As anyone from the Crescent City knows, there's almost no better evening than a Thursday night at Vaughn's. Nothing says New Orleans like the steamy heat, poppin' horns, and that early morning red beans and rice way down in da Bywater, dahlin'...
I miss that about New Orleans, along with so many other one-of-a-kind happenings that can only be found in that special place we used to call home. Or, should I say, we still call home--just from a far. We still listen to WWOZ, fix grillades and grits, and do our best to talk to Celie about the land where she was born. I like that my daughter is a 9th (or 10th?) generation New Orleanian and we intend on making sure she knows it.
Though judging from her reaction to Kermit Ruffins, I have a feeling she already does.
