As my top lip skims my sazerac, a sweet spicy alcoholic drink made of bitters, rye whiskey, absinthe and simple syrup, unexpected flavours curl my tongue.

I am lost in the 20’s and 30’s, like Woody Allen’s starved-for-nostalgia character from “Midnight in Paris,” played by Owen Wilson. But I’m definitely not Owen and this isn’t Paris.

It’s my first night in New Orleans, and I’m devouring a savory Chicken and Andouille Gumbo (rich Cajun soupy dark roux which can also be made with shellfish) while listening to a trio of seasoned jazz musicians sing “What a Wonderful World” to our table at Arnaud’s Jazz Bistro off Bourbon Street in the heart of the French Quarter.

Wanting a family vacation destination, only a short flight away with interesting sites and great food, that didn’t include snow, New Orleans seemed like the perfect place to gather our three, twentysomething children for a few days. Most friends raised their eyebrows when I told them of our plans. There were sighs followed by “ Are you really taking your kids there?”

I suppose New Orleans, and specifically its French Quarter, may have a well-earned reputation for its sometimes depraved but festive atmosphere. Hoards of people can often be seen wobbling about the quaint streets completely sloshed while marching bands pass them by.

But we’re the kind of family that loves the action. We’re always overjoyed to wander back alleys in search of the perfect bookstore like Beckham’s Bookstore on Decatur Street, a musty treasure of old books, sheet music and classical vinyl, all carefully wrapped by the owner in crisp white paper that’s good to hold. We will gladly line up for an hour or more in anticipation of sitting on creaky wooden floors, at the renowned Preservation Hall, knee to knee with eager strangers also wanting to be only inches away from some iconic jazz musicians who play tunes from way back when.

My crew gets even more excited when we talk about food. Many hours are devoted to choosing the most authentic place to chow down. Some would consider our foodie habits obsessive, but it’s our favourite family activity – a time to catch up, regroup and strategize about the next eating establishment to rate.

With ample help from Yelp, we found many supreme places to feast. For brunch- The Red Gravy Caféon Camp Street helped fill my 102- pound body with fried eggs, a healthy bowl full of grits and a giant Italian meatball. My son, who had an earlier snack that morning, still had room to share a gingerbread waffle garnished with multi-coloured sprinkles and whipped cream with his sisters.

Next on the “To-eat list” was finding the best spot to wrap our mouths around a muffaletta, a traditional New Orleans Italian type sandwich on an entire loaf of French bread layered with salami, mortadella, swiss cheese, ham, provolone, and marinated olive salad. Nestled among the blue and delicate pink coloured homes on Robin Street, we hunted down, Verti Marte, a tiny grocery store filled with shelves of canned goods and a well stocked counter displaying all the fixins at the back of the store. Watching this big- enough-for-three sandwich being assembled was like being on Food Networks’ ‘Diners, Drive-ins and Dives’.

The foodie entertainment continued as I watched my 20 year-old daughter munching down on a po’ boy, a traditional Louisiana submarine sandwich made also on French bread, with mountains of roast beef, cheese and Verti Marte’s special “wow” sauce, while she mumbled deliriously in between bites, “I’m going to dream about this sandwich for a long time.”

Our most memorable dinners – a close toss up between Mr. B’s- fried oysters, succulent crab cakes, famous barbequed shrimp and Desire Oyster Bar’s meaty mega Gulf Coast oysters, wedge salad of iceberg lettuce topped with sweet cherry tomatoes and blue cheese, and a generous serving of Jambalaya with smoked sausage and beans.

Dessert in New Orleans is no exception to the culinary delights that await – every meal ended in a piece of decadent pecan pie, a healthy serving of bread pudding or a communal tasting of Bananas Foster and lemon ice box pie. But nothing compared to the beignets- wonderful square, deep fried fritters perfectly coated with heaps of icing sugar only to be had at the famous café du Monde near Jackson Square.

Our spectacular culinary adventures would not be complete without mentioning our afternoon snack at Cochon Restaurant located in the trendy Warehouse District close to the waterfront. We considered their collard greens, blissful macaroni and cheese, and smoky pulled pork sandwich enough food to tide us over till our next meal, only a few hours away. Around the corner, The Cochon Butcher, also co-owned and operated by Chef David Link, offers all sorts of hearty sandwiches, and house made meats and sausages for take out which looked divine.

Equally spectacular to our culinary adventures was the soulful music of jazz and blues heard on many street corners. A large audience gathered around a 6-piece band on Royal Street, entranced by the lead vocalist, a woman fervidly belted out Gospel songs while her ten-year-old daughter wearing a hot pink hoodie easily kept the beat on her small set of drums. Down the road, two women- a cellist and violinist -captivated the crowd with their unique mix of classical and jazz music.

I wanted to snag a pic when Jason Marsalis, the youngest of the famous musical family, who we had just seen play the night before, was standing directly behind me in line for a coffee at a local café. My kids told me not to make a scene, and I reluctantly obeyed.

On Frenchmen Street we stumbled across a night arts market and were drawn to a young couple Blues dancing outside of Melange and the Speakeasy Bar, a rustic watering hole and eatery. I also danced, at first in my seat, then with hesitation on the floor, which once again, embarrassed my gang, confirmed by a set of three rolling eyeballs.

Our last day was reserved for Magazine Street, an eclectic 6- mile shopping area. We popped in and out of antique stores, and clothing boutiques, enjoying the warm weather. We also wandered through the picturesque Garden Street District, peeking in at the beautifully refurbished old homes freshly painted in hues of green and yellow, passing the Lafayette Cemetery No. 1 on Washington Avenue which happened to be closed.

But during our four-day Nola (slang for New Orleans)food fiesta we never made it to the Audubon Aquarium of The Americas or joined a Louisiana Swamp Tour. I soon gave up the idea of visiting a plantation stomping my feet in protest when no one would tag along with me on a visit to the National World War ll Museum.

Instead, my brood seemed content to walk under the palm trees, hand in hand, wearing their favourite summer t-shirts, chatting about a possible return visit to this enchanted city steeped in nostalgia and soul, and dream of their next culinary conquest.

And for more, watch my clip of Blues Dancin’ at Melange in New Orleans: