#122 Make Money As A Street Performer

Once, I came face to face with a gator. I barely escaped with my life.

While wandering around the French Quarter on a sunny Ash Wednesday afternoon back in 2010, my road trip buddy Michelle and I started to feel some hunger pains. We were so enthralled with everything that is the French Quarter that we did not realize how hungry we were until we started feeling faint. We needed sustenance. My knees were starting to tremble and my stomach was certainly not happy with me.

We started searching for an awesome hole in the wall bar with some great Cajun/Creole cuisine. We found ourselves back on Decatur Street. Ahead of us were two younger kids standing outside the Walgreen's tap dancing while a crowd of admirers watched their moves. Curious, Michelle and I moved closer to get a better look at the preteen versions of Cab Calloway and Bojangles.

Music and Dance are such a vital element in the culture of NOLA.

A Holiday Inn in NOLA. Loved this mural! 

I remember feeling dumbfounded while watching them dance. I knew I had heard the sound of tap shoes but these young fellows were wearing sneakers. How could that be? I began scrutinizing their feet intently. All of a sudden I found myself smiling while feeling very impressed.

Their tap shoes were definitely sneakers. The tap sound came from the crushed soda cans they had tied to the bottom of them. How inventive was that? These boys were my heroes. This was the coolest thing ever.

I mention to Michelle that when I was younger, I took tap dancing for many years. I still had my shoes stored in the attic. Naturally they were too small for me now but I still had them. These two street artists gave me the best idea ever though. I informed Michelle that when I got home, I was going to make my own tap shoes just like the ones boys were sporting. My kids were just going to love hearing that on the kitchen floor everyday I laughed.

Michelle's face lit up. She turned to me, smiled and suggested I go dance with them. I immediately declined. I told her I didn't want to cramp their style. These boys were on fire. They were truly talented. She ignored me and walked up to the older boy. I overheard her telling him that if they allowed me to dance with them she would give them $5.00. The young man flashed a big smile and laughed as he took her up on her offer. Sighs.

Apprehensive, shy and a little terrified, I walked over to the older boy. An hour ago I was dancing for a drummer in the middle of the square and wasn't the least bit timid. What was so different about dancing now? I had no idea but this is me. This is genuinely me. One minute I give zero f@cks about anything and am living life to the fullest and the next minute I turn into this shy little toddler. I don't even understand it.

I think Decatur was my fav NOLA Street! 

Trying to comprehend and make sense of my personality gives me a headache. I gave up on that quest a long time ago. It was for the best. Now I just flow with whatever side of my personality decides to show up moment to moment. It makes for an interesting life and I do enjoy interesting stuff, most of the time. Back to the story though.

I walked over to the older boy and asked him to show me his moves. He did his thing. I replicated him although it was a little harder for me to do in my snow boots. (Spontaneous road trip. Did not plan footwear properly. ) He did another tap sequence. I copied it. Not gonna lie. I was Jurassic Park in snow boots but once I got my groove going, my moves became less T-Rex and more Lord of the Dance. Okay, that may be an exaggeration. Let's just say I was doing alright.

Practicing for the dance. I refused to let go of my giant alcohol slushie! 

Another crowd began to form around us. My dance partner looked over at me and smiled. Together we began our dance. People started throwing some money in their little bucket. Someone even threw a dollar in there. I felt myself smiling.

I am not sure if the people were throwing pity money into the bucket because I was dancing with these young fellas or if they genuinely enjoyed our performance. It didn't matter. We were making cash yo! This was too awesome and I was having a total blast. I didn't even trip and fall.

Once my partner and I finished up our dance, Michelle gave the boys their money. They were so thrilled and appreciative. They informed her it was their biggest tip of the day. She told them it was well worth it. I thanked the boys for allowing me to perform with them. They were really sweet kids with awesome personalities. We gave each other some high fives before parting ways.

A Rag Tag Band near Decatur. The French Quarter is gypsy magic!

I was so in love with everything about this trip to NOLA. Never in my wildest dreams would I have expected it to be as amazing as it was considering we did not plan a single thing. Maybe that was the key though. There was no planning involved. We just got in the car and went.

Every year around Mardi Gras I find myself thinking about those two boys as well as many of the other characters we encountered on our trip to New Orleans. I hope they are all living happy lives. I wish nothing but the best for all of them. Yet another Bucket List goal was accomplished in the beautifully haunted city of New Orleans.

Chrissy

#15 Have An Authentic Louisiana Crawfish Boil

Crawfish tails rock!

On my spontaneous adventure to NOLA back in 2010, I had a few goals I was hoping to accomplish. One of those goals was to enjoy an authentic Louisiana crawfish boil. Surprisingly, the opportunity did present itself. It wasn't outside on a newspaper covered picnic table near a bayou like I had seen on Food Network but it was close enough. It happened in the French Quarter.

My lovely travel partner Michelle and I found ourselves on St. Peters Street. We were starving. I saw the word crawfish outside of a bar and was instantly drawn to it. Michelle was looking for a really good burger to have for lunch. We decided to go into the bar and check out the menu. Yo Mama's turned out to be a great choice.

Yo Mama's was a little on the seedy side but that was exactly what we were looking for. We were hoping to find a classic New Orleans dive bar. This place was perfect. It was dimly lit, with a long wooden bar on one side of the room and large wooden booths on the other side of the room. We were greeted by the bartender. She told us to sit wherever we wanted so we chose a booth.

Oooh. That sign says Crawfish. 

The menu was glazed to the table. I began studying the enormous tequila menu. Yo Mama's was known for their tequila. I happened to love tequila very much but it had to be blanco tequila. (clear, like tap water). For some reason I cannot stomach gold tequila. Maybe it is because I once ate the worm from a bottle of golden Mezcal and Mezcal is very similar to tequila. The worm itself was not nearly as gross as the fermented booze that permeated it.

Actually I'm lying. It was all gross. It tasted rancid and disgusting. It was awful. And I got crazy hammered from the worm. I didn't vomit but I felt like vomiting the entire day. That was a worse punishment than just puking and getting it over with. Unfortunately, my mind now associates golden tequila with the Mezcal. Sometimes curiosity doesn't kill the cat, it just makes it very nauseous. Sometimes I do crazy things I really shouldn't. Sometimes there are no answers as to why I do these things. I never seem to learn my lesson either.

Note: It is a common misconception that Tequila has a worm in it.That is not so. If there is a worm in the bottle, it is Mezcal. Real tequila does not have a worm.

Back to the matter at hand though. Which tequila was I going to try?

Herencia Blanco. It was damn fine!

After consulting with our server I decided on the Herencia Blanco. It was $8.00 but F it. I was on vacation.  As our server walked back to the bar to get our drinks I noticed another server walk out of the kitchen with a huge bowl. It was steaming over with corn, potatoes, onions and crawfish. She walked over to a gentleman at the bar and placed it in front of him. He was like damn! So was I. I love the smell of Old Bay in the afternoon.

That was it. I did not need to see anymore. I wanted that. I wanted to try the crawfish boil. When our server returns, I asked her what the man at the bar ordered because I wanted that too. She informs me that the big, steamy bowl of fabulous was their Crawfish Boil special. It was $10.00. I told her to sign me up for that. I was so much down for the low country boil. Oh yea! Michelle was laughing at me. My eager excitement was quite amusing I must say.

Michelle ordered her burger then we began chatting about our time in NOLA. Our server returned and placed some newspaper down in front of me. The she handed me a wash cloth and a bucket. Oh boy. It was time. I watched with utter glee as she walked through the bar with my steamy crawfish boil. I was like a kid. I loved shellfish. Always have. It was a good time.

Similar to what my crawfish bowl looked like. 

I applauded as she set it down in front of me. She got such a kick out of my excitement. I took my shot of tequila and made a toast to Michelle for joining me on this spontaneous road trip. We were both so glad we did this. We had both been laid off from work and were suffering from the winter blues. We needed this so much. Salude!

As I brought the shot tequila to my lips and took a teeny sip, I was immediately amazed at how smooth it was. It was better than Patron Silver and right up there with Cabo Wabo. It was one of the best tequilas I had ever tried. I really wanted to sip at my shot and savor the flavor longer but I felt it deserved to be downed like the bad boy it was. And so I did exactly that, I downed the mofo. It was incredible.

I looked at my crawfish boil. It was enormous. The aroma of Cajun spices emanated from the rising steam. Whole onions, corn cob quarters, potatoes and little red crawdaddies doused with Cajun seasoning consumed the entire bowl. It was a thing of Creole beauty for sure. Michelle found the teeny red crawfish hilarious. I plucked one from the bowl. It was scalding hot. I immediately dropped it right back in the bowl, stunned by the heat.

Crawdaddy Dancing Queen. I'm a sick, sick person. LOL

Duh! The bowl was steaming massively stunade. What did I expect it was going to feel like? Carefully, I picked up another crawdaddy then made it dance across the table.  Michelle was rolling. I couldn't believe what a weirdo I was. Actualy....That's a total lie. I knew full well I was Queen of my own weirdo tribe. I looked over at Michelle's burger. It was huge and also smelled fantastic.

It was time to stop doing my crawfish rendition of Dancing Queen and dig into my food. I was experienced enough to eat crawfish, but the whole twisting the tail thing did not always work out to my advantage. Sometimes I have to dig for the tail if I screw up my twist. Also, not gonna lie, I am a bit of a poser when it comes to true crawfish indulgence. I do not suck the juices and guts from the body of the crawfish. It's just not my bag baby. I am only interested in the delectable tail meat.

Everything about this boil was so delicious. The corn was sweet and tender. The soft boiled potatoes combined so incredibly with the buttery, Creole seasoned juice. Even the onions were sweet and savory. The crawfish tails were sweet, juicy and perfectly done. The seasoning was exceptional. And the added bonus to all of this was how much fun I was having, eating everything with my hands.

A true crawfish boil is enjoyed sans silverware. I was so much "when in Rome" at that moment and it was so friggin' fantastic. The wash cloth came in very handy as there was a constant stream of juice running down my chin and my arms from gorging on my delicious meal. I smelled like a Cajun whore and I did not care one bit. Eventually though, I could not eat anymore of my food. There was just too much.

Sadly, I waved the white flag. If I didn't, I was going to implode. That wouldn't be very good. Our server was very empathetic to my plight but also very happy that we enjoyed our food so much. Michelle and I sat in the booth a little while longer, chatting and laughing while allowing our lunch to digest a little longer.

St. Peters Street in the French Quarter

Yo Mama's. I think it has a different name now. 

Before getting ready to leave, I asked our server where the rest rooms were. She said they were in the building behind the kitchen. Michelle let out a huge chuckle. Curious, I asked her why she was laughing? All she said was "You'll see" followed by more laughter. Suspiciously, I walked through a door and down a small pathway into the restroom. Slowly, I opened the ladies restroom door prepared to see a hole in the floor instead of a toilet, or worse. Maybe there was a python or a cobra in there. I shuddered at the though. I mean, we were in voodoo country. Ya never know.

Instead my eyes were immediately drawn to the wall. There was a rather large collage of pictures. I look closer, both my mouth and my eyes getting wider and wider. "Oh wow!" I exclaimed rather loudly. There were snakes in there after all but they were not at all the kind I was expecting. They were of the male appendage type. At least a hundred photos of naked men covered the wall. I entered the room completely and shut the door behind me.

I'm not gonna lie. I looked at every single picture. Why wouldn't I? I love pictures. Two hours later I made my way back to our table. (Just kidding...it was only like an hour.) Michelle started laughing at the big grin on my face. She asked if I enjoyed the view. Blushing, I informed her that I certainly did. ( Don't be jelly guys. I am sure the men's bathroom had lots of naked chicks for your viewing pleasure as well.)  After gaining my composure, we gather our things and head back out into the mid afternoon sun.

We really made a great choice coming to this little dive I thought happily. I accomplished another bucket list goal on a sunny, beautiful afternoon in the gorgeously ornamental city known as the Big Easy. God Bless America! And Crawfish!!


Chrissy