If you think this is delicious, check out John Hassan's previous Taste of New Orleans.

For dinner on Friday, my wife Karen and I took a streetcar uptown to the Upperline Restaurant. Karen had the Taste of New Orleans sampling meal (Appetizer: duck etouffee with corn cakes and pepper jelly, oyster stew with watercress, andouille gumbo; Entrée: fried green tomato with shrimp remoulade, spicy shrimp with jalapeno cornbread, roast duck with ginger peach sauce.) She finished off with Upperline Pecan Pie.

I had sweetbreads with mushroom ragout, lamb shank braised in red wine with saffron risotto and crème brulee. All of the food was wonderful as were the friendly chats we had with owner JoAnn Clevenger, who has run the Upperline for 19 years. In addition to great food, the Upperline has a wonderful collection of paintings by local artists.

We climbed back on the streetcar and rode back to our hotel on Carondelet, a few noisy blocks from Bourbon Street. The room wasn't exactly peaceful -- passing cars blared bass lines that shook the sixth-floor windows. We fell asleep anyway.

Saturday morning arrived and we headed off to our last official meal: Breakfast at Brennan's. On the way we passed a few people who had already begun, or had yet to stop, drinking. This gets old fast. By my estimation, drunk people are 64% less entertaining than they think they are. Note to all men: the big, bulbous Christmas ornament-sized beads are not a good look.

We had reservations and so were seated promptly at 9:30. Karen ordered a Milk Punch (brandy and milk over ice, sprinkled with nutmeg). I had coffee. We both had the prix fixe. (It's 9:45 and I've spent twice my per diem. Sweet.) Karen went with baked apple in double cream, Eggs Benedict and Bananas Foster. I countered with strawberries in double cream, Eggs Hussarde (poached eggs and Canadian bacon on Holland rusks, Marchand de Vin sauce, topped with Hollandaise.) and Bananas Foster.

I'm pretty sure it was the best breakfast I've ever had. I know it was the most I've ever eaten for my first meal of the day. I could have stopped at the strawberries and coffee. Anyway, we had a lot of food to walk off so we hit the French Quarter for some shopping.

Karen had already made the rounds so she led the way. We went a few doors down from Brennan's to The Collector, a high-end trinket shop. Karen bought a red-bean shaped Limoges box that took care of several per diems. We then went the Lousiana Music Factory, a record shop on Decatur where I picked up two live recordings I had not seen before: Henry "Red" Allen in Roslyn, N.Y., in 1965 and Louis Armstrong at the Pasadena Civic Auditorium. We also checked out Beckham Books and Crescent City Books.

Karen and I walked up to the St. Peter Guest House because I wanted to see the room where New York Dolls' guitarist and punk legend Johnny Thunders died. Ghoulish, but a common request according to the manager. No go, though, because the room was occupied. On the way back to Bourbon Street, Karen and I started talking about how there is something spooky and unearthly about New Orleans. It's just in the air, not always threatening but always there. Just before we reached the corner, we saw a huge, stuffed possum on the stoop of a building. It was about the size of a football, plus head, arms and legs. Karen and I both thought it was a ju-ju, a protective totem made from something formerly living and we stepped closer. Then it twitched its ears and looked up at us.

We made our way to Café du Monde, and though we were hardly hungry, had our last beignets and café au lait. Though we had to jump some rails to do it, we walked briefly along the Mississipi River down near the Riverfront Streetcar stop. We walked through Jackson Square and admired the beautiful St. Louis Cathedral. As we left the park we saw a couple finishing up their marriage vows against the fence. We clapped along with their minister and other passersby. We crossed Chartres Street to Pirate's Alley and the William Faulkner Bookshop, housed in the building where Faulkner wrote his first book, Soldier's Pay. After buying a black-and-gold Mardi Gras mask at Rumors to go with Karen's pink one (and hoping that Eyes Wide Shut would be on Spectravision at the hotel), we went to the rooftop observation deck at the Omni Royal Orleans hotel on St. Louis. Beautiful views of the river and the city.

By now we were tired so we went back to the hotel to rest a while. Then we got up and walked over to the Media Center so I could get one more free bottle of water and, of course, final pre-game notes and quotes supplied by the NFL. On the way back, we walked through Harrah's Casino. I have never figured out the allure of gambling. Apparently, the thrill is enhanced by heavy makeup and chain smoking.

Mother's, a legendary spot on Poydras, provided our final New Orleans meal as we will be strictly hotel buffet or Superdome freebies from now until we leave. We split a baked ham po' boy and some red beans and rice. Karen had bread pudding for dessert while I sat on the edge of feeling I'd finally had too much of a good thing.

Final Larry King-style notes from the Crescent City: Jerry Jones of the Dallas Cowboys, smartly attired in blazer and tie, preceded us into Brennan's by three seconds yet he still let the door slam in my face. Apparently the plastic surgeon cut his manners too. ... They call New Orleans the Big Easy but it could just as easily be the Big Cleavage. ... New England is the opposite of New Orleans. Trust me. ... On our way out of the Royal Orleans we saw Ashley Judd in the lobby. Karen said I stared. I say I didn't stare. … Let's face it: Bea Arthur makes every song she sings her own. ... New Orleans elected a mayor this weekend. By my guess, 27 people were running and they all were "against corruption". Tough choices, people. ... This is my fifth Super Bowl and I would rank each locale as a Super Bowl city thusly: San Diego, New Orleans, Miami, Atlanta and Tampa. ... When you are talking about the great funny men, you better be talking about Soupy Sales. ... Souvenir notes: New Orleans seems to have a real glut of official souvenir shops, many more than the other cities. I priced a certain item all over town. A hard plastic round pendant embossed with the Super Bowl logo on a string of red, white and blue beads went as low as $5.99 on Canal Street to $15.99 in a mall shop in the French Quarter. The NFL expects to sell $100 million in Super Bowl XXXVI merchandise. I buy my one souvenir on Monday after the game. You save at least 50% ... One thing you never hear on Bourbon Street: "Could you make more of a mess?" ... Locals refer to the field surface at the Superdome as "Mardi Grass". ... The only street performer I gave money to was a solo saxophone player who played a remarkable medley of Take Five and the themes from The Simpsons and The Flintstones. I now cannot separate the three tunes in my head.

John Hassan is covering the Super Bowl for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at john.hassan@espnmag.com.