The Big Easy

I’m sitting in a comfortable chair in the Davenport Lounge at The RitzCarlton, New Orleans. Cindy’s sitting on one end of a plush coach to my immediate right. We share the corner of a coffee table where our petite waitress will soon place a slice of blueberry cheese cake and two cups of coffee. Renown trumpet player and vocalist Jeremy Davenport is taking the stage where he and his band will perform until midnight. Thirty-five years ago, he visited New Orleans from his native St. Louis with plans to stay a few months. Today, he’s a vital part of the New Orleans music scene. During his exciting career, he’s performed the world over with jazz legends like Wynton Marsalis and Harry Connick, Jr. I sense this is going to be a real treat.

The Davenport Lounge feels like an extravagant high-rise apartment with luxurious aubergine silk sofas backed by mirrored display cabinets filled with porcelain and china. Jazz enthusiasts’ stream in and compete for seating. A couple of sisters from Dallas politely request to join us and we are happy to oblige. We learn the delightful siblings, Aja and Aisha Scott, who both work for American Airlines, are enjoying a “sisters” adventure to a New Orleans Saints’ game. They grew up listening to the music their parents frequently played in their home; and are thrilled as Davenport croons an old familiar Sinatra song. When Aja and Aisha leave for a late dinner reservation, a young lady and her parents grab their seats. She just turned twenty-five and her birthday wish has come true—an evening with Jeremy Davenport. For jazz lovers, it doesn’t get any better than this.

Meanwhile, a tall, straightas-a-board gentleman and his beautiful, vivacious young partner, regale the rest of us with graceful, if not sensuous, gliding movements in a physical interpretation of the band’s random jazz presentation. I suspect she’s a professional dancer. Not so sure about him. She keeps him shuffling to and fro as she sways, spins and dips in and out of his arms. When the band takes its first break, she eases away into the shadows. He flings his coat over a chair, appearing somewhat fatigued, and beelines for the bar. Today is his 80th birthday.

***

I was at first tentative about visiting New Orleans because of its crime stats. But I inquired, and received this communication from The Ritz-Carlton: “While the media may have indicated that New Orleans has more than its fair share of crime, it is not wildly different than other urban areas. We certainly recommend being aware of your surroundings at all times and using common sense when navigating the city. 2022 saw the successful return of major events to New Orleans; new cultural products and attractions. Some festivals and restaurants are reporting best-ever attendance in 2022 which is a great sign for the resurgence of our cultural economy. Additionally, the Downtown Development District whose jurisdiction contains The RitzCarlton has increased their budget by $10,500,000 for increased spending for public safety and sanitation services, among other initiatives.”

Following this communication, we decided to make a reservation and take our chances.

For my history fix, we first visited the

Battle of New Orleans site en route to The Ritz. It’s five miles south, near the bank of the Mississippi. From the battle field, our GPS took us through some neighborhoods that made us thankful for daylight. (The progressive Mayor of New Orleans is facing a recall vote. And it’s rumored George Soros-backed District Attorney Jason Williams is soft on crime.) I found myself praying for better luck in this celebrated multicultural city than the British had against Andrew Jackson’s ragtag army 208 years ago. Closer to the hotel, Cindy raised her voice, “Turn left here!” I was thinking: turn left where? “Turn left,” she insisted. I turned down what appeared to be an alley versus a street. We made a right at Deanie’s Seafood, and another right onto Canal Street where tall palms greeted us.

The Ritz-Carlton valet entrance was defined by oversized white stonecarved benches and urns filled with lush greenery. “French Quarter” lanterns flickered overhead and created a romantic ambiance. White double French doors between limestone pillars opened to a marbled foyer filled with French oil portraits and antiques. The porter elevator carried us to the third-floor lobby. We were greeted by a young lady and her beignet cart filled with hot sugary temptations served in miniature paper cones. (And to think Cindy prefers this over primitive camping.)

Our room’s door opened into a private foyer of white Italian marble with dark grey veins. Off the foyer was a glamorous marble bathroom. We freshened up, and, being aware of our surroundings, walked a block back to Deanie’s Seafood that we had passed earlier. A polite young man coming out the door offered, “It’s an eight out of ten.” A half-platter combo of shrimp, oysters and catfish proved to be more than enough to share. (Deanie’s gets a ten from me for the prompt, friendly service and delicious food.)

Next morning, we enjoyed more beignets, and then eggs Benedict at the M Bistro Restaurant adjacent the Davenport Lounge. Some Saints’ fans were wearing favorite sports apparel. A fellow who resembled “Mean” Joe Greene was sitting at the table next to us with his wife and children. “Pardon my ignorance,” I asked. “Are you a famous football player?” He smiled and, in kind of a sad way, said he wished he was. He said he drove an eighteen-wheeler for a living. “Well,” I responded, “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you. We’re in the interior design business. Without you truckers transporting our custom pieces, we’d be out of business.” He teared up. www.ritzcarlton.com/en/hotels/new-orleans www.jeremydavenport.com www.deanies.com

Preparing to depart, we met a young woman from Massachusetts who peddled a “pedicab.” (She had muscular legs.) Turns out, she moved to New Orleans to escape the harsh New England winters. She offered us a ride in her contraption. But we politely declined—it was raining. Maybe next time. As for The Big Easy, it’s a fun place to visit. I’d go back in a drum beat.

Jeff S. Barganier is a novelist, travel writer and manager of Cindy Barganier Interiors LLC (www.cindybarganier.com). He travels far and wide upon the slightest excuse for something interesting to write about. Contact: Jeffbarganier@knology.net. Instagram: @jeffbarganier. You may print out Jeff’s features at www.jeffbarganier.com and take them with you when you travel!