So quoth a fellow worker, slaving — like us — at the coal-face that was the B&B that we ran for 3 months in New Orleans. Owned then (and somehow, still) by a couple called, I don’t know, let’s call them “Karen” and “Steve”. You’ll never work out who they really are…
She, a real JAP lawyer, straight out of New York central-casting and he, a ragged, less handsome lookalike and (sure as shit less talented) guitarist than Robert Plant, after who I’m sure he modelled himself.
She actually thought that Comic Sans was a good typeface — un-ironically. And a real piece of work she was too; oh boy, wasn’t she just, oh yes, Sirrreee Bob. There’s a million stories in The Crescent City and she (and him) could be the subject of a book of a lot of them from us. Watch this space…
The counter-service only place, Turkey And The Wolf wasn’t there during our tenure then, unfortunately.
It’s located not a more than a hop, skip and a jump from our old digs, which in turn, were just across from (sadly, now defunct) the 130-year old, St. Charles Tavern…
…our quotidian saviour from the hell-hole that was Karen’s workplace. We were first introduced to the varied crowd of workers, mock-derelicts, professional bums and the occasional sad lost cases there, on our first morning, with a 7AM “Hurricane” to start our day off right. As someone said (about me) “he’s feeling no pain”.
Here’s the Turkey And The Wolf take on Hog’s Head Cheese for your delight.
Buy the book; it’s fun and very NOLA.
