I pulled up to the cutest little house on Elm Street in an Uber and called my mom to tell her I was outside, she said she tracked my phone and already knew so the door was unlocked. She tracked my phone as long as I remembered because my mom is the definition of over protective. When I walked in, the kitchen was filled with savory aromas; if only I could share that smell with a picture. She had Camellia red beans simmering in a pot, crawfish étouffée in a bowl, and had just began preparations for stuffed bell peppers.
I said “Wow, ma. You really transformed this AirBNB into the ‘Elm Street Eatery’ with all this cooking.” She recanted in that New Orleans accent that I had missed so much, “Girllllll, when you told me that you ain’t had no red beans in three whole weeks, I had to come see ya. That should be illegal.” She poured me a glass of wine and told me to let her know how the étouffée was, even though she had cooked it over a hundred times since I was born.
She had flown with so many pots, pans, and bags of seafood stuffed in her checked luggage that TSA broke the locks on her bags.
She saw me taking pictures of everything and said “You and that damn snapchat, always taking pictures. Just live!” I explained to her that it was for a school assignment and that I was posting on a blog. Upon hearing that, she said “oh, well take a better picture of me!” I ended up bargaining with her, I would only take a better picture of her if she fixed me a bowl of red beans.
She finally finished cooking everything she planned to, and sat down and talked with me about what was happening back home, how my classes were, and the cases of water she wanted to get me in preparation for the hurricane heading toward Georgia. After eating my favorite meal ever, stuffed bell peppers and baked macaroni and cheese; she suggested we end my blog with a “cute selfie.”
