Not sure if the Sur la Table binge was triggered by today’s funeral, or if I would have seen this new Provence collection and gone nuts anyway. And anyway, does it matter? How much time do we waste every day trying to untangle our own motivations like we’re trying to solve a made for television crime? If the therapist isn’t right there, what’s the point? But they are related, if only distantly. We were mourning a woman I met when she was a kid and her parents had hired me to work at The Gumbo Place on Chimes Street. Or I should say right off Chimes Street where Highland Coffees is now. I remember popping the top on a can of PBR every shift before I punched in. Those days were wild. The Library and the Bayou were right down the street. Magoo’s was there for awhile, but the Chimes came later on. I lost touch with most of the Gumbo Place crowd a long time ago, but recently became Facebook friends with another daughter who was older then and didn’t hang around the restaurant but was off making waves of her own. She played Angel From Montgomery at the funeral. She played it wonderfully, and I let loose a few tears while she played. Her family made a tremendous impact on my life. My first restaurant job washing pots. Where I learned to de-bone a chicken, make jambalaya, find that quiet place inside during the rush where everything slows down and you can blow out plates and sandwiches at an incredible rate. Restaurant peeps will get it. You learn things in that first gig that never go away. Every job leaves its mark in some way. The Gumbo Place definitely taught me that work can and should be a fun thing. A thing you believe in. A thing you look forward to.
How the hell can a person go to work in the morning
And come home in the evening and have nothing to say?
Goodbye Cathy.