House of Blues

notes
that, "In each bowl of gumbo served in Louisiana today, there is
French roux, African okra, American Indian file, Spanish peppers,
Cajun sausage, and oysters supplied by Yugoslav fishermen, served
over Chinese-cultivated Louisiana rice."
    Red beans, however,
essential as they are to the city's cuisine, are humble enough that
you'd more likely find them at neighborhood restaurants than on the
menu at Antoine's—or Hebert's.
    * * *
    Why? thought Sugar as she
dished up beans one balmy evening in June. Why,
when we could be having a nice crab salad? Why, week after week, red
beans and rice, nothing else? Ever.
    Why?
    Because Arthur wants it. Everything's that way.
    Why did the termites nearly eat the restaurant?
Because Arthur wouldn't believe it was happening. Why did we almost
lose Nina? Because Arthur's such a snob he wouldn't speak to her at
first.
    "Mom, can I help you?" It was her daughter,
Reed. "It's done now." Sugar could have used her twenty
minutes ago.
    Eighteen-month-old Sally was already at the table,
rocking in her high chair, straining to get out.
    Reed's husband Dennis was trying to talk her out of
it. Arthur was opening champagne.
    That was Arthur's little irony. He might eat red
beans and rice, but he always served an excellent wine with it.
Tonight they were having champagne because there were things to
celebrate.
    He filled the glasses.
    "A toast," he said, "to la
deuxieme Hebert's —a triumph against
terrific odds."
    "May our luck hold," said Dennis.
    Arthur gave him a look that said, What
do you mean 'Our'?
    " Hear, hear," said Sugar, to smooth it
over.
    "We did it," said Reed. "I don't know
how, but we did it."
    "May you never have to sit through another board
meeting."
    "I'll drink to that."
    A dozen restaurateurs—some old, some new—had
fought for the concession at the casino. An elegant restaurant was
called for—something in the New Orleans tradition—and it had to
be a name brand, something the tourists would recognize. Hebert's was
certainly in the running, but it was in competition with bigger
names—huge names like Antoine's, Arnaud's, Brennan's.
    Yet it had won.
    Hebert's had won. Reed's relentless research and
planning, her constant dogging of the board, the endless nights she'd
put in planning the restaurant, then planning her strategy, had paid
off. She was a prize, Sugar thought. Surely the pride of the Heberts.
It was a miracle, and she'd pulled it off.
    " We have something else to drink to," said
Dennis, his grin slightly crooked, a little unsure.
    "What's that?"
    "Arthur's sixty-fifth."
    Reed said, "Happy birthday, Daddy."
    "We already did that."
    " Let's do it again."
    " Let's don't."
    Oh, don't be an old coot. Sugar didn't say it, but she was rnad; she hated it when he put Reed
down. And putting Dennis down was putting Reed down.
    You'd think that with Sally and everything, he'd
have simmered down. But he gets more and more irascible. I wonder if
he's depressed? Doesn't Alzheimers start like this?
    Despite his ill nature, everyone drank to Arthur.
Sugar served the plates, as she had every Monday since she could
remember.
    Sally protested.
    " What is it, baby?" said Reed. "What's
the matter? Mmmm. Red beans. Yum. Sally's favorite, hmm?"
    Arthur seemed embarrassed. "Hey, Dennis,"
he said. "There were these three black guys, Jackson, Leroy, and
Clarence. And Leroy says to Clarence, he says—"
    "Daddy, please don't." Reed's face said
she'd just seen a car crash; her voice sounded desperate.
    "Oh, Reed, take it easy—I haven't even said
anything yet."
    "I can tell this is going to be the kind of joke
I don't like."
    "Well, la-di-da, Miss High and Mighty. You
always have to have everything your own way, don't you?"
    Reed looked at the table, embarrassed.
    "You just have no sense of humor." He
paused, but no one spoke. "Do you?"
    " I just don't see why you have to tell racist
jokes."
    " I am not a racist and you know it, Reed. Dennis
doesn't mind. Dennis likes my jokes, don't you, Dennis?"
    Dennis bared some teeth, but Sugar wasn't sure it was
exactly a smile.
    " Look, I pay my employees better than anybody in
the Quarter, don't I? And I hire blacks. You know I hire 'em. Look at
my second-in-command—not only black, but a woman. I give the best
benefits of anybody around too. You watch out who you're calling a
racist."
    "I didn't think that joke was going to be
appropriate, that's all."
    To deflect the two of them, Sugar said, "We
certainly had a good crowd over the