Force 5 in New Orleans
by MONICA LASALLE MONI
Call me thick skinned, but there��s nothing in the Lord��s bag of tricks that will ever keep me out of New Orleans for any extended period of time. Heck no, we��re joined at the hip through hurricanes, pestilence or bubonic plague. I suppose it��s in my blood. Mark it down to eight generations of LaSalles and the unmitigated fact that New Orleans is simply the greatest city in the union.
My mercurial sister Francine, on the other hand, abandoned ship after Hurricane Gilbert proved a no show back in ��87. For almost 20 years I��d been trying to get the girl to come home to Louisiana, if only for a visit, but she was unmovable as frozen molasses. Katrina certainly put a hiccup in the persuasion process, and I had all but given up when I received an SMS, ��Fran & Malibu ariv Frid.��
Thursday night I tossed and turned like a paddle steamer in a bad wind. I was driven to distraction at the thought of seeing Fran and what��s more, I was a touch curious to find out who Malibu was and what he was doing with my supposedly single sister. The morning finally rolled around in its own good time, as things seem to do in New Orleans, and before I could become too manic, I was standing on the sidewalk waving at Fran as she parked her brand new��.you guessed it��Chevy Malibu.
Fran leapt out the Chevy Malibu and proceeded to roll around on the sidewalk in fits of laughter punctuated by bits of ear-piercing incoherent babbling that I was sure would draw a crowd. Thankfully she stopped, but before I could say ��Cape Canaveral�� she launched herself at me Columbia-style and we both tumbled in a hugging heap on the grassy knoll.
��Beignets,�� she declared. ��I��ve been waiting 20 freakin�� years for some of that yum. Get in the Chevrolet, girl; we��re on a mission from God.�� Who was I to argue with my older sister and the promise of sweet sugary doughy goodness for lunch? Next thing I know, we��re riding in the Malibu with the Wild Tchoupitoulas graciously providing the soundtrack to our mini reunion. Then, we��re sitting in a wonderful little street cafe in the French Quarter sipping hot cups of chocolate coffee and gorging on beignets while playing catch up and giggling with delight at the wonder of it all.
I knew what was coming next. ��Got to get all this sugar soaked up �C Fried Oyster Po��Boy!�� shrieked Fran through frosted lips as she placed her empty coffee cup on the table. And then, the both of us in unison, ��MOTHER��S!!�� By the time we were done eating arguably humankind��s finest achievement, we were reluctantly ready to take a short break.
After a revitalizing siesta, it was unanimously decided by Fran that we should kick out the jams at world-famous Tipitina's, and as luck would have it, New Orleans�� favorite sons, the Neville Brothers were playing that evening. Iko, Iko, oh what a night �C I can say without fear of contradiction that weight was lost. And that was only day one. By the end of Fran��s week-long stay, we had found her a job, an apartment, and I��m very happy to say, a bucketful of New Orleans�� finest mojo.
Author Bio: When not working for the Tourist Board, Monica LaSalle burns both ends of the candle in her hometown of New Orleans. She is extremely proud of her Cajun heritage and is not afraid to use it. For information on the Chevy Malibu, visit superchevydealers.com.
