Welcome to One Night In, a series about staying in the most unparalleled places available to rest your head.

When my good friend Jasmine Pierce, a New York food and hospitality publicist, slid into my inbox this spring with an invite for a free press stay at the Dew Drop Inn, a historic New Orleans music venue, hotel, and barbershop reopening after a multiyear restoration, it didn’t take much convincing for me to leave Seattle’s slate gray for the Crescent City.

As a journalist focused on interior design, music, and amplifying Black stories, this particular landmark felt right up my alley. It opened in 1939 as a barbershop and restaurant helmed by Louisiana native Frank Painia, and during World War II became an outpost for jazz and blues performances, hosting legendary Black musicians from Ray Charles and Etta James to James Brown and Little Richard (the latter even named a song after the inn) throughout the ’50s and early ’60s. The Dew Drop was a major stop on the Jim Crow–era Chitlin’ Circuit and was listed in the historic Green Book, a traveler’s guide of businesses across the country that were considered safe for Black Americans during segregation. However, by the late ’60s, the venue started to decline after the passage of the Civil Rights Act opened opportunities for Black performers and patrons elsewhere, and it eventually closed. When Painia passed away in 1972, his family members inherited the building. Though in disrepair, the hotel operated until 2005, when Katrina upended the establishment.

In 2021, real estate developer and New Orleans native Curtis Doucette, Jr. acquired the dilapidated Dew Drop after getting to know Kenneth Jackson, Painia’s grandson, and learning more about its history. He then spent three years rehabilitating the site as a 17-room boutique hotel, music venue, and pool club, working with New Orleans firm Studio Kiro on the restoration and local creative co-op Civic Studio to create the museum-like exhibits throughout the property.

I’d only been to New Orleans once prior, three years ago, fresh off of a breakup, so I was excited to visit under different circumstances—and to see how, or whether, the restoration of this landmark with a cultural impact reaching far beyond the city could honor its history without feeling kitschy.

Friday

4 p.m.: I arrive in New Orleans and am greeted with warm, sticky air. The Dew Drop is about a 45-minute drive from the airport. My driver drops me off in front of the hotel on Lasalle Street. The charming stucco facade harks back to the inn’s midcentury heyday. Its curved parapet and blue-painted trim provide a backdrop for a replica of the original 1968 sign added by Painia, two white circles encasing the inn’s name, pierced down the middle by a bulb-lit red arrow pointing inside. In the lobby, there’s striated plywood wainscoting, an old-school welcome desk, and checkered flooring. I’m greeted by a friendly receptionist who gives me a quick rundown of the property and shows me to my room.

Each of the rooms pays homage to a Black mover and shaker who stayed at the hotel or performed on its stage back in the day. There’s the Little Richard room, the Ray Charles Room, and the Irma Thomas room, named for the “Soul Queen of New Orleans.” One room with two queen beds is dedicated to A.P. Tureaud and “Dutch” Morial, described as “Civil Rights Icons from the 7th Ward.” My quarters honor Dave Bartholomew. Admittedly unfamiliar with the influential New Orleans trumpet player, songwriter, and producer, I scan a brief summary of his life and career on a small plaque mounted near the entryway. There’s also a black-and-white photo of him from the early ’60s hanging above the bed’s rounded, upholstered-leather-and-chestnut headboard.

After settling in, it’s time for a shower and a quick power nap before heading to dinner. A sucker for bougie skin care, I’m happy to find that the bathroom is stocked with Malin + Goetz products. The queen bed is extra plush and comfortable after a long day of traveling. An hour-long nap is all that I need to decrease the size of the bags under my eyes.

7 p.m.: A week before my trip, I snagged a hard-to-get reservation at chef Melissa Martin’s Mosquito Supper Club, founded in 2014 as a way for the Louisiana native to share her Cajun roots, having grown up in a fishing community. As a solo traveler, I was intrigued by the communal dining aspect, meant to feel like an intimate dinner party.

The supper club is located in the Uptown neighborhood in a charming converted old home. I’m seated between a group of retirement-age jazz festivalgoers and a mother-daughter reunion celebrating Tulane’s graduation. I bounce between small talk with each group while the multicourse seafood dinner is served. First up are mini biscuits with brown sugar butter, then a smoked fish dip, prawns in a savory broth, a crawfish bisque, and stuffed soft shell crabs. The meal is light and dill-forward, and finished off with a slice of blueberry pie with buttermilk ice cream. No notes.

Saturday

10 a.m.: The Dew Drop breakfast is prepared by the hotel chef, Marilyn Doucette (Curtis’s aunt) and served at the pool bar on the back side of the hotel. The medium-size pool is lined with fairly standard outdoor furniture, and burnt-orange fringe umbrellas to remind of the midcentury vibe. The pool area is modest—more of an added bonus than a selling point for the hotel—but it’s a pleasant enough place to enjoy breakfast outdoors and take a quick dip to cool off, should the NOLA heat call for it. I enjoy a plate of grits and grillades, a New Orleans staple. While I eat, I map out the rest of my itinerary for the day.

12 p.m.: Curtis meets me for a full property tour in Frank’s Barbershop—the two-story building where Painia started his business before expanding to the structure next door—where the story begins. The original red chair from Painia’s barbershop is still there, positioned in front of a mirror with text explaining what the barbershop used to be like, near a small table arranged with a few barbering tools. Photographs of Painia and his family are mounted on the walls. A timeline outlines the evolution of the building.

Next, Curtis walks me through the inn’s narrow, black-and-white carpeted hallways that connect the 17 guest rooms. As we walk, he explains that the original inn had 29 rooms, but not all of them had private bathrooms, and many were extremely small by modern standards, so the floor plan was adjusted during the restoration to include fewer—but more spacious—rooms, each with its own bathroom. He mentions that the two VIP guest suites, one named “The Nite Cap Room,” the other “Frank Painia’s Groove Room,” are situated above the music venue and actually have doors that can be opened to provide views directly into it. So far, they’ve mainly been used as VIP suites for the venue, where groups can watch performances from above, but I wonder if any hotel guests will actually book those rooms for overnight stays, or if the proximity to the venue will be a noise nuisance.

Down in the venue, the stage takes up one side of the space and sits about a foot off above the concrete floor, in the style of vaudeville-era floor shows. A banner hanging above it reads: Meet All Your Fine Friends, a piece of the venue’s original slogan:

Meet those fine gals, your buddies and your pals,

Down in New Orleans on a street they call LaSalle,

Down at the Dew Drop Inn, you meet all your fine friends.

Baby do drop in, I’ll meet you at the Dew Drop Inn.

The space doesn’t get much natural light, even during the day, and the red-painted walls and low, black ceiling set an even moodier tone. Opposite the stage, there’s a swanky bar with globe lights and leather stools. It’s hard to conceptualize that this space once played host to talents like Aretha Franklin, and more recently musicians like Anderson .Paak.

1 p.m.: I head to the Treme neighborhood for lunch at Lil’ Dizzys Cafe. It’s the only still-running restaurant owned by New Orleans’s Baquet family, whose Creole culinary legacy traces back to the mid-’40s, starting with Paul Gross Chicken Coop, one of the first African-American-owned restaurants in the city. I order a bowl of gumbo—it’s the best six dollars I’ll spend the whole trip.

2 p.m.: Treme is also home to the New Orleans African American History Museum. It’s the third Saturday of the month, which means community members are invited to vend everything from baked goods to jewelry at the museum. I meet Gia Hamilton, the executive director and chief curator, and she gives me a brief overview of the area. As we chat, she tells me that the museum is the second largest landowner in Treme, with two acres of land. This is significant to a historically Black neighborhood that continues to weather gentrification.

4 p.m.: My trip won’t be complete until I find at least one home goods store, so I head to Magazine Street to check out Sunday Shop’s curated collection of furniture and ceramics. I snag the smallest and most affordable item available, a pack of paper incense. Next, I pop into Freedom Apothecary, a Black-owned self-care shop cofounded by Morrisa Jenkins and Bonkosi Horn. The store stocks face oils, balms, masks, toners, and serums by primarily women of color. They also offer a range of facials to target skincare needs. While I didn’t have time for a facial this go around, I would consider booking one the next time I’m in New Orleans.

7 p.m.: My friend Laurel meets me on Magazine Street and we head over to another historic building turned boutique accommodation: Hotel Peter and Paul, housed in a converted church, schoolhouse, rectory, and convent in the Marigny neighborhood. We’re seated in the courtyard of the hotel’s very Alice and Wonderland coded restaurant and bar, with iron garden furniture reminiscent of a Provincial French terrace. We order drinks and a spread of prawns, focaccia, tuna crudo, and oysters—the perfect girl dinner.

Later, I’ll close out the night dancing to old-school hip-hop and New Orleans bounce tunes spun by local DJ RQ Away at another local landmark venue: Tipitina’s.

Sunday

11 a.m.: Sunday jazz brunch in the Dew Drop music venue is part of the hotel’s weekly programming, which also includes things like vinyl nights and Throwback Thursday happy hours. Apparently, the Sunday brunch is sought-after, and today, it’s sold out. A jazz band performs while an after-church crowd enjoys the buffet with shrimp and grits, fruit, and coffee. Before I tuck away to the back of the bar to people-watch in peace, I spot Grammy-nominated R&B singer Luke James in attendance with his family.

2 p.m.: On my way to Cafe Du Monde’s City Park location, determined to get some beignets before leaving New Orleans, I pass a second line parade from my Uber. People are dancing, children are marching, and some are dressed up in costumes. The occasion is, simply put, Black Joy. I decide the beignets can wait, and get out of my rideshare to join the action. In New Orleans, even loss is marked by jubilant parades with music and dancing. Resilience and rebuilding are part of the character of the city, something you can feel even on a quick visit.

Top photo courtesy Dew Drop Inn

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