New Orleans Redux No. 3: Time traveling in the French Quarter

A tale of two cities.

Do you know the name of this possum? He rides around the French Quarter in a bike basket. If you do, please share. We see him on every visit. He’s classic French Quarter, like Ruthie’s ducks. I would not be surprised to hear that he is not the first resident possum in the neighborhood.

Thomas and I saw this fella recently when we visted the FQ to knock out another entry on poet Andrei Codrescu’s 2001 list of what to do in New Orleans. We’d already dumped St. Louis river water into the Missisisippi at Crescent Park and paid a visit to Faulkner House Books. So, on to No. 3.

“Have the Shrimp Creole at Coop's on Decatur, and don't tell anyone. It's great and cheap.”

In 1983, Floridian/Tulane alum Jeff Cooperman opened Coop’s Place (1109 Decatur). Travel writer John Borsdin, who soliticed Codrescu’s recommendations for a NOLA travel piece, made it sound like it hadn’t changed much in 20ish years. I’d wager it’s much the same two decades on, including the grinning alligator sign, the stained glass, the dark-wood interior and the polished cobblestone floors.

The one thing that has changed: Coop’s charged $8.25 for Shrimp Creole in 2001. Now, it charges $12.50. I’d say that still qualifies it as “great and cheap.”

In 2001, Borsdin described Coop’s as a “Big Easy take on Cheers” that mostly attracted locals and celebrities. When Eric Clapton visited in the late ‘90s, he got kicked out because the place was full. A musician who visisted more regularly was New Orleans jazz/blues singer David Roe, who was “likely to roll into ‘Saint James Infirmary,’ at the drop of his wide-brimmed hat,” when the jukebox wasn’t playing “everything from Peggy Lee to postpunk.”

We landed at Coop’s around 5 p.m., finding it almost empty, with no music playing on the jukebox and a smattering of people at the bar. We ordered the Taste Plate, which, at $16, is only only about $5 more than it was in 2001. It’s still the same combo: Shrimp Creole, rabbit-chicken-sausage jambalaya, red beans and rice, Cajun-fried chicken and a cup of gumbo. Other than not running into David Roe, or Eric Clapton, we felt like we were having pretty much the same experience Borsdin did in the early aughts. Well, qualification: I thought the jambalaya and the fried chicken were both head and shoulders above the Shrimp Creole, but that’s probably just me.

Over the next hour, as we sat there, Coop’s filled with tourists, and soon started turning people away, which is the normal mode for them. We freed up our table and ambled over to Brieux Carré Brewing Co. (2115 Decatur) to have a quick one before we caught the other event that drew us down to the neighborhood that night: a second line parade celebrating the opening of Sassy Magick Noir, Sassy Magick’s sister store on Royal.

Apparently, it’d been timed, in true metaphysical-store style, on the night of the winter solstice, which some metaphysical types celebrate as Yule. The other French Quarter occult shops, including Hex and Starling, were bustling as well; I don’t know if that was because these folks came down for the second line, or if they felt like the solstice was a good night to buy some Tarot cards and a few sticks of palo santo. Maybe it was the energy of the solstice itself, or the crowds of pink-wigged, glitter-covered parade-walkers, but the French Quarter felt electrified with a special energy we don’t often feel down there when it’s clogged with slow-walking tourists in matching sports T-shirts. (Though nothing against tourists or sports, mind you!)

Coop’s serves as a wayback machine to the bohemian French Quarter of the late 20th century. Sassy Magick feels logical in the French Quarter, but it’s not old school. It’s nothing like the dark, mysterious storefronts filled with brown furniture, taxidermy, paintings of Marie Laveau and baskets filled with polished rocks. (People tell me there are only a handful of true voodoo shops in New Orleans — one is also on Codrescu’s list — and as far as I know, none are in the French Quarter.)

Sassy Magick is big and bright and well-lit. It has glittery pink walls, a resident sin-eater, drag Tarot, and a shop dog, a French bulldog named Nola. They describe themselves as “Dark, yet cute. Classy, yet sassy. Witchy, yet chic.” They are kind of the incarnation of Hello, Tarot. The Canadian couple who started the shop vacationed in New Orleans a few years ago, and got their heart set on opening a metaphysical store and now have two. Sassy Magick Noir has black-and-pink glittery walls and is also cute, but just a shade darker, a little more sassy and a bit more witchy.

We followed the second line all the way from Decatur to Royal, a journey that walked us through these two realities — the timeless French Quarter of wooden shutters and second-floor balconies, and this new-New Orleans vibe being beamed out via Instagram in real time.

No doubt there are people who would say new-New Orleans isn’t really New Orleans because …. well, it’s new. There are other people who might find Coop’s boring because it lacks a glitterybombish je ne sais quoi, like Sassy Magick. Me, I feel happy to experience a multitude of realities on one stroll. Even though I’m still frustrated I don’t know the name of that possum.

Historiola! is one year old today. Happy Twelfth Night.

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Today is Twelfth Night, AKA Epiphany, AKA the first day of Mardi Gras. Last year, I put up my first post, this look at Carlotta Bonnecaze, the first woman float designer.

We are going to the St. Joan of Arc parade tonight, and if we see anything interesting, I'll post that tomorrow. Otherwise: look for Codrescu Reduxes 4-10 in the coming weeks, along with some parade stories/Mardi Gras fastball. Fat Tuesday proper is mid-February, which means it’s a short Carnivale season.

Happy Mardi Gras!