| rev:text
| - It was one of those unanticipated nights, where a coming together of long unseen friends and everyday acquaintances coalesces into something magical. It was supposed to be a mens night for the men and a ladies night for the ladies, but before we could go our separate ways the men realized they loved the ladies and the ladies too loved their men and so all together we decided not to deny ourselves the company of the other sex. Unanimously, we wanted Cajun Queen.
We were all already lit up from our daylight binging, so by the time we stumbled in we were ready for a good time. A milk-skinned hostess in a golf-green blazer and a white and peach paisley blouse batted at us with hazel eyes beneath a mop of perfectly tussled and pasted curls. "We have eight," I said. She glowered. Before she could reply, I little-white-lied her: "We called ahead... they told us to come right now."
Green blazer took off to see what she could manage; we loitered in the foyer, teetering drunk, glazed eyes reeling under the light of the antique chandelier. Green blazer came back and told us it'd be a bit of wait and recommended we hit the upstairs bar. We were already halfway up the steps.
Cajun Queen is one of those big old Elizabeth houses, southern gothic, eclectically arranged and echoing blindly with voices from some other era. It's a chatterbox of ancient heritage and white-hot with flickering, inconsistent lights that make you want to trim your mustache pencil thin and drink only from a snifter. Aroma suffused our consciousness and we all just became mindless, visceral things.
At the upstairs bar, this long swan of a bartendress was commanding the room, elegantly and fluidly fetching glasses from the overhead rack, snatching mixers from the under-counter cooler, upturning bottles and dispensing drafts, all motions in succession, all so swift and natural, like something perfectly choreographed and rehearsed. She doled out a trayful of Olde Meck Coppers and we set ourselves to achieving the night.
We were led to a corner table near the glassed wall of the little balcony at the back. I took a chair at the end, sat, leaned back, and rapped my knuckles against the abrasive texture of the mud-red stucco. Our very knowledgeable, upright waiter prattled off a series of specials and toppings of the day with juicy detail, but I all heard was 'something unbelievably amazing' followed by 'something else equally amazing'. I requested a couple batches of fried oysters for the table, and then we went in rounds, ordering our blackened catfishes and our crawfish etouffees and our obscene platters of shrimp and fish and sausage and delight.
Without needing to ask, our upright waiter returned with another round of beers and a handful of waters. "Good man," I said with an acknowledging nod. Huxley was sitting at the opposite end of the table. We had subconsciously retained the man-woman divide throughout the evening. I looked her way until she felt my gaze and when she glanced back I shot her a clever wink. She smiled. I swooned.
Our food arrived and we all collectively lost our minds. Remoulade-dipped oysters, creamy clumps of spicy rice, mouth-searing fish and peppery shrimp, beer and wine, more wine, and life and love and faces flush and hearts racing. We ate ourselves full, but couldn't stop. Flavors were assaulting us in such unmitigable ways, we were powerless to refuse their beckoning call of mouth-flaming, heart-swelling, eye-watering release. Ryan, at one point, shoved his seat back, sat up straight with hands on thighs, neck rigid like a scout-dog, let out a billowing exhale, momentarily composed himself, then jumped back in for another oyster and few more forkfuls of rice.
At the table behind us, a prim blond let out a squelch of a cry, half-stood, leaned forward, grabbed her man behind his fuzzy dark ears, and kissed him hard on the mouth. She held that embrace for some time, and all the lights and sounds in the room imploded in upon them. When her lips broke free from his, all the noise and clarity rushed back upon us in a crash. She sat down and knuckled a tear from her eye.
I clapped my hands and beamed across the room. "This is the greatest night ever!" I shouted out to the dining area.
Kathryn, a steadying force in our group, narrowed one eye and nodded at me placatively. "You really enjoy the hyperbole, don't you?"
"Get up for it, Kathryn!" I threw my hands wildly about in the air above me. "If it isn't the greatest night... then tell yourself it is, believe it, and make everyone else believe it too! Then it really will be!"
The prim blond and her man giggled, and a few tables around us applauded. I ceremoniously forked the last fried oyster from our appetizer tray, held it high like a chalice, like a triumph, angled my neck, opened my jaw wide, and brought it down mightily into my mouth.
Kathryn looked around, a touch embarrassed, and then began furiously laughing. "Oh, I believe it," she said. "I believe it."
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)
![[cxml]](/fct/images/cxml_doc.png)
![[csv]](/fct/images/csv_doc.png)
![[text]](/fct/images/ntriples_doc.png)
![[turtle]](/fct/images/n3turtle_doc.png)
![[ld+json]](/fct/images/jsonld_doc.png)
![[rdf+json]](/fct/images/json_doc.png)
![[rdf+xml]](/fct/images/xml_doc.png)
![[atom+xml]](/fct/images/atom_doc.png)
![[html]](/fct/images/html_doc.png)