Spent the weekend with the fam down at the old homestead. As usual, when mom and I get together, much eating and shopping is done. But this time we went to an awesome, AWESUMMMM cafe called the New Orleans Creole Cafe. It is across the green from the haunted Whaley House. (Believe me, it's really haunted, or enchanted as I was old.)
After lunch, the Little Dude conked out in the stroller and we stopped at the New Orleans Creole Cafe for breadpudding and coffee. I had a latte and mom had a mocha. Magnifique! But no ghost sighting. Bummer.
Saturday afternoon we dragged my dad and the pugs to the patio and feasted on red beans and rice (me), roast beef po' boy (mom) and chicken jambalaya (dad), all washed down with sweet tea. The sun burned off the murky clouds and the wind was cool with the scent of lavender, bee balm and the pepper trees. But we didn't stop at lunch. We savored rich, moist red velvet cake with whipped cream cheese frosting that melted on the tongue. Mom had the pecan pie that was sweet and buttery in a crisp crust. There are no words.
New Orleans native and co-owner, Mark Bihm told me, "We look real pretty when we're young but we love to eat and get real big when we're old." Friends, that meal and future meals will be worth the price of the liposuction I'll need after my second baby.
But back to what I said about the Whaley House ... yes, it is haunted. Why do I know this? One rainy June day, many years ago, Mom and I were upstairs looking into the childrens' bedroom. The rooms are sealed off by plexiglass and the windows are shut. But I happened to notice that a miniature rocking chair with a blue-eyed doll sitting on it began rocking (swear to God!). I tapped mom's shoulder and pointed. Her mouth formed a perfect "o." We never felt threatened. We felt as if we happened to look over our shoulders, we'd see a woman in Victorian dress standing behind us. So without a word, we went downstairs and I don't think mom has been back since then. If the Little Dude hadn't fallen asleep, we might have ventured back upstairs. But breadpudding in whiskey sauce suited us just fine.