I was scheduled to attend the promotional land purchase program around 11:00 a.m. on Friday. I listened to the pitch with no intention of purchasing a piece of property but “the deal” was too much for me to resist. It was the “opportunity of a lifetime” and only cost $26.00 a month.
The land speculators were opening a new development on the outskirts of Orlando, Florida. The plans included a “premier housing development” that would be built on “some orange groves”. Agriculture was giving way to an expected influx of people from “The North”. This wasn’t “swamp land”. It was “highly valued property in the heart of central Florida”. I bought a lot. (The rest of this tale is for another time.)
After closing the deal we began our search for Two Jacks restaurant. No-one at our hotel had heard of the place so they suggested that we “look in the yellow pages”. We located the address and decided that we’d head out for an early dinner.
We spent the time prior to dinner exploring the French Quarter. We returned to Cafe DuMonde, walked the street surrounding Jackson Square, marveled at the skill of the street vendors, and considered investing in some shiny beads but passed at the opportunity. Mike and I were carrying the freight for young Bob, so each outlay of cash had to be considered carefully.
We returned to the hotel early so that we could dress for dinner. Aunt Ruth had told me what to expect. “You just go in, sit down, and they serve you whatever they have prepared for the evening. You don’t order. You just eat. It’s very nice.”
Our hotel concierge provided directions to Two Jacks. “Are you sure you have the correct address? That’s a rough section of town.” We were sure. My Aunt Ruth wouldn’t steer me wrong.
The three of us dressed for the occasion. We wore sports coats, dress slacks (Mike’s were yellow), starched shirts with stiff collars, and bright ties. Mike and I wore two toned shoes that looked like we were wearing spats. We were used to such attire, but it was a new experience for young Bob.
The drive to Two Jacks was uneventful, but I must admit that I was surprised that my Aunt Ruth would have frequented such an establishment. I was happy that we had decided to head out early. It was in a black neighborhood and as we parked I wondered silently how my aunt had discovered such an establishment. We walked into the place and saw a long bar, a single bartender and a couple of patrons. We asked if this was Two Jacks.
“Yes, sir. What would you like to drink?”
“We actually came to eat. Is there a restaurant here?”
“Yes, sir. Out back.” And he motioned towards a door at the rear of the bar.
We walked through the door into a small room that featured four card tables with assorted folding chairs. There was a Dutch door on the other end of the room. The top of the door was open while the bottom remained closed. I heard a voice on the other side of the door and walked over for a closer look. A black lady, who could have been the model for the Aunt Jemima pancake box, asked if she could help us.
“Is this Two Jacks restaurant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is this the restaurant where you just serve what you’ve made for the day? My aunt told me about this place and she said the food was wonderful. I thought it was in the French Quarter but the phone book said this was the address.”
And then she laughed. “Oh, sir, you’re lookin for Tujague’s. It’s on Decatur Street.” She laughed a bit more and said, “It’s about twenty minutes from here.” She offered up a set of directions and we were on our way.
The three of us returned to our car and made the drive to Tujague’s. We found ourselves 
across the street from Café DuMonde. We drank coffee and ate beignets across the street from Tujague’s the prior evening and, again, that very afternoon. Café DuMonde was at 823 Decatur and Tujague’s address was 800 Decatur. It looked more like a storefront that a restaurant.
We walked in and sat down. A man in his early fifties, who could have been a stunt double for Mr. Clean, approached us. He spoke with a French accent and offered only two words, “You eat?” We said yes and the food started flowing. The menu for the evening was written on a chalk board, but we were never consulted. We just ate what he brought, and it was delicious. Our meal included: 1st Course – Shrimp Remoulade, 2nd Course – Gumbo, 3rd Course – Brisket Appetizer, 4th Course – Chicken Madison and our 5th Course – Bread Pudding. The five courses were served on a white linen table cloth, sturdy china, and elegant glassware.
He asked if we would like wine with dinner. We reflected upon the $1.50 bottles of beer from the night before and declined. We just ate.
We learned later that Tujague’s is New Orleans’ second oldest dining institution, the birthplace of brunch, and home to the oldest stand-up bar in America. We were pleased that they served the classic table d’hôte meal (a set number of courses with limited choices of dishes, offered at a fixed price) just as Aunt Ruth had described.
We continued our exploration of the French Quarter the next day. We visited the Court of Two Sisters for brunch, drank hurricanes at Pat O’Brien’s, and listened to jazz at Preservation Hall. Like the two nights prior, we returned to play chess at the hippy coffee house so young Bob could oggle the hippy girls.
We headed back to Kalamazoo on Sunday. Our return trip went smoothly. I took this picture of young Bob and Mike just before we left the Warwick Hotel.
Ruth and I returned to New Orleans in the summer of 1972 and stayed at the Warwick as part of our belated honeymoon. We ate at Tujague’s, and across the street at Café DuMonde, but didn’t venture back to Two Jacks.