[Full gallery at end of post]
The day after seeing Quintron and Miss Pussycat for Halloween, I got word from a buddy that there was going to be a parade for Fats Domino at 5 PM.
I figured I had enough time to shower, cram some cameras into a bag, and walk the two miles to where it started (Vaughn's Lounge) to Fats' house on Caffin Ave.
I was late (as is my wont) and I was afraid that I'd have to run to get to the starting point, much less catch up to wherever it had moved to before it ended.
I got to Vaughn's Lounge within two minutes of the actual start of the parade.
Took these shots along the way.
(This is the second time I've ever been in the middle of a moving parade. The other time was also in New Orleans, but because New Orleans bars make it so you never have to leave, I "came to" while walking down some street behind a parade float, in the middle of an argument with my then-wife about whether or not math was "real." (Don't ask me. I was barely there for it myself.) And I don't think that first one was the kind you were allowed to join in. We just got swept into it and were too inebriated and self-involved to notice.)
Dr. John, Fats' family, Trombone Shorty, and others were on the porch of Fats' house at 1208 Caffin Ave.
When the parade dispersed, I found myself talking to Matt, the owner of a nearby bar (can't remember the name- I'll edit this if I do). It turns out he's married to Fats' cousin, and somehow we started talking about pickling things.
I told him I'd never tried pickled pigs' feet because I was afraid. He told me, "man, we have pickled pig *lips* here."
I thought out loud, "wait, pigs have lips?" (thinking about skin, vermillion, location with respect to snout, etc., I guess).
That led to Matt telling *everybody* in the bar that I just asked him if pigs had lips. It was quite the hit.
Then he generously bought me some pickled pig lips from his own bar, and I ate them.
Weirdest sensation I've felt in my mouth since I tried to eat a battery when I was five.
Not bad. Just... foreign and unfamiliar.
I promised him that I would brave further into the territory of brined flesh formerly belonging to our cloven-hooved brethren.
I've yet to make good on that yet, though.
Good night all around.