While much of the city is still napping away last night’s amusements, I find myself at Cafe Envie, a small little coffee shop on Decatur almost out of the French Quarter. Only a few tourists dot streets filled with painters, garbage men, and other at work types getting ready for a new day. I walk into the quiet but inviting cafe where a pretty, curly-haired blond and brown skunk-striped waitress is wiping down the windows. She takes my order and helps me find a good spot to use the internet.
One of their cocktails, suitably named the Honey Nut, looks particularly good: A mix of espresso, Barenjager, Irish Cream, and Frangelico. I think better of it, however. The image of a six-foot five Ed Hamilton standing over me waving an unapproving finger for imbibing before his rum tasting is not one I’d like to see in person. So with that in mind, I go with an iced latte. I’m surprised how delightfully complex the coffee is.
Breakfast is simple and delicious: a delicate cheese omelete with ham on a croissant and a side of beautifully browned slice of potato roesti. The seasoning is great, flavors perfect; I could eat here every morning.
The meal definitely reminds me of why I love (and miss) New Orleans. It’s also an amusing reminder that I’ll be called “honey,” “baby,” and “sweetie” by nearly everyone who waits on me.