It never fails around this time of morning. This happens every single time we come to New Orleans. Either a float tried to squeeze into traffic, or someone wasn’t paying attention. Either way I felt like I would miss out on the main thing on my mind and that was barbequed ribs. My alarm went off, and I slowly woke up with crust filled eyes. Turning on the light while my vision tried to adjust through half dead eyes, I looked for the clothes I laid out the night before. It’s normally five in the morning that we get up to try and beat traffic, and this was the exact routine for every New Orleans travel trip.
The primary thing that was on my mind was the event that would take place later that day. Mardi Gras. My family is huge, so when we go to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, we expected to see plenty of people. If there were plenty of people then food would have to be an obligation. My family loves to cook and the menu never disappoints. Yet my mind frame focused on one major food, barbequed ribs. That’s all i had in mind half of that hour and thirty minute drive. How do you focus completely on a trip if you have to pee?
People call me old because I like to drink coffee, and for some reason I decided to part take in about three cups before we left home. If you don’t know by now, coffee has a side effect of building up liquid in your body to pee. I was wide awake, but praying we would at least pit stop at a rest area. I saw the nearest sign for the rest stop on Louisiana’s border, and clearly told my grandmothers husband Mr. Lee to stop when we come up to it. He replied “I got you sir. ” We drove smooth past it, not even an attempt with the turn signal. I felt played while he howled with laughter.
I wanted to smack him smooth across the back of that shiny bald ass head of his. I was in mid thought when I heard the sirens, and a police car zipped past. Everyone in the car knew what had happened, and it never failed. Car accidents are a given around this time. We finally made it up the road, and there it was. A parade float had flipped, and a small Honda Accord was badly dented with the driver side window badly fractured. No one was hurt, but traffic was terrible. I had a bathroom on my mind, and traffic was too congested to even try to v ggle through.
I could picture the family demolishing every crumb of food, and a slight tear came down my face. That tear was for the having to pee, and missing out on what I really came for. About thirty minutes passed, and we finally saw daylight with traffic, and I felt a tad bit of hope reappear in my heart. As we made it gingerly pass the wreck, and the officers ushering traffic, I kind of sighed with relief when I saw my favorite building. I officially mark that we reach New Orleans every time we reach the bridge that kind of wraps around the Mercedes Benz Super Dome.
It’s a beautiful sight to see because the bridge gives you an aerial view of the stadium, so you are basically looking down on the stadium, and most of the city. I can see Whitney Street from the suspension bridge, and that’s where the fun begins. We take the first exit which brings us to Gen. DE Gaulle Avenue. We make two quick rights then we pass L. B. Landry, the high school on the corner, I immediately roll my window down. The long lost smell I have awaited for damn near two hours finally met me.
As we pulled up to my Aunt Janice’s house I leapt out the car barely greeting her, just to reach the bathroom. I think I broke a record for the longest pee because it felt like ten minutes straight with no pauses. I washed my hands, and then with a smile, I gladly hugged and shook hands with everyone. Tables were arranged in an open square type formation. Everything was there. Food consisted of gumbo, boiled shrimp with crawfish, Cajun styled trash, baked beans, jambalaya, potato salad and much more. Everything looked flattering, but grabbed a chair, and pulled it right beside the grill.
My Uncle Dupree had soaked the ribs in a sweet and spicy marinade with a lovable smell that could kick you in the nose. My mouth watered as I watched each slab hit the grill. The sizzle each slab made for raw meat grazing the grill plate made the blood rush in my body. The smoldering sound of ribs being grilled made my smelling sense and taste buds jump. The smoky scent it contained, blended with the marinade, tickled my nose hairs. You could just taste the tangy goodness in the air. I could picture the tender, fall off the bone goodness touching my lips.
About forty-five minutes later the Sweet Baby Rays barbeque sauce came into the picture. I felt like the wait was over, yet well worth it. As the ribs were removed from the grill, I was gladly the first person to pick my share, and I sat back and watched as the parade went by. I looked more like a baby the way I ate them. Barbeque sauce decorated the rim of my lips, as I bit into them, juices trickled down my chin. Different flavors from the marinade could be detected, such as lemon and creole seasoning. I felt that everything that tool place earlier had prepared me for this moment.
What tested my love for ribs was when I heard someone scream from up the street that the floats were throwing money. I dropped the plate, but kept the rib in my hand, and high tailed it up the street. The Sweet Baby Rays barbeque sauce dripped onto my shirt as I approached the gated area. Yes they were throwing money, but I needed another shirt. I decided that I’d rather look presentable than dirty. I ran back to the house, and never came back out. The ribs had been placed in the house and I parked my tail right beside them. I had to re-experience that tender goodness at least two more times.
