Let’s get things straight: New Orleans is the best city in the world. No place holds a candle to its food, people, humor, or general level of insanity. As the vendor in the French Market said to us during a morning walk, “Playing music is better for you than eating your vegetables.”

We arrived at our friends Jon and Elisa’s in time for lunch after a leisurely drive along the Gulf Coast from Gulfport. They have recently finished rehabbing an old home in the Marigny, right where Treme, the Marigny, and the French Quarter come together.

We immediately adjourned for lunch. (It is New Orleans, after all.) Café Rose Nicaud on Frenchman Street has become one of Rebecca’s favorites. A local hangout with fresh, well-prepared food, a do-it-yourself approach to bussing, and kick-butt ginger limeade that Rebecca could drink all day.

Just as New Orleans is about food and music, it is also about walking, or more accurately, strolling. It’s how we filled most of our time there … when we weren’t eating.

Supper was vintage New Orleans. Rebecca and I drove a few blocks to Cajun Seafood, a _______ (DAMN! I’m hunting for an appropriate adjective for Cajun Seafood but I don’t think one exists. It’s just New Orleans) fresh seafood and prepared food emporium directly across North Claiborne from Ernie K-Doe’s (and now Kermit Ruffins’) Mother-in-Law Lounge. The prepared foods include fried turkey wings, boiled turkey neck, a chinese rice dish, and corn on the cob. We bought a couple of pounds each of boiled shrimp (heads on, of course) and crawfish. My brother Joe contends it was the best boiled shrimp and crawfish he ever ate. I almost agree. It was really good New Orleans boiled seafood. Finding the BEST New Orleans seafood boil is a quest I’d like to undertake. Jon threw some fresh drum and asparagus on the grill. Rebecca made one of her world-class salads, and voila, we ate like royalty.

The company was pretty wonderful too. Jon and Elisa (whom many of you know) are the best of the best. Lorraine shared New Orleans with us too. Lorraine, a hard-core native Bostonian with the accent to prove it, is becoming vintage New Orleans. Another Boomer in the throes of the great transition, Lorraine has sold everything, bought a small RV (van-sized) and hit the road. Her long-term goal: visit every National Park in the continental US. It is amazing how beautifully a life-long New Englander can effortlessly morph into a New Orleans showpiece. Lorraine rocks, and we had a total blast together!

Day 2 tipped the scale. I will be on a weight-loss campaign for the rest of the trip. (In truth, I really hate New Orleans. If I lived there, I would become a full-sized blimp.) Lunch: Lil Dizzie’s in Treme with our dear friend Al “Carnival Time” Johnson. Al is a New Orleans Rhythm and Blues icon. Many of you remember Al because Rebecca, Jon, Elisa, and I hosted a fund-raiser for him in Watertown after Hurricane Katrina. He now lives comfortably in a beautiful home in the Musician’s Village.

We often meet Al at Lil Dizzies on Esplanade near North Rampart. The Baquet family has run this creole joint for decades. Everyone but Jon and me were smart. They ordered from the menu. We got the damn buffet: fried chicken, veggies, smothered pork chops, gumbo, creole bean stew, bread pudding. I got full … and stayed that way. Supper at Mandina’s didn’t help.

Mandina’s is a classic creole joint on Canal Street in MidCity. I like to think of it as Italian-Creole. Their trout almondine and trout meuniere are amazing. I had the creole catfish. It was amazing too. In fine Mandina’s tradition, we arrived about 8:00 without reservations.  Fortunately, we were with Jon’s son Bryce and his girlfriend, Ruby. Bryce attended Watertown High with Allie and Joanna after Katrina.  I deeply love spending time with him, and it saddens me that with 1,500 miles between us, we cannot spend nearly enough time hanging out together! It was close to 10:00 before we got a table, by which time we sort-of cared but we didn’t really care too much. We all ate until we could eat no more and left completely sated … and stuffed!

Day 3 started with an effort to walk it off. Joe hasn’t been to New Orleans for almost 40 years. There was so much to show him: Frenchman Street (an amazing music mecca), the Mississippi, and a serpentine weave through the Quarter. Café du Monde might have been fun, but on the day before the Sugar Bowl with Ole Miss playing, the line stretched 2 or 3 blocks. Jackson Square is a reliable winner; we walked past the buskers just as they launched into “Jambalaya” with its opening line of “Goodbye Joe.” “That’s Joe,” I said. “He’s my brother.” With that, the trombone and sax players slid apart, invited me to sit, and played as I clapped time. Joe and Rebecca took pics.   Last year, our son-in-law Mike sat in on piano at Preservation Hall. Not only that, we met a woman at Lil Dizzie’s whose father was the first black bartender at Pat O’Briens. We simply had to walk down St. Peter Street since the two icons are next door to each other. When Rebecca and I first met, we realized we shared a favorite bar/restaurant: The Napoleon House on Chartres Street with one of New Orleans’ most classic courtyards. I read Plato’s “Republic” there as an undergraduate. From there to Iberville for a stroll past Acme Oyster House and Felix’s.

Felix’s warrants its own paragraph. Many years ago, Rebecca and I sat at Felix’s counter eating oysters as I related a story about my father and grandfather, who both loved New Orleans. As soon as possible after their arrival, we would go to Felix’s for oysters. When I first visited the city with my daughters, Allie and Joanna, the first place we went was Felix’s. For four generations, oysters at Felix’s has been a top-tier priority. In response to the story, Rebecca said, “Wow! That’s incredible. You have to write that story.” I turned to the old oyster shucker behind the counter and asked, “How often do you hear this story?” Without lifting his head or raising his voice, he said in the most matter of fact way possible, “Every day.” New Orleans is not so much a city as it is a way of life.

The morning walk, albeit long, did little to counteract the gluttony. We had to go to Domilise’s for a po-boy. Joe ate an oyster po-boy there 40 years ago and remembered it like it was yesterday. Domilise’s is the ultimate uptown neighborhood joint, on Annunciation, one block from Tchoupitoulas and the river, and only a few blocks from Audubon Park. Sadly, we learned on this trip that Dot Domilise died two years ago, but her daughter-in-law Joanne is continuing the tradition. (I love you, Joanne. Thank you!!!!!!) In response to the sandwich, Joe was amazed: after 40 years of holding onto a memory, the reality was exactly what he had anticipated. Nothing had changed, and the sandwich was perfect.

So was our brief afternoon visit with sisters Mandy and Liza, two great friends from Boston, who now teach in New Orleans and live one house from the heart of Frenchman Street. Joe and I became best friends when we lived together from 1974-76. Joanna and Allie’s friendship soared when they lived together in Ann Arbor. What a treat spending a little time in New Orleans with sisters whose lives will be forever improved by virtue of living together … much less one house from Frenchman Street.

The perfect po-boy and a short visit with Mandy and Liza led directly into New Year’s Eve. Lorraine is a terrific chef. Jon, Rebecca, and I are too. We prepared a New Year’s feast of boiled shrimp and crawfish, Cajun chicken, fried chicken, black-eyed peas, cabbage, salad, and hand-made desserts from Tee-Eva’s: sweet potato pie, pecan pie, and the best pralines on earth.

Then it was time for music, so we followed the morning’s route in reverse: Jackson Square to Frenchman Street. Fortunately, we were all exhausted, so we made it home in time to toast the New Year together.

We kicked off 2016 by driving from New Orleans to Cajun Country and an amazing Saturday morning of music in Mamou.

My stomach hurts from recollecting the joy of being in New Orleans, the best city in the world.