Is There a Priest in the House?

We need a Lenten ruling…

As some of you know, RUABelle and I gave up meat for Lent, but we’ve allowed ourselves the protein out of seafood, especially while we’re here in New Orleans.

But what about alligator? Meat or seafood? It lives in the water, but tastes like chicken. I imagine whatever ruling would extend to frog legs.

Opinions? Somebody contact the Vatican for us.

Mmmmm…

What is it that makes a Johnny’s shrimp po-boy possibly the perfect sandwich?

Is it the bread, crunchy and crispy on the outside but airy and chewy on the inside?

Is it the shrimp, flash-fried in a light batter to a perfect temperature which doesn’t mask its flavor?

Is it the dressing of ripe tomato, crisp lettuce, crunchy pickles, a light stripe of mayo and a kick of hot sauce?

Or is it the brusque counter service that makes you feel like you’re interrupting something with your order?

Yes, it is.

Greetings from the Pink Light District

From the balcony of our room we can see the DMZ of Bourbon Street three blocks away which divide the Frat Hole section from the alternative lifestyle zone where we are staying. A group of people wearing crisp white shirts stands there holding up a neon cross.

They cursed us as “Godless Sodomites” as we walked by last night. They were not amused by my response of, “Sodomites?! Well, not today yet, but thanks for the idea.”

I got up early this morning for a short run along the Mississippi. The good news is that you really can’t find a flatter place to run than along a river. And the scenery was very interesting in combination with the opportunity to people-watch the early people coming out crossing paths with the late people heading home.

The bad news is that I was quite the object of curiosity among the groups of school children disembarking from their buses on the way to field trips at the aquarium. I heard several variations of this exchange:

“What’s that crazy white man doin’?”

“He runnin.’”

People apparently don’t run in New Orleans. They eat. And they drink.

My sweat smells like blackened bourbon.