THE PRETTY MAN VISITS HENDERSON, LOUISIANA

After dinner out on Friday night (what happened to our plan of restraint?) at Prejean’s with an interesting couple we met here at Poche’s, we decided we need a day of rest on Saturday – meaning, little driving and just one Cajun meal.

Liz and Robert, our dinner companions from Friday night, had mentioned Pat’s Fishermans Wharf, just a few miles away in Henderson, as having a good reputation with the locals.  It was of particular interest to me because Pat’s is located on the “dry” side of the levee – just the other side from the huge Atchafalaya Swamp.  So, after two laps around the ponds, off we went for another po’boy experience.

The po’boys… better than what we had in Texas, but not as good as the those at Suire’s (which have the benefit of being a 5-year old memory).  Great bread, good catfish… but the sauce seemed lacking to me.  Maybe I’m experiencing Cajun overkill?

Our waitress was a 60+ year old, no-nonsense, petite Cajun lady.  Conversation was kept to a minimum, food delivery was speedy and straight-forward.  It took me by surprise, then, when she asked how I liked the pecan pie I had for dessert.

The “real” answer would have been “too small, too sweet, too much vanilla, should have been served room temperature instead of almost freezing cold, and the crust is thick and gummy”. (Odel and I had already discussed the pie’s shortcomings in detail – it was the low point of the otherwise good meal.)  Instead, I just smiled and said “fine”.

Her next words: “Where you from?”

Me: “California”.

Her, pointing at Odel: “This yo-ah husband?”

I didn’t quite catch what she said, since my ear is not attuned to the rolling Cajun speech.  Since she was pointing at Odel, I assumed she asked where he was from, and I said “Memphis”. 

She spoke again, enunciating more clearly: “Is he your husband?”

I said “yes”, and she, this petite, hardworking and seemingly hard-living lady, said “He a pretty man”.  At my look of astonishment, she added “a handsome man” – like maybe I didn’t get her meaning.  When I agreed, she told me – in a long sentence heavy with dropped syllables and new-to-me words - I’d better keep my eye on him (and apparently all who might try to tempt him away). 

Well, you know what I had to put up with all the way home from The Pretty Man.  :)  Guess I’d better watch my step!  Excuse me while I go fix myself up…