I Will See Your Last Day on Earth, and Raise You a Heart Attack.

The Pope sent me this email on Friday afternoon, but I am just now getting around to posting what would be his last day of dining in NOLA. As of right now, we still don't know where Gustav will make landfall, but New Orleans will likely get heavy wind and rain no matter what. Who knows what will happen. I must admit that during times like these I question whether living in NOLA is worth all of this trouble. But then I read something like The Pope's below email, and I am quickly reminded of all the great times I've had and the great times that are still to come. The thing is, those memories can only be made in NOLA. Keep reading, and you will know what I mean:

Peter,

You know that I am a horrible writer, and I am not very good at spelling. Please edit as much as you can. [Even The Pope is not perfect.]

I am not worried about what the hurricane will do to me (I am talking about the storm, but also the drink later on this evening - it is Friday after all). But if my friend up in the Big Blue Sky (or Gray Sky, if I wait any longer) tells me that it’s our time, then I want this to be my final day here on Earth. Although the wonderful creators of this website would go to the new exciting restaurants on their last days, I would much prefer the restaurants that made this city famous.

3:00am - After a long night at the Gold Mine, I travel on a crusade to the promised land, Bud’s Broiler: a DOUBLE MEAT #2 with sauce, mayo and cheese only, a #9 with onions and sauce, a large cheese fries, and a large coke. (I love their ice.)

3:30am - Sleep

8:30am - I would start off with a Pimm’s Cup from Napoleon House because I would need to nurse my hangover from the night before.

9:00am - I would then stumble down to the Court of Two Sisters to listen to some jazz and watch my good friend Peter try and eat a 6 helpings of Eggs Benedict with 8 servings of hollandaise. After all, he wouldn’t have to watch his weight because it’s his last day on Earth. Champagne of choice: Ruinart, which is the oldest Champagne house in the world. As for the food, I would take the same route that I have taken for many years: Everything, with a little extra whiskey sauce for the bread pudding - you can never have too much of that. After breakfast, we would stroll down Royal Street sipping on Woodford Reserve Mint Juleps (served over crushed ice - the only way to go).

Noon - Galatoire's. I am right there with Peter. Lunch at Galatoire's while drinking, of course, Woodford Mint Juleps. I would probably get my own order of Soufflé Potatoes followed by Crabmeat Maison, then Chicken Clemenceau for the entrée. Wine of choice: J Pinot Noir. I would have to wash it all down with a nice cordial glass of Grand Marnier 150yr. (Go big, or go home.)

2:45pm - We would stroll by Old Absinthe House where Legend and The Doc would be acting like Goose and Maverick in Top Gun. Drink of choice: either Woodford on the rocks or a Red Bull and Ketel One to give me a kick start. At this point I would probably turn to Peter and say, "Don’t they have popcorn here?” Then we would both look at Rene who has a big handful of the fresh popcorn.

3:30pm - I could go for a nap, but instead we make our way to the poker room at Harrah’s to play a little 10-20 Hold'em and some craps. Conveniently, the Lucky Dog stand is located right in the middle of both of these fine games. Tempting....

6:00pm - What else would a man want for his final meal? STEAK. Off to Ruth's Chris Steak House in the Harrah's Hotel (of course, I wish the one on Orleans and Broad was still open) where I would get the largest strip steak, cooked medium-rare, with a side of béarnaise. Wine of choice: I would defer my decision to Rene - he has a great palate - but I was thinking of a nice big cult wine from California. Last but not least, a classic crème brulée. Oh yeah, and some Holy Water (i.e., GM).

11:00pm – Leave the blackjack table ... I mean Ruth's Chris ... and head to Camellia Grill for late night breakfast and a chocolate freeze. It's like loving in your mouth.

11:45pm - I stroll into the Mecca (Red Eye) where everyone knows your name and where “you love to hate it and hate to love it.” I give the "Tini Bomb" sign at the bar, and the Red Bull and Jager start to flow.

11:59pm – On the phone with the Big Guy upstairs telling him, “ This can’t be my last night on Earth. I didn’t go to Martin’s Wine Cellar for brunch. I didn’t get to have lunch with The Deli King at the Rib Room, and Vincent’s for dinner. And I need to go by Mr. B's to see if Legend is passed out on the floor. I need at least one ... maybe four more days. Come on, Big Guy. I am The Pope, afterall. Throw me freaking bone here."

Here's to hoping that Gustav spares us the worst so that His Holiness will get to experience his final day of gluttony. And after checking with a registered dietitian at Lakeside Hospital, it has been confirmed that this would indeed be The Pope's last day of eating out.