Hurricane in New Orleans Louisiana
I rolled into The Big Easy on an August afternoon, dripping in sweat and in need of refreshment and A/C. My ’63 Lincoln Continental did not agree with the sweltering heat nor did I. I had been to Mardi Gras on several occasions, meaning to come back when it was more sedate. August was laid back but unbearably humid. I had just come off a work related road trip of the Deep South and made a mental note that it was not a part of the country that I should visit in the heat of summer. I parked in front of Abner’s before I even checked into my hotel. The plaque read, Est. 1915, Re-Est. 2006, which I knew meant Hurricane Katrina, had come calling but Abner’s bounced back from the destruction.
“Greetings,” I addressed the woman behind the bar. “Is the bar O.K.?”
“Suit yourself, if you can make it past the crowds.” She said sarcastically.
“I’m Cecil and you can set me up with a pint of cold water for starters. Then I’ll have a hurricane.”
The smile vanished from her face when I ordered the cocktail.
“Right up.”
“I’m sorry; I sense that hurricane’s as bad as a swear word in these parts. I saw the man down the bar drinking one and I thought it looked delicious.”
“No offense taken Cecil and you can call me Willa. You’re not a native so the word hurricane doesn’t mean as much to you as it does us. Old Kip down there has stories to tell about the storm so he gets whatever he wants; free of charge. I’ll get you that drink. Can I interest you in a bowl of gumbo – I just made it this morning.”
“I can’t believe I’m having a hot meal on a hot day but sure, why not.”
I had a hurricane in the past in which gin and vodka were added. I preferred it with just rum which is the way was making it. She picked up a hurricane glass, which was gently curved with a short stem. She packed ice up to the rim and measured in a couple of ounces of both light and dark rum. She followed with juice from a decanter that I would find out later was a blend of pineapple, orange and passion juices. As if it wasn’t sweet enough already, she added and ounce of simple syrup and a healthy dash of grenadine. A quick stir that created a soft poppy colored drink and Willa was almost finished. An orange slice was placed on the rim and a cherry dropped on top. Before delivering my hurricane, she ladled hot okra into a crock and placed them both on the bar.
“You may not like to make hurricanes but you sure know how to do it.” I commented before I took a sip. “Outstanding; best one I’ve ever had.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice behind the bar. First at the old one that was destroyed and now this one. I’m lucky that this place has a second chance.”
“Would I be far off base to guess that Kip had something with Abner’s making a comeback?”
“No, you would be right on the mark. Kip has been coming here for years and he treated it like his own when it mattered most.”
“I bet he contributed funds for the rebuilding. That must be why you give him free drinks.”
Kip tipped his hat towards me from the end of the bar. His leathered brown skin, beige linen suit and brilliant smile made him look regal atop his barstool. Willa looked at him and he raised his glass, indicating that he’d have another.
“Are you ready for some okra Kip?” Willa called to him.
“Yes indeed. I’ve been having the okra here since your grammy made it. It took you some time but I think you got the recipe just right. Goes great with my hurricane.”
Willa smiled and turned back towards me. “Kip has been a family friend for decades and he’s a fixture here. He upped his status after 2005 and Katrina.”
“He did more than help fund the rebuilding of Abner’s, am I right?” I asked.
“Kip is old but he was mighty when the hurricane came through New Orleans. Before he retired, Kip was a shrimp fisherman and he used to go out on his boat every day. When the levees broke, he saw his old boat floating in his yard. Kip figured he’d put it to good use. He rescued folks and brought em here where he knew I’d have food. He had some gas heat and we made a few barrels of stew. We had to move up to the roof because the bar was flooded. When the National Guard came to rescue us, we were laughing and carrying on. They said we were that happiest group of people they had ever rescued. We drank hurricanes and ate okra as we thanked God for Kip and his boat.”
“Wow, I never would have thought. He looks so assuming and dare I say frail.”
“Nothing of the sort. Many tears were shed in the aftermath of Katrina but Kip is a reminder of the good that we still have.”
“I’m glad I stopped in and got a firsthand account about how the strong spirit of New Orleans prevailed. I’m also thankful for the great hurricane and the A/C. I’ll be sure to stop in next time I travel this way.” As I walked out, I smiled at Kip – a true hero.
