Puttin' on the Ritz in the big easy: great food and great jazz make New Orleans the destination of choice in these troubled times - Going Places

IN THE WAKE OF SEPT. 11, we decided to rethink our approach to travel pieces for the immediate future and focus on American destinations, rather than foreign locales. With tourism down and U.S. airlines suffering a considerable slump in business, we felt it was an ideal time to promote seeing our nation first. Accordingly, for the next few months, we are shifting our focus from "Americans Abroad" to "Going Places."

In selecting the first city to kick off this approach, one of our favorites instantly sprang to mind--New Orleans. Louisiana's Crescent City is the ideal place to unwind, feast on great food and great jazz, and, as its unofficial motto proclaims, Laissez bons temps rouler ("Let the good times roll"). As a base for our stay, the decision was equally easy. For sheer luxury, it's hard to beat the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, perched on historic Canal Street at the cusp of the famed French Quarter.

There's a fine line between providing exquisite service and being obsequious, and the Ritz-Carlton strikes the perfect note. From the hotel's limousine awaiting us at the airport to the quick and easy check-in, we were made to feel as if we were happily anticipated guests. The third-floor reception area (the lower floors are in the process of being converted into a mall) abounded with marble and profuse plantings of brilliant, fragrant flowers. Guests were comfortably ensconced in the overstuffed chairs and couches arranged around the lobby, as well as at small tables in the adjoining tree-lined courtyard, where they could enjoy drinks, lunch, and sunshine.

Like a rich cake, luxury comes in layers, and we were whisked up to the top of the hotel and its Club floors to evidence this. When the Ritz-Carlton converted two New Orleans landmarks--the Maison Blanche department store and Kress building--into a stunning hotel through a $250,000,000 restoration culminating in its grand opening in October, 2000, the Club floors were set off for those seeking extra-special attention. Accessed by an electronic keycard, without which the elevator will not rise to this level, it is like a small European hotel within a hotel, with a concierge desk manned by a highly efficient, knowledgeable staff whose aim is to see to guests' comforts.

While our suite was undergoing final touches, we were escorted to the Club buffet. The homey wood-paneled room, utilized for breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea, provides cozy upholstered armchairs and mahogany tables sporting fine linen and china. Although it is self-serve, the attentive butler quickly learns your name and beverage preferences, and sees that they are unfailingly on hand as you circle the veritable cornucopia of light snacks on the central table. Once we had appeased our appetites with a surfeit of finger sandwiches, including smoked salmon and ham, and helped ourselves from platters of shrimp, salad, fruit, cheeses, delicious pastries, and wineglasses filled with creme brulle, we were led upstairs.

Entering our suite, we were greeted by a purple, green, and gold--French heritage colors-sitting room replete with a chaise longue and plush armchairs complemented by tables, lamps, and draperies whose decor reflect the tradition of New Orleans' rich past. A special touch was the stationery imprinted with our names awaiting us on the mahogany writing desk. French doors led to the bedroom, where we immediately fell in love with the king-size bed, its firm mattress decadently topped with an allergy-free feather pad that would allow us to cuddle into a soft sandwich formed by the downy quilt above us. The white marble bathroom featured his-and-her sinks and a choice between a glass-enclosed shower or, for those who prefer to soak, a deep tub with a foam-rubber neck rest. An assortment of toiletries was laid out for our use, including toothbrushes, a razor, and shaving cream, just in case we had forgotten our own. Anxious to explore the historic and colorful city, we chose not to wait to have our luggage unpacked for us--another Club special feature-and quickly dispensed with that chore, then set out.

The temperature was in the low 70s and the humidity low--admittedly a rarity in the Big Easy--making it perfect for walking. We strolled past the stately streetcars that still make their way down Canal Street, though--alas--many of them have been replaced by buses. (Somehow, "A Bus Named Desire" just doesn't have the same panache.) A left turn into Royal Street set us on the road to the French Quarter. We could have chosen Bourbon Street, which runs parallel to Royal, where it is almost de rigueur to wander along its gaudy and flashy blocks armed with a gaux (go) cup filled with beer or the city's notorious signature drink, the Hurricane. (There are no open-container laws in New Orleans, which contributes no end to the often rowdy atmosphere of the Quarter.) However, Royal would take us past many of our favorite haunts.

The streets were right out of a Tennessee Williams play, with gaslight lampposts and wrought iron second-story balconies festooned with greenery and pots of colorful flowers overhanging generations-old shops offering a treasure trove: antique furniture, silverware, and tea and coffee services; jewelry running the gamut from estate quality to hip and funky; art galleries; clothing boutiques; armies of metal soldiers set up to fight famous battles; and myriad other delights luring one within. Window shopping inevitably turned into the real thing, and we soon had scooped up a must-have whimsical sculpture by a favorite artist, a pair of unique hand-painted woman's blouses, and an old-fashioned gold stickpin that could have come right off Rhea Butler's cravat.