Hopitoulas and Hand Grenades

For the past few months, The Inn on Bourbon has been offering a free tasting featuring NOLA Brewing Company beers every third Thursday. Last night, we decided we’d take advantage of this deal. I mean, how can a beer drinkin’ fool pass up free beer, in New Orleans I might add. Much to my dismay, the Lemon Basil Blueberry Wheat failed to make an appearance (just found out it will be on tap tonight at The Avenue Pub). It didn’t really matter much though. Hopitoulas IPA gladly picked up the slack and quickly subdued my frustration.

The hop-heavy libation flooded my mouth (and nose), with its somewhat floral and citrusy bitterness, and was a welcome sign to my stomach, which has been suffering from Natty Light Gut Rot for the past 3 weeks. Thank you Amurrica.

My senses continued to be overwhelmed. The house brass band, I think Local Rebels, went from one of my Rebirth favorites, “Do Whacha Wanna”, to a personal rendition of “This Little Light of Mine”. In any other place in the world, alcohol and a Sunday School song would never be found within 300 feet of each other, and definitely not in a hotel bar on Bourbon Street. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’ve seen people walk straight out of church and straight into The Bulldog. Even the décor of St. Joe’s is enough to make even a Catholic priest blush. There’s nothing like toasting Mary with St. Joe’s Blueberry Mojito, or shooting pool and drinking Dark and Stormy's with Jesus.

Before I knew it, the wife and I had devoured all of the mini muffulattas from the hotel’s kitchen and were the only people in the crowd not related to the band. We had our fill of NOLA, if that’s even possible, and decided to run over to the new Tropical Isle, which seems to be on every block of Bourbon Street now. We got a couple of Hand Grenades, and took one for the road. Next thing I know, I wake up at my desk at work with a bale of cotton in my mouth, and a headache straight from the devil himself.