Episode 3: New Orleans Part 1: Drinks

Hand Grenade

Hurricane

  vs







New Orleans has an incredibly rich and diverse culinary history. The indigenous Native Americans were there first, prepping the land itself for plants and animals the incipient invaders had never experienced before. Then came the Spanish, with their mix of tradition and trade. The French came after them, bringing their penchant for heavy, flavorful sauces as well as an influx of African slaves trained to cook in their style while harboring a love for their own unique cooking styles and spices. Crawfish etouffee, file gumbo, jambalaya: none of these things would be possible without the specific mix of horror and history that is New Orleans style and Creole cooking.

But who has time for food on Bourbon Street?

Bourbon street by day is a lazy mix of sounds and smells: jazz music plays from some open doorways, rock from others. If you're lucky, you'll hear a little blues, but the masters of the craft seem to be in hiding while the sun is out. Some bars, in the most clever and effective marketing ploy I've ever seen, have grills on their back patios and let the smell of cooking meat draw customers more effectively than any of the carnival-style barkers working the daytime shift outside the strip clubs. At night, Bourbon street tansforms into a teaming mass of bodies and madness, but that'likely inappropriate for a food blog.

Any time, day or night, booze is king. There's nothing that enhances the omnipresent music quite like a delicious beverage, and nothing soothes the heat like a ice cold glass of, well, anything.

But just as there are foods that aren't quite the same anywhere else but the Big Easy, there are two drinks that are either non-existent or un-clonable anywhere but a few proprietary NOLA bars.

The first, and oldest, is the Hurricane. Everyone has one, but they're never identical to the ones served at the iconic Pat O'brian's. Pat O'Brian's is a giant venue with an indoor bar that looks and feels like a scene from Interview with The Vampire, and a massive outdoor courtyard with live music and fountains. The venerable pub is credited with the Hurricane's creation. It's distinctive red Kool-Aid color and the way its accompanying buffet of fruit are all part of the experience. It's a high-octane drink that tastes like red candy; drinker beware. (Yes, the flavor profile I offered was "red", like NyQuil)

The only contender for king dink of Bourbon Street is a recent concoction called the Hand Grenade. In a little bar jammed between two other, larger bars is The Funky Pirate. Their house band rolls in around 1pm, and Mark Pentone, the lead singer, isn't averse to having a shot of Jager and or sharing a J with you, if you're inclined. They sing covers of classic songs and keep up a rolling patter with the audience that only someone with years of small-venue muscianing can attempt.

The Funky Pirate's special is the Hand Grenade. It's an evil little drink that comes in an eighteen inch glass, bowed out at the bottom and molded into its eponymous shape. The kicker is the grenade's friendly little smile that swims through your dreams after you pass out from drinking one too many.

A Hand Grenade tastes a little like someone poured Southern Comfort in your Green Tea Frap from Starbucks. Their indefinable "green" flavor is possibly some kind of melon, but the question becomes purely esoteric after the first sip, because that's when the true beauty of the Grenade is revealed. The blended drink is so cold, if freezes your tongue to the point of pain. Somehow, this, mixed with the pure grain alcohol goodness, becomes appealing.

Sitting in the bar, oppressed by the New Orleans humid heat, the condensation freezes on the outside of the glass and that little smile stamped on its front says to you: "It's cool, rest your forehead right here. We'll get through this together."

The next few hours are an exercise in battling freezer burn on your tongue, brain freeze in your head and intoxication in your limbs as you struggle to drink as many of these magic cocktails as you can because you know, no matter who tells you they can make something just like it, these guys can only be found right here, at the Funky Pirate and its two sister bars, on Bourbon Street.

If it's not clear from the way I wax poetic, Hand Grenades are the clear winner. They don't have the clout or respect that Pat O'Biran's Hurricanes command, but the Hand Grenade is a multi-sensory experience and a valued ally against summer in NOLA.