Thursday, May 22, 2008

 

Snatches from the Pink Snapper — 6

The last time I was in the Snapper Peanut had just come back from New Orleans. He doesn't get out of the county much and a trip to New Orleans is about as exotic as a safari to an African game reserve.

He was eager to tell everybody about it. He talked about the all-night bars. (At the Snapper the law—but mainly the bouncer—forces everyone to leave well before sunrise.) He talked about the strippers. And then he added, "But what I really loved were the putains."

I wasn't surprised that Peanut had loved the putains, though I would have been surprised if they had loved him. What did surprise me was how well he pronounced the word. It sounded authentically Cajun, and he clearly enjoyed saying it—"The best thing about New Orleans was the putains," I heard him say to Verl; "There's nothing like New Orleans putains," he told Marcia. No one took the slightest interest. Everyone was returning that wan smile they wear just before excusing themselves to conduct some business with the bartender.

Now I don't know Peanut's last name. For all I know it could be Beauchamp or LaSalle. I couldn't stand it any longer. "Peanut," I asked, "Do you know any Cajun French?"

"Nope," he replied, "but I sure do love their sausage."

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Snatches from the Pink Snapper — 5 (5/5/08)

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