Blathr Wayne Lorentz

The bar at the Hotel Monteleone is now on my list of favorites. Itʼs famous for its Carousel Bar, which is good because every historic hotel should have a bit of history. But I prefer the adjacent area, instead.

The carousel is right at the barʼs entrance, which means that the spectacle and tourist book hype ensnares the chavs and attention-seekers before they can go any farther. This allows the rest of the establishment to be a more mellow, convivial place. The carousel area is for bros and the selfie-absorbed to watch sportsball and make a spectacle of themselves. The remainder, at least during the day, is a place where you can hide in a wingback chair and tuck into your newly purchased William Faulkner book. The adult beverages wonʼt help you understand the first three chapters, but at least you can enjoy the confusion knowing that this is the proper place to do this most proper of things.

My wife has a thing about restaurant ceilings. She tries not to look at them, because they might ruin her meal.

After learning this, I've developed a habit of always looking at restaurant ceilings, and her fears are not unreasonable — some of them are disgusting. Smoke-soaked corbels, brown-stained drop ceilings, mysterious holes that could be entries for any number of creepy-crawlies.

I think the ceiling above the bar at The Court of Two Sisters is among the worst. It's like the backdrop for some kind of over-the-top Disney pirate ride, but in real life, with real cobwebs, and real who-knows-what. It was very easy to imagine a spider dropping down and adding just a bit of crunch to someone's cocktail. Ick.

The restaurantʼs web site claims eating there is a “one-of-a-kind experience.” Well, it was certainly memorable.

It doesn't have to be good, but it is.

The bar at the Hotel Monteleone puts out quite a nice meat-and-cheese tray. “Charcuterie” if youʼre trying to be fancy-schmancy.

There are a dozen reasons to waste four to six hours in the Monteleone bar: Watching the people on the carousel; watching the tourists perambulate outside; absorbing the art, music, and food New Orleans proffered throughout the morning. But the smörgås-on-a-board encourages you to linger, to sip your drinks slowly, and to chew as often as youʼre supposed to.

I wonʼt pretend to know or like every item on offer, but thereʼs enough variety for both me and my wife to find things we like, and we have very different tastes.

A neon gem down a dark side street. Every 1940ʼs film approves.

I don't remember the bars in Cincinnati serving complimentary apple pies when I lived there.

Whatʼs better than unwinding with my wife in a dark tiki bar after a long week of work?

The fact that I get off of work several hours before she does, so Iʼm already de-stressed by the time she arrives.