In addition to a two-bedroom in the French Quarter (renting for $950 no less!), one of the first apartments I looked at was in Bywater. It was a gigantic half of a double with two bedrooms, high ceilings, transoms, hardwood floors and a built-in bookcase in the parlor going for $495 a month. Instantly I was sold, but I had to convince my mother.
“There’s a bar right across the street,” she pleaded “this couldn’t possibly be a safe neighborhood.” Luckily for my mom, another prospective tenant beat me to the punch and lucky for me, I ended up spending my first year in the city living only a block away from St. Charles Avenue on Harmony Street. But I always wondered how my first year would have been different had I scored that incredible apartment. Could I have fallen in with a hipster crowd? Started raising my own chickens? Wear a beanie and long, school girl-type dresses while plugging away on a laptop inside the corner coffee shop? I doubt it. But I do know that I would have been within walking distance of Press Street Station.
If I lived in the neighborhood, this would be my go-to breakfast spot seeing as they serve it all day long … and y’all know how I feel about breakfast. Not only that, the food is simple, but prepared with fresh, quality ingredients that can’t help but impress.
Our first outing to Press Street Station was months ago when John and I stopped in for a bite. Though their menu has changed since that first fateful mid-morning meal, perhaps this will give you an idea of what to expect.
After ordering a strong, iced coffee, we dove straight into a couple of entrees. John got a Southern-style B.L.T. with fried green tomatoes, Nueske’s bacon and lettuce on house-made sourdough bread. While I ogled his sandwich, my entree arrived … a “Bywater Benedict” with perfectly poached eggs resting atop fried boudin and buttery, homemade biscuits all draped with a creamy, smoked-paprika hollandaise. I also ordered a side of breakfast potatoes that were crisp on the outside, tender on the inside and simply seasoned with salt and pepper.
We finished it all off with barely enough room for a dessert our exuberant waitress couldn’t stop raving about, a Pumpkin Coconut Pound Cake. It was so good that John and I were fighting over the last bite and John claims to detest pumpkin. I guess it’s alright with him if it tastes like heaven! I just wish we didn’t have to trek all the way across town to get it. Maybe it’s time for a move?