Last week, I wrote about bucket lists and how shocked I am when people don’t have them. Today I had breakfast at Mother’s in New Orleans—a diner (famous for their baked ham) that was established in the 1930s, then changed ownership in the 1980s to the guy I chatted with this morning after eating a ham omelette, the fluffiest and biggest biscuit I’ve ever had, as well as a pancake.
I asked Joe about the history of the restaurant and why he didn’t hang art in all the rooms (apparently, it’s too hard with brick walls). We talked about his being a butcher, my grandfather being a butcher, and the fact that he used to feature his butchering on social media, but then drew the line when someone asked him to butcher a cow and record it. He thought that was simply too much, and I admired his integrity.
We also talked about how important it is for a restaurant to keep their food consistent so people get the same experience every time they come. And that’s when he told me about a guy in the military who had eaten at Mother’s when he was a young man and had the “best roast beef sandwich he’d ever had.” Then, 17 years later, he had it again and thought it tasted exactly, deliciously the same. Having another one of those sandwiches before he died was on that veteran’s bucket list, and Joe was happy to have made it happen.
Yesterday was Easter, and my brother, his husband, and I went to a drag brunch instead of going to church, as I sometimes do on Easter. If you’ve never been to a drag brunch or don’t know what one is, it’s basically brunch with drag queens providing song and dance numbers while you eat. It’s a lot of fun—they have amazing outfits; lip-sync to popular hits from days gone by; and do a number of stunts in high heels, like the splits or somersaults on the floor. You show them love by enthusiastically throwing dollar bills at them.
We also went to a gay bar with a balcony to watch the gay Easter parade along Bourbon Street. Although my brother opted to stay outside with friends, my brother-in-law and I, instead, decided to be the first ones on the dance floor. They had a good DJ, and eventually others joined us. I got my picture taken with a guy who had one of the most creative outfits I have ever seen—bunny ears, a ski mask, pumps, and what looked kind of like a mix between briefs and a mini skirt—all in pink. He also had plastic gemstones stuck to his entire torso. It was fetching.
Like the owner of Mother’s, I also admired this young, smooth-skinned bunny rabbit. I’m always in awe of a person with great fashion sense who can put together such a unique look. Honestly, my mother was like that—wearing eye-catching things like purple cowboy boots or necklaces made of chunks of glass, wrapped in copper wire, strung on a little silk rope. Always dressed to the nines! Unfortunately, I take after my dad in this way and make comfort my first priority, which is why I’m no fashion plate. If it has the feel of pajamas (but is not actually pajamas), that’s the outfit for me.