Best food in New Orleans? Try the alligator cheesecake

It’s mid-morning on a weekday, but we’ve already poured wine and cracked a few beers, and the smells of Southern classics waft through the room. “The key to a good gumbo is a great roux, so it’s your job to never stop stirring,” says Chef Eric Perkins, showing me the right pace at the The cooking school of New Orleans.

In addition to the chicken gumbo, my fellow aspiring chefs are working on barbecue shrimp and grits, as well as white chocolate bread pudding. Perkins stops by, offers advice and catches up on the long, diverse culinary history of the Crescent City, including the differences between Cajun and Creole. One of many points: “For protein, Creole is focused on seafood. (With) Cajun, you say, okay, what’s walking around in the swamp? Alligator, possum, squirrel, raccoon.

It’s an important distinction in this Louisiana city, where everything seems to stem from good food and drink. Known around the world for its steaming seafood platters, New Orleans draws influences from countless cultures – French, yes, but also Italian, African, Spanish, and many others. Think: dishes with tempting names such as étouffée, muffuletta, jambalaya.

But as I learned during my trip this spring, the best places are far from the main tourist route. My plan is to visit some of the best restaurants, following nothing but the recommendations of the locals.

The cooking school of New Orleans

At the cooking school, the chatter and chatter rises as the courses near completion, and we get ready for an early lunch. The conversation inevitably turns to where people should eat, if they’re looking for a real taste of the city. Perkins, who was born and raised here, has a few major standouts.

First, high-end isn’t necessarily better. In fact, Perkins sings the praises of memorable meals served to him from the back of a gas station in New Orleans. A tentative list takes shape as I jot down notes. “There is no such thing as two the same dishes here. Everyone has their own interpretation,’ says Perkins. “That’s why it’s so exciting to eat around New Orleans.”

My list becomes my recipe for delicious dining. But it’s not static. Whenever I tell the list to a local, the response is universal. “Can I see it?” they ask. Every last person shares their thoughts on the recommendations on it and then insists that I write theirs down as well.

There are restaurants, high and low, greasy spoons and secret speakeasies, but a general theme converges: Your best visit to New Orleans won’t be on Bourbon Street, which is always packed with partying tourists, even on a Monday night. And probably not even in the French Quarter, although the oldest neighborhood in the city is of course worth a visit.

I can only dine at a fraction of the dozens of places that end up in my notebook. But a plan begins to form. I will navigate my days on the vintage St. Charles streetcar, perhaps the most charming way to get around, which has followed the great bend of the Mississippi River since 1835. The route runs about 12 miles west of Canal Street through the Garden District, past huge antebellum homes and tall oaks dripping with Spanish moss. A day pass costs only $3 US

I click almost to the end of the line to visit a place recommended by almost everyone – Chef Perkins, yes, but also Uber drivers and NOLA friends. Located in an old two-storey wooden house, Jacques-Imos is well out of the way, in an area that was once a bit dangerous. (“You didn’t stop at the red lights,” a resident tells me. “You just stopped.”) Now it’s dotted with comic book shops and other characterful businesses.

St. Charles streetcar

When I walk in, it feels like the restaurant has been picked up by a tornado and everything has been put back in the wrong place. Entering the dining room requires a journey through the working kitchen. The men’s room is located right next to the dishwashing station. I sit down at the bar and bartender Chris Fegan prepares me his take on a boulevardier, with Sazerac rye—the historic spirit born in the French Quarter—and Aperol.

People come here from all over and book tables weeks in advance. “We get people right off the plane,” says Fegan. “They roll in here with suitcases in hand.” It’s only five in the afternoon and there’s already a line out the door. Lucky for me, the bar stools in the front are assigned on a first come, first served basis.

Someone brings me a slice of alligator cheesecake. ‘How did this place become famous? Take a bite of that,” says Fegan. I dig in. Cajun and Creole come together. Shrimp and large chunks of alligator sausage. Smoked Gouda cream cheese and a Parmesan crust. Just all my favorite things shaped into a slice of cake. One piece is enough to fuel me for a while.

I hop on and off the tram all week and check other stops off my list. Stop by for a po’boy and a bucket of crayfish Deanie’s seafood (a choice of Chef Perkins). Brunch at Mrs River, at the Four Seasons Hotel New Orleans, where I find elevated views of pickled crab claws and buttermilk fried chicken backed by a live jazzy band. Sip on cocktails Bar Marlou, a French speakeasy in a former law library. (“It still works,” a waiter tells me. “The books are all cataloged.”)

Fried bologna sandwich

My New Orleans journey doesn’t end at a gas station, but it’s close by. Housed in a cracked cinder block building, Turkey and the Wolf was once a laundromat. Inside, I’ll find mismatched tables, old-school wrestling posters, and meals served on plastic, vintage McDonald’s plates. Lineups at this humble sandwich shop often swing out the door, and the place has given birth to a small restaurant empire. (Their new diner restaurant, Hungry eyesis also on my list.)

Turkey and the Wolf’s personal hipster owner, Mason Hereford, arrives at my table with their all-time bestseller in hand: the fried bologna. “This is a reproduction of the sandwich my mom used to make for us when I was little,” he says. “We all hated it.”

But Hereford has taken the classic to the next level. Three pieces of nonsense, from a butcher friend. Super-melting American cheese, plus thick-cut potato chips soaked overnight in vinegar and cooked in-house. Handmade mustard. Huge chunks of soft white local baker’s bread. It’s messy and cumbersome and almost embarrassing to eat in front of a stranger.

And of course ideal. While dripping mustard threatens my shirt, we are still a long way from good food. But according to Hereford, that’s also something for New Orleans. “It’s a laid-back place,” he says. “Always look for the most fun you can have. Casual food is just as celebrated here.”

Tim Johnson traveled as a guest of Travel Southern US And Visit New Orleanswho has not reviewed or approved this article.

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