New Orleans still tugs, but Northwest is home now

I’m back in New Orleans.

This time, however, what was supposed to be a simple visit morphed into something else when my developmentally disabled brother fell and broke his leg. My wife and I are helping with his care and mobility issues but, even so, we’re still finding some time to get around.

While on a walk the other day, I began thinking about the city in which I grew up and the one where I’ve lived for the past 27 years.

Here are a few things that came to mind:

It rains in both Edmonds and New Orleans, but there’s a hint of difference. In Edmonds, rain usually consists of a steady curtain of drops and droplets descending for periods varying from several moments to (more likely) several months.

In New Orleans, there are thunderstorms. The kind that have teeth and will bite you.

The most recent one dumped several inches of rain onto an area just west of the city in the space of a few hours. There are no “raindrops” in something like that. What happens is that all of the excess water in the known universe collects inside of large, dark clouds and, then, someone unzips the bottom.

It gets your attention if you’re underneath it at the time.

Such a deluge is also accompanied by lightning and thunder. The one I’m mentioning topped out at more than 350 strikes in an hour. Think of a recording of the “1812 Overture” getting stuck in the cannonade passage for 60 minutes. It’s not for the faint of heart.

Food here is special, too.

We may love our food in the Northwest, but we haven’t quite elevated it to the “requiring worship” stature that it holds in New Orleans.

Spend any amount of time here and you’ll notice that as soon as New Orleanians finish one eating cycle — Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s, for example — they happily amble into the next one.

Mardi Gras — the city’s annual descent into group dementia — just ended. This means that the King Cakes have all been eaten, but now comes crawfish season and the requisite backyard crawfish boils.

Invite about 20 friends and relatives over. Take a (very) large kettle and fill it with water. Add copious quantities of salt, spices, seasonings, onion halves, lemons, potatoes, garlic, ears of corn, hot sauce, and bring to a rolling boil until the potatoes are ready. Add 60 pounds of live crawfish. Cook until done. Remove everything and dump it onto the center of a large picnic table. Eating etiquette is negotiable, as is the choice of beverage with which to wash it all down. Tall tales regarding past family foolishness is a requirement.

We need something like this in the Northwest. It makes for one heck of an afternoon.

On another food note, my wife and I have reserved a table for breakfast at Brennan’s in the French Quarter. Put this one on your “bucket list” and, to do it properly, be sure to set aside at least two or three hours. You’ll thank yourself.

Two things I don’t miss about New Orleans (mosquitoes need no mention) are heat and humidity.

I can only describe the situation this way. We don’t have an air conditioner in our Edmonds home because we don’t need one.

A local sage, Charlie Theriot — a friend for 48 years and the best man in our wedding — once asked me if I knew the real reason to have a (very) large savings account in a New Orleans bank.

He explained that such was necessary in order to have the cash required to bribe a local air conditioning repair person to come to your house in the dead of August should your unit quit in the middle of a 100 degree, 100 percent humidity day. The bribe would be in addition to the charges for the repairs needed to prevent your turning into a steaming puddle of goo on your living room floor.

Nostalgia and memories aside, though, we’re staying put. The Northwest is our home. Our friends are great, Edmonds and the surrounding areas are beautiful, and our roots have taken hold.

Still, New Orleans (Warning: Only between the months of March and early June) is a place that can grab you and never let go.

Larry Simoneaux lives in Edmonds. Send comments to larrysim@comcast.net.