After a right onto Napoleon and another left onto Freret, we finally reached our destination : Beaucoup Juice. Only in its second year of operation, Beaucoup Juice specializes in healthful, filling juices, smoothies and snoballs. A realtor would call the shop “cozy,” and the menu chalked onto the walls was colorful. I got the Freret, which featured beets, lime, cucumber and more; Boris ordered one with beets and ginger. Yummy!
After our juice pick-me-up, we kept a straight course to run into Tulane, a great university. Boris had the idea to check in with their classics and English departments, to see whether they might have programs either of us was interested in. What with the world being so small, it turned out that the woman we talked to in classics knew some of our professors! Alas, no Ph.D programs. Next stop, English Department. I was told brusquely that Tulane did not have an MFA program “and never will.” Someone thought there were too many already. Fair enough, I suppose, although we laughed about the disparity between our interactions.
Tulane was checked off our list, and we continued our wandering, this time in search of lunch. Yelp came to the rescue, and we meandered past Audobon Park, through a neighborhood and to an unassuming house that had been converted into a restaurant space. Tartine. They specialize in French-style open-faced sandwiches of the same name. Brie with ham and a wasabi mustard on a baguette was my choice, while Boris got a salmon paste/caper/jam affair. The catch with his, though, was that he had to dress the sandwich himself. Life is tough. 😉 Both sandwiches turned out to be stellar. If you’re ever in the Tulane area, definitely check this place out.
Most of the rest of the afternoon was spent checking out the work my aunt had been doing, which was a real treat. The highlight, though, came when one of the drivers walked up and started chatting with Boris. He had glanced at me and said to my oblivious boyfriend, “Ah, you’ve got a little one.” Any woman hearing these words knows exactly what that means, but Boris, being a dude, was bewildered and thought,”Little? She’s about 5’4, that’s not too little.” As soon as the words “little one” emerged from this poor old man’s mouth, I blurted the first thing that came to my head, “ha, yeah, a FOOD baby!” At which point we cracked up and the gentleman proceeded to backpedal like crazy, trying to talk about other women he knew who were pregnant. I don’t think he helped himself much when he said, “well, Carl’s wife is starting to show and she’s about your size.” Honestly, if I were built differently, I would have been pretty horrified, but it was mostly just hilarious. In his defense, too, we had just eaten and I was slouching, so I looked a bit pregnant. Guys, a word to the wise: NEVER ask a woman if she’s preggers, EVEN IF she’s about to pop unless you are COMPLETELY sure that’s what’s up. Just a general rule of thumb.
Luckily, my aunt got off at a reasonable hour, and we managed to catch the sunset over drinks and dinner along the lake. The food was mediocre (which is still pretty good in New Orleans), but the view was fantastic. Sailboats pulling in and motor boats going out while the sun drifted down.
Our evening ended at One Eyed Jack’s, where much of the clientele looked like they a) missed the 70’s, b) shopped only at the Hell’s Angels Depot or c) were stand-ins for Moe from The Simpsons. One of Helen’s crew was about to go on tour with his band, which played hard rock. And oh, did they! I was expecting not to enjoy it as much as I did (after all, it was loud and I am getting old, ha ha) but it ended up being pretty good. All in all, we saw a lot of the city, ate some more good food, and slept well that night.
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