put a little sugar in my bowl

I'm back from New Orleans, and my feet are killing me (dancing and walking and new sandals); I'm sleep-deprived (aforementioned dancing); and my back hurts (damned airplanes).
and I've had more than my share of beignets.
Both times I approached the Cafe Du Monde, I was discouraged by the awful tourists everywhere. I mean, I've been in some really touristy places, but somehow in the heat and humidity and slowness of everything, the nervous hum of tourists is grating beyond belief.
One order of three beignets costs you a trifling $1.25, and it's your only option, so go for it. They're made to order, though it only takes a few minutes. I saw three young women ask for one order- so they each could have one- and their request was met with barely disguised scorn. Eating one is like walking into a pastry shop and only sniffing. Apparently, it's simply not done.
The cafe itself was so crowded that I took my little bag of warm treats to a nearby bench. At first, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed splotches of white on the sidewalk below me, but it wasn't until I fished the first beignet out of the bag that I realized what the splotches were.
There's about a cup (no kidding) of powdered sugar in the bag with the beignets, which are about half covered in it. I don't know what the etiquette is, but it seemed to me that I had two options- either eat and dunk into the sugar repeatedly, or take the bag and shake. I opted for the latter. Call me lazy.
A tip: if you are not at a table, remember not to eat your beignet over your lap. You will be covered in powdered sugar. Either lean way over to the side, or spread your legs like a cowboy, and then dig in. For some reason they're too hot to hold, but not too hot to eat. Also, remember to grab some napkins. You'll need them.
It's difficult to describe what makes these "fritters" or "doughnuts without holes" so damn good. They manage to be light and airy, yet substantial; doughy, but not gummy; tasty, yet not overpowering. They're not dainty, finespun creations, like French pastry, but they're not crude, exactly- it's more like the experience of "home-cookin'": nothing fancy or pretentious, but you'll dream about it later in your life.
I had a cafe au lait to go with them. The chicory makes their coffee murky, strong, almost chocolatey. Funny that what started out as a filler when coffee was too expensive became a permanent part of the flavor experience.
Afterwards I walked slowly around the city, wishing I could sit up on someone's balcony and watch the people go by. I realized that I could never live there- the food, the booze, the hours- it'd be too easy to stay up all night and sleep all day, eat lethally delicious foods, and go out for drinks and dancing every night at 4 am. Maybe I should try it out for a few months, but if I stayed I'd end up a scary old lady, making homemade absinthe, home remedies and potions in the room behind the kitchen and wearing too much rouge on my wrinkly cheeks, frightening the neighbor kids. Maybe real conversion from yankee german girl to southerner is impossible. I'll probably never know.