I'm angry and I'm cajun.
I'm a Coonass. A southerner. I like my southern food. I love my cajun food. So when I first moved to the Town of Mt Unpleasant, one of the first things I noticed was that there was not one Popeye's Fried Chicken to be found. THAT should have been a huge red flag for me. Little did I realize all that I left behind when I left Acadiana. Crawfish (boiled, fried), crawfish lasagna, Deano's Marie Leveaux or the Cajun Executioner, boudin, boudin balls, cracklin, Zea's, Don's Seafood Hut, Chris's Poboys, Old Tyme Grocery, Southside Bakery, Keller's Bakery, Poupart's Bakery (I've seen only ONE bakery store open since I've been here), real king cake, Meche's donuts, Ground Pati, Riverside Inn (best crab cakes and crabmeat imperial), Savoie's sausage, cajun and zydeco music, Festival International as well as about 100 food festivals, CJ Clements, Bobbie Novasad, Jay Walker, Rob Perillo, John Morgan, Jake Delhomme, Gravity Alley (God forbid there be any race tracks of any kind in this upitty town).
Forget buying liquor on a Sunday. And forget the convenience of being able to buy it at the grocery store. Forget drive thru, or drive up liquor stores. You have to purchase it from an ABC liquor store. And they close at 7:00 p.m. Thank God the pharmacy is open until 10:00 p.m.
See, a coonass likes their food as much as they like their alcohol. We don't eat fancy, hoity toity crap or organic foods like those damn yankees from the north. We like our gumbo, our crawfish étouffée, our shrimp creole, our red beans and rice... which is why I'm so pissed right now.
I went to one of our local Harris Teeter grocery stores this morning to do a little shopping. I have plans to make red beans and rice tomorrow. I looked. And I looked. And I looked again. And I looked again. I gave up. Surely I must be losing my mind in addition to my eyesight and got in line to checkout. But, it was nagging at me and I'm hardheaded. So, I got out of line and looked, again. And again. And then, I put the male testosterones aside, pulled up my granny panties and asked an employee where would I find the dried red beans.
"We no longer sell dried red beans."
And that's when the blood pressure began to rise and the headache came. I'm going to have to find another store to shop at? Seriously? You don't sell dried red beans? What's next? Milk?
Is there anyone with money coming out of their ass who might want to fund me to open up a cajun/creole restaurant/grocery store? Anyone???
It's only a matter of time before I open up a can of whoop ass in the aisle of a grocery store. Watch your heads and your little ones, 'cause the cans of beans will be flying. Those yankees have invaded the south and are ruining the food, clogging up the streets, and building apartment complexes (aka future ghetos of Mt Pleasant) at an alarming rate.
It's time to pull the pineapples from the poster bed and send them home.
And I'm cranking up the stereo until someone calls the police.
Yankees go home. Please.
