics. We weren’t in Boston anymore.

We spent the weekendexploring. The French Quarter. The Marigny. Uptown, downtown, the GardenDistrict. On Sunday, we took a trip out to some plantations, their grounds lined with ancient Live Oaks. We had a lovely meal at Sylvain. And a fantastic one at NOLA. Therewas a fried green tomato po’boy that kind of blew me away. A Sazerac at theColumns Hotel. My love of beignets will never falter; especially if I continueto eat them alongside the thick, bitter coffee served at the Café du Monde.

One afternoon a streetmusician—who played the clarinet like it was a living thing, like she didn’tjust want to, but she needed to—stoppedus in our tracks. When she was joined by a little boy playing a recorder, I melted into my shoes.

I finished the long weekendwith an interview at the local NPR affiliate, and a reading at the GardenDistrict Book Shop. Talking about smell in New Orleans is especially fun,because, well, the smells of New Orleans are especially intense. From the rich,spicy aroma of shrimp gumbo to the rather unpleasant olfactory assault ofBourbon Street on a Saturday night. From the sweet scent of powderedsugar melting atop a hot beignet to the briny breeze coming off theMississippi River. It’s a city filled with life.

(While in the city, my momand Charley stayed at The McKendrick-Breaux House.It’s on Magazine Street, in the quite-funky Lower Garden District. Theowner, Brett, is fantastic. He collects old yearbooks, and makes a mean pancake.Need a place to stay? We highly recommend.)