I’m gonna let you in on a little secret: Popeye’s has the best red beans in the world.
Back when I was a vegetarian–back when I used to think I was health-conscious, smoking over a pack a day and listening to lots of wacky music with theoretically politically correct messages–I used to thrive on Popeye’s red beans. They’re cheap, filling, and, well, cheap. And they’re tasty, too.
I eventually started in with the meat again, and my eating habits totally changed–including my fast food habits. With my self-imposed dietary restrictions gone, I had no need to schlep all the way over to Popeye’s. For me, the only draw was their red beans; you see, I’m one of those rare Southerners who doesn’t particularly care for fried chicken (except livers, which, unfortunately, not many Popeye’s carry anymore). These days I eat Popeye’s once or twice a year.
Today was one of those days. And something strange happened. As I was standing in line, the Popeye’s DJ started playing a really old radio tune, and it dawned on me that the song in question was 13 friggin’ years old. I know that because I remember riding to New Orleans with my then-girlfriend Margaret in the winter of 1987/88 with my old Mustang’s top down, the weather a nippy 40-something degrees, the car’s heater blasting from the floor panels, us laughing and smoking like crazy, listening to the be-turtlenecked hipster sing his little diddy. I particularly associate the song with a trip we made for New Years’–it was practically the only tune Meg wanted to hear.
I recalled that when we came down that time, we stayed with my friend Alice and her mom–who, as luck would have it, lived right around the corner from the very Popeye’s in which I stood today. I looked out the restaurant’s window. It’s located in a fairly poor neighborhood, so the cars and the buildings were relatively old–in all likelihood, nothing had changed much in 13 years.The clothes of the people on the street were generic cold weather things–cheap sweaters, nylon windbreakers. Almost 13 years ago, when I was a very different person, I could have been standing in the very same spot, listening to the very same music, looking at the very same cityscape.
In situations like that, I like to fantasize that I’ve been knocked unconscious and I’ve just come to. What is there in my surroundings that can tell me where and when I am? And today the answer was “nothing.”
P.S. I posted the Secret Santa participants. Snoop around if you like.
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