One Night in a Restored New Orleans Haven for Legendary Black Musicians

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 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.