Beignets

They were selling freshly fried beignets in the space between the Student Center and the Library today. I spend most of my time on campus with my IPod blaring so the only reason I noticed the stand where they were cooking them was an aquaintance of mine was flagging me down. We used to work together at the Library and he now works for our Campus Activities Board. He waved, I paused my IPod, and then I heard the glorious, heavenly, mouthwatering word "Beignets".

Two for a dollar. Two-for-a-dollar. I'm scrambling in my purse, wondering if I even have a dollar. I had better have a dollar. I find one.

They give me two beignets, round and white and so thick with powdered sugar that they look like demented kittens.

The first time I had beignets was in New Orleans, at the Cafe du Monde. Due to my goth teenagehood and my deep obsession with Anne Rice's books, I had this deepseated feeling that New Orleans must be some kind of Mecca of Awesome. I dreamed about it, I wrote stories set in it, I looked at pictures of the cemeteries online. And, eventually, I got to go there.

Dad and I had gone to see my Grandmother, and were headed back to Vegas for (probably) the Christmas Holidays. We had a two hour stop over in New Orleans to change planes and Dad did something with the tickets so we could have an even longer layover. We ended up with something like, twelve hours in the city. Dad was always good about things like that. All the stuff my Mom wouldn't let me do, Dad did. If I wanted to stop on the side of the Highway outside of Vegas and look at a dry lakebed, Dad would pull over the car and we'd get out (which we did once. It was neat. There were wild Triops in the lakebed)

So, New Orleans. We went downtown, wandered around, and I got to go in every gothy-vampire-costume-cape store the world has ever seen. We went to the French Market, we went to the Voudoo stores, we went to Jackson Square, we bought beads (even though it wasn't Mardi Gras). And the Cafe du Monde, where sadly, I wasn't a coffee drinker yet, and didn't have the Chicory Coffee. But we did have Beignets. Whole plates of them, hot and damp, and freshly cooked, covered in pounds of powdered sugar.

Later, just as the "People were Murdered Here" tours were starting we had to go back to the airport and get on the plane. Except, there was no plane. Delta gave us room and board, and another day in the city. The second day wasn't nearly so cool as the first. In the bright light of day theres not much to the part of New Orleans I wanted to see, and I'd been in all the stores already...

Sigh. This might be turning into a metaphore. I'll stop now, before I start comparing things.

There's only one place I know where to get them here in Atlanta. And I'm not sure how to get there. ^_^ My sense of direction is useless in the city and the smaller lanes scare me to death, but somewhere, somewhere in that vast, confusing city is a garish place called Huey's, which serves not-quite-good beignets. Last few times I was there they had old oil, and having worked a deep frier before, I know what old oil tastes like. Blarg. Sometimes, if you're really lucky, you can find Beignet mix at the grocers.

What happened was, after I'd eaten the two beignets I had to have more. Another search of my purse turned up a dollar and fifty cents in quarters, and I ran back out to the stand for more, only to find all the beignets gone. Sadly, sadly gone. They'd gotten done cooking and someone had taken the tray away. I rushed in the direction I'd been pointed, only to have my library friend call me back again. The girl with the tray had suddenly reappeared.

My six quarters bought me the last four beignets.

And as I stood there looking at the confections, I thought, well, I can't eat all of these. I shall go locate a friend to share them with.

Except, there were a lack of friends on campus today. Kevin went to work already, Randy goes to school somewhere else, Matt doesn't go to school here anymore, and Jared's not in the writing center today. Hmm. Delema. I walked to the english building, then up three flights of stairs to the Professor's Offices. John Robertson, the guy teaching my World Lit class has his office up there and he's a really cool guy. Except his door was shut and the lights were off. I checked his office hours; gone twenty minutes past.

Being that there's no one else on campus that I want to share beignets with, I slunk back to the stairwell, which has a really great view. And there I ate three of the beignets. There were people milling around outside, in the wind (which would have been bad for the powdered sugar), and from as high up as I was sitting I could almost see the lake thats behind the college in the woods. Durring this time I contemplated my lack of friend-making skills and then took the last Beignet to the writing center and left if for the staff to eat.