A Peck of Gold

To Louisiana, With Love

Well, last night, we finally found it.

The heart of Baton Rouge. It's downtown, on the corner of Florida St., down by the River, and it's called Poor Boy Lloyd's. Believe it or not, we just followed our noses. We were walking, just the two of us, talking about old buildings and the revitalization of downtown, when we smelled it. We looked at each other and said, oh my gosh, where is that coming from? I don't know what it is, but I will definately eat it. We could hear the faint sounds of zydeco, and the smell got stronger and more delicious with each step we took. Finally, it came into view- tables out on the sidewalk, people casually lounging and laughing and eating. Patrick's eyes lit up - this was vintage Patrick, all the way. We made our way through the front door, as directed by a little hand made sign, and a friendly face greeted us.

"Y'all want to eat inside or outside?" No question, we wanted outside. "Okay, just grab a table before someone else steals it up!" We found the perfect one, situated with a great view of the River, that Mighty Mississip, and peered over laminated menus with enthusiasm. Mm... what to get? Anything fried would be good - you could just tell this was the place for fish or shrimp. While we sat thinking about what would tempt the palate, the waitress went over the night's specials. Fried catfish with a creamy crawfish sauce... my mouth watered at the thought... etouffee with fried shrimp... Patrick's jaw dropped. Yup, we'll take those, please.

While we waited, we soaked up the moment. The breeze was cool and pleasant coming off the river. The lights from barges twinkled on the water, and the night was balmy and lazy. The families next to us were laughing, heads bobbing to cheerful Cajun music. An ancient, smiling man in an apron, leaning on a broom, was chatting with a couple; he seemed to know them like old friends. A little girl bounced on her granddad's knee and happy waitresses popped in and out checking on customers. Our food came out fast, but not in a hurried kind of way... just well timed. It was everything we knew it would be. As we ate, the music for the LSU Tigers came on, and the folks around us whooped in pride and camaraderie. A hand patted me on the back, and said, "How is it, ma'am? You enjoying everything?" The cook was out for fresh air and making sure his people were well fed... a handshake for Patrick, and we knew this was a man who enjoyed what he did. We heaped praises on the food and continued to stuff our selves till we were both about to pop. We leaned back in our seats and watched the night wind down. The little girl yawned up at her granddad, and people began saying their good-byes, and "see you next week".

The meal was over, the moment drawing to an end... We settled our bill, and headed back out into the night, walking by the river, contemplating. Past the old buildings, past the Capitol, past the renovations, back to our car. Patrick opened the door for me, and as I climbed in, I carefully tucked the memory of the night into my mind. Now I understand Baton Rouge. Finally. Now I get it. Underneath all the cosmetic commercialism, there's a genuine heart, a cheerful one.

You just have to know where to look.