“Hey y’all. I bought some shrimp from this guy yesterday. $6/lb, 9-12 size. From the Gulf (Grand Isle). They are delicious. If we put together at least 100lbs he will come to our block and sell next Wednesday.”
I’d say that I’ve dreamed about texts like this, but that would imply I knew such a thing was possible. Guy catches huge, delicious shrimp in the Gulf of Mexico. Guy drives 100 pounds of it to a residential block in New Orleans and sells it to the residents. We happen to be two of those residents. What sort of portal have we gone through where such beautiful things happen?
Add this to the quadrillion of things I love about this place. Let me start with the fact that Cam is kind enough to take the time to organize this whole shrimpapalooza and enthusiastically share it with with everybody on the block. That is typical of so many people I’ve met in New Orleans through the years, and I’m so grateful for it.
We all were too excited about the shrimp to wait until Wednesday, so it was moved up to Monday. This text came in at 9:50am: “Morning. Shrimp guy is coming noonish. I’ll have ice if ya need it. Cash only. $6/lb.” Ooh, it’s sounding a little clandestine. I like my seafood purchases edgy. At noon, Pistol P’s pulls up.
The reach to rhyme “water” and “order” is inspirational. After hearing Pistol P’s accent, I realized that this wasn’t as much of a reach as I thought. I have to admit that I was slightly disappointed in the back of the truck.
It was simple, clean, and efficient, but I was hoping for something like Quint’s boat in Jaws. Then, we’d all do shots, compare scars and sing, “Show Me the Way To Go Home.”
The rest of it was downright civilized. We listened to OZ and waited in line for our turn. Cam gave us a bag — again, thoughtful enough to have bags and ice for everybody — we bought six pounds and I practically skipped home. That evening, I threw some on the grill and we put them on a salad.
I still can’t believe that I live someplace where stuff like this happens.