Category: Bars

Jive Turkey Day

There are so many traditions associated with Thanksgiving: Gorging on three days’ worth of food in one meal, bickering with in-laws over politics, a week’s wage lost on football games and the occasional errant balloon injuring dozens at the Macy’s Parade.

Here in New Orleans, specifically the French Quarter, the tradition of accusing businesses of being racist. This ritual stems from the Bayou Classic, the annual college football game hosted at the Superdome between Grambling State and Southern University.  Again, we host the rival college game for the 52nd season.  New Orleans will be populated by thousands of fans from historically Black colleges.

This happens to coincide with the time when many of our businesses may choose to close their doors for a few days around Thanksgiving and the following weekend. This has, in many previous years, brought up allegations of our local business having a racial motivation for the closures because it directly impacts the fun the visitors are able to have on Bourbon Street. There will be many social media posts calling out the “racist business owners” for blatant discrimination. The outrage is fatter than any genetically modified turkey.

As a service industry worker here in The French Quarter for the past 15 years, allow me to offer these insights.

First, as service workers we are expected, even demanded to work long, hard hours for every other major and minor holiday during the rest of the year. Christmas, New Year’s Eve, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Memorial Day, Mother’s Day, the Fourth of July, Labor Day and Halloween. Not to mention Mardi Gras, the rest of the city just shuts down for it.”

Good luck trying to find any local business to return a call as Carnival starts to get into full swing. Other than the essential government services like police and fire who like us have no choice, the city government practically closes down.  If you were so presumptuous as to dare to ask your employer for time off, his laughter would drown out the jukebox. You either work 12 hour shifts for a week straight like your coworkers or you can quit.

Thanksgiving Day has become sort of a default for staff to have one holiday to enjoy being served instead of serving.  We too have friends and families that we would relish time to spend with. Being a traditional family-oriented holiday, karaoke on Bourbon Street isn’t the first activity that comes to mind. It’s not that big of an ask. How about a little support for the working proletariat pushing back against heartless capitalist systems denying us of our basic human need to enjoy a holiday.

Second: This time is often spent by the businesses to do much needed maintenance work to their establishments.  Most are open seven days a week and are only closed for a few hours per day. That’s enough time to clean and do simple repairs, but major work that may take a couple of days cannot be addressed in a couple of hours. I know of one establishment utilizing this year’s closure to do some floor tile work. It needs a few days of no one walking on it to set properly. These old buildings require a lot of  services, plumbing, painting, electrical etc. That cannot be rushed.

Third: To accuse any establishment in New Orleans of being “rAcIst” is ludicrous. Take a look around any other weekend; half of the staff and customers are most likely Black. What do you think? Behind all of the shuttered doors and windows this weekend Klan meetings are being held?

Allow me to submit this piece of evidence. July Fourth weekend New Orleans hosts Essence Fest, an exclusively Black event that our doors are always open to welcome them and their money. We’re capitalists, the only color we care about is green. If they were the crackers that online warriors claim they are, then Billy Bob would be able to find an excuse to close for that Black event as well.

Just allow the service industry workers to have one holiday for themselves and allow the maintenance workers some time to glue everything back together.

B Mac’s challenges the best chefs in football cook-off series

Photo courtesy of B Mac’s via Facebook.

B Mac’s French Quarter Bar & Courtyard has brought its cook-off challenge back, but this time the contest spans the football season.

Instead of having only one cook-off challenge, B Macs announced last month that it will be having one cook-off challenge per month. The first challenge was a red beans cook-off on Sept. 18, but there’s three more you can still participate in.

The next event is is scheduled for Sunday, Oct. 15 at 11:30 a.m. with a chili cook-off, followed by a gumbo cook-off on Sunday, Nov. 12 and a Christmas side dish cook-off on Dec. 21.

To participate, all contestants are required to sign up no later than seven days before each event. Winners are announced at halftime for each Saints game.

For more information, call 504-252-2026 or email miamatassa.bmacs@gmail.com.

B Macs is located at 819 St. Louis St. in the French Quarter.




Dishes will be judged 30 minutes before Cook-off (except for Christmas side dish) and winners will be announced at halftime.

A clean up guy story

It’s four a.m. and I just woke up from another job-related nightmare. I was getting up in another hour anyways. Perhaps these painful dreams of work will be exercised from my subconscious if I write them down. I won’t claim to suffer from any form of PTSD., let’s save that for the combat veterans and victims of serious crimes. Still, I’ve seen some pretty fucked up shit in my years of French Quarter employment.

My position? Morning clean-up guy in a couple of dive bars right off Bourbon Street. It’s every bit as gruesome as it sounds. Imagine a melancholy Tom Waits song about mopping up vomit. I’ve been doing this for so long, not only can I tell you that the puddle contains hurricanes and gumbo, but that it looks like it originated from Pat O’Brien’s. It’s not a career for the weak or cowardly. These are some highlights from my cringe scrapbook.

I hose off the sidewalk every morning. Picture Jackson Pollock with a bad stomach virus.  There is no way to feel cool about yourself while hosing off a soiled condom stuck to the lid of the city garbage can. I’ve seen so much blood in and out of the bars, it’s like analyzing a crime scene as I clean. “Janitorial Forensics” as I like to refer to it.  Blood drops and spilled drinks with shoe prints tracking through it all.

Walking into work about 7 a.m one morning, I was greeted by a bartender with a distant dead stare in his eyes. He had a welt on his forehead, and his hair and the objects behind him were splattered with candle wax. I only asked, “Did you kick out a hooker last night?” He silently nodded yes. I felt like Sherlock Holmes.

Years ago, when I worked at the hotel across the street, I was hosing a rather large puddle of dried blood with a trail starting from Bourbon Street, leading to the front of what is now the Ra Shop. As I rinsed the sidewalk, a tooth skipped across from of the water. “Someone was an asshole to the wrong person last night.” A couple days later I ran into a door guy at the club on the opposite corner, his right hand was bandaged. My buddy lamented, “I was aiming for the side of his head, but he turned into it. Sliced my hand on his teeth. He lost a few, hope I don’t catch anything.” I casually motioned to my corner, “He went that way?” A nod of yes confirmed my conclusion.

One might be surprised to find out how difficult it is to hose a butt plug down a gutter. I guess it has to do with how it’s shaped. Where the fuck did it come from? Did it just fall out? Did someone get bored with it and just reach back and pluck it out? Perhaps it just fell out of a pocket, I told myself as many gallons of hose water were used to prompt the bright red sex toy to the sewer grate on Bourbon Street. It should wash out to the river after the next storm and from there, flow down to the Gulf of Mexico where it will lodge into the blow hole of a baby dolphin — IF everything goes according to my diabolical plan.

I find some disgusting things in the gutter as well. One time I found a toe. An actual little toe from a human, like in the movie, “The big Lebowski.” That’s how I recognized what it was. I leaned down real close, rinsed it and looked a little closer — yea, a fucking toe. Didn’t surprise me a bit. We see idiots all the time wearing flip flops, sandals or even barefoot. Good, you deserved it. I won’t wear anything less than Doc Marten on that wreckage-strewn street. Hosing the tiny grayish appendage down the gutter, I amused myself with a lousy John Goodman impression: “You want a toe, Dude? I can get you a toe. Hell, I can get you a toe by three o’clock. With nail polish.”

I pondered if I had any obligation to report it to proper authorities. Nah. Teeth, toes, they don’t care. What if I found an entire foot? Would I phone it in, then? Probably not. I just would pretend I didn’t notice it and let the city workers deal with it. An entire leg? Hm, maybe. Odds are the owner didn’t get very far.

Another morning I walked into the men’s room and stopped dead in my tracks. Looking down right in the middle of the floor. “REALLY GUYS?! I would expect this in the women’s room, but not in ours.” I leaned down and squinted. “Oh wait, it’s just a cigar. Sorry men, as you were.” Ask any janitor, the women’s bathroom is always many times worse.
“We’re out of paper in the ladies’ room.”
“No, you’re not. There’s a half a fucking roll strewn all over the floor. Every morning it looks like goddamn mischief night in there.”
This is why I don’t date anymore. I’ve been cleaning ladies’ rooms for so long that I want nothing to do with you nasty assed bitches.  They all act like they don’t even fart, yet there is crap on top of the toilet tank. Somehow the glitter makes it all OK, I guess.

You must stay up with the graffiti, too. If you let one tag slide the next day, there will be three more.  Inspecting the women’s room one gloomy morning I was greeted by “MEN R PIGS” written on our ivory tile wall. Upon examining the scrawl to determine the best removal method, I realized it was in fact written in blood. I chuckled at the irony of this self-own. Do used tampons work like felt-tipped markers? Total lack of self-awareness on her part. I gloved up for the procedure and laughed thinking about a troll response. I should write beneath it: “NO WE’RE NOT” in semen.  That would’ve been counterproductive to my job, though. Besides, I’m not that young anymore. Maybe I could’ve squeezed out enough to write just “NO.” Not nearly as clever.

Why did I wake up this morning screaming? Have you ever had to plunge a fetus? There is no coming back from that.

Buffa’s is still in business despite closure scare

French Quarter-area residents and tourists received a scare earlier this month that Buffa’s Bar and Restaurant announced that it was on the brink of going out of business, but then the bar did an about-face and said danger was averted, at least for now, after people started showing up.

On July 2, Buffa’s posted an article on social media stating that it will “likely” close sometime that week, with the owners citing “skyrocketing rent, high overhead costs and a decline in tourism and clientele.” The day before, Buffa’s ominously posted “the last brunch,” along with a recorded video of its usual Sunday jazz brunch.

The article said a miracle was needed and something resembling that happened: people started patronizing the shit outta the place.

“Like many things on social media, rumors of our closing have been a little exaggerated,” Buffa’s said in a July 3 post. “The situation is dire, that much is true. But we are overwhelmed by the outpouring of support from the community. We were busy enough on Sunday to postpone closing a little bit. Every day we can do that allows us to discover and explore other options.”

Buffa’s takes its name after Vincent Buffa, who opened the bar on the corner of Burgundy Street and Esplanade Avenue in 1939. Since then, the place has become what some have described as a “staple” or an “institution.”

Despite surviving the COVID-19 pandemic, which resulted in numerous local businesses shutting down, Buffa’s is instead faced with the prospect of shuttering its doors due to declining business.

Buffa’s has, at least for now, avoided closing after an outpouring of support, but warns the situation is still “very fluid” and has asked that regulars make a stop there at least once a month.

The business said that if enough people frequent the establishment on a regular basis, it’ll stay open, but also pleaded with the community to do the same for other family-owned businesses.

“They are hurting too,” the bar stated. “If you could find 3 or 4 places you love to go every month, and your friends did that as well, so many of the places we love in New Orleans would not be facing the ominous prospect of going out of business forever.”

Buffa’s told its staff that it’ll “deal with the future when it gets here,” although right now the place is focusing on saying open. “We promise to hang in there as long as we can,” Buffa’s owners said.

A Buffa’s GoFundMe page was started on July 3, with people contributing more than $24,000 since then.

Buffa’s is located at 1001 Esplanade Ave., on the edge of the French Quarter.

It’s the Gargiules’ last shifts at Turtle Bay, Chart Room before moving out of state – come show your support before it’s too late

Picture courtesy of Turtle Bay.
Christopher and Joanna Gargiule will be bartending their last shifts at the Chart Room and Turtle Bay, respectively, after more than a decade of faithful service to French Quarter denizens before heading out of state.

Monday night (tonight) is Christopher’s last bartending shift at the Chart Room, where he has been a mainstay at the Chartres Street establishment for years. If you don’t get this message in time and missed seeing face, you’ll still have a chance to give Joanna a send-off Tuesday night at the Turtle Bay on Decatur Street.

UPDATE 7/14/23: Christopher will be bartending his last shift at Harry’s Corner Bar at 900 Chartres St. on Saturday afternoon. Make sure to show up.

After closing out what will be the final shifts, Christopher and Joanna, and their family will be moving on to greener pastures and sandier beaches, where they will be united with friends.

I had the pleasure of working with Joanna at the Turtle Bay, where she mentored and trained me on all the establishment specifics of working behind the bar. I wasn’t the only one, of course. It wasn’t just about knowing how to make cocktails or pour beers, but how to provide great customer service.

So if you live in town, or just visiting, drop by and say hello — and good-bye — before it’s too late, and be sure to give the Gargiules a nice send-off with lots of tips.

Joanna got back to us, but wasn’t able to offer a comment because they are busy getting squared away for the move — totally understandable.

Turtle Bay is located at 1119 Decatur St. and the Chart Room is located at 300 Chartres St. — both in the French Quarter.