We had a wild time eating fried catfish at Cajun Seafood and it took nearly a half hour for the first fight to break out.
On a recent Sunday afternoon we were hanging out at Ernie K-Doe’s old joint, The Mother-In-Law, when, out of a nowhere, a few thousand people all descended on the neutral ground underneath I-10 in front of Cajun Seafood in Treme.
It was like a Myspace party from 10 years ago.
Dozens of motorbikers flooded the streets riding tricked out Hayabusas, ATV cats came boiling out of the neighborhood on modded up Yamahas, and packs of drivers in muscle cars roared up bawling their tires and blasting Trick Daddy on 18″ subs hidden in their trunks.
It was a real cool scene magnified by the fact that the Scrumptious crew had been drinking all day long and was looking for a little excitement.
We found it.
Bikers took turns wheeling up in front of Cajun Seafood to do long, extended burnouts with white smoke billowing all the way over the top of raised I-10, hoochie mammas leaned up against the concrete pillars supporting the freeway twerking wildly in their booty shorts and daisy dukes while spectators guzzled St Ides out of brown paper bags.
Our kind of scene.
After a good 20 minutes of circus we wanted some bread so we headed into the restaurant to eat a little catfish and soak in some AC.
It looked like a bomb went off. Apparently the busboy had called in sick at the restaurant as the tables and floors were a good foot deep in trash. No matter, we can dine in a sty if need be.
The joint is absolutely packed but the catfish comes sailing out of the kitchen in 10 minutes flat. It is delicious.
Then all Hell broke loose.
“They beefin! they beefin!” a young lady cries out as two young bucks begin swinging wildly a few feet outside the plate glass windows of the restaurant.
A sea of cellphones is hoisted by spectators, young documentarians we reckon, in an effort to capture the wildness.
Police slowly roll up gauging the effect their presence will have before exiting their vehicle.
The catfish is blazing hot and nicely seasoned under a crackling crust of yellow cornmeal. Clearly this is a fry-cook who has found his life calling. Meanwhile the police talk the crowd down before a full scale riot can shake out.
The party is winding down so we make our way to the exit and plot a course north to Ooh Poo Pah Doo our favorite bar in New Orleans.
This is article number 2,525 on the Scrumptious Chef site.