First Draft

The Little People’s Place is full of big personalities, big time New Orleanianity, DEEP Treme energy. K. and I zipped by on Barracks Street, until a man hollered at us to stay for awhile. And of course, how could we deny his invite? 

Four black gentlemen sat outside in the heat, outside of a hand painted sign on the yellow brick building, with a flat screen TV perched on top of a wooden side table that played the Pelicans game. They were losing, but who cared? 

Inside, giant fans blew around the hot air, and a gentleman outside approached us from behind, as I suppose he was the designated bartender for the night. Were they all barkeeps? Did they all work here? Or was this just a room, a home, where friends congregated? Was this just a place, full of the little people of the Treme, who dazzled each other with beer until some guest came near?

Christmas lights graced the top of the ceiling, which had a gaping hole, so sprawled, I could nearly see the floor above. And the bartop was made of linoleum that looked like it was straight out of the 1950s – peeling piles of pink and blue splatters on white. But oh, was it a delight.

The friendliness: unmatched. The drinks: chilled, from some foreign fridge, half stocked, but filled enough for this clientele.

Another man came around the bar, wearing a white, collared shirt and a black tie. He looked intently at a jar of pink liquid, until placing it on the bar. What was it? Pig lips. Only one remaining. I gagged a bit, but I could not judge. I looked behind at the table of crockpots and aluminum pans and trays, and wondered if this treat would be on the menu, had they had enough of a crowd to serve dinner.

Dinner. More like snacks. Little people treats. 

The windchime against the wall kept clanging in the fan’s wind, and the Pelicans boomed their losing spree on the TV. But all I could hear was cheer. True authenticity, true New Orleanianity. Deep in the Treme, at the later part of this day, Little People’s Place is a welcoming haven: a neglected spot most pass. It is the kind of place that opens its arms to those willing to give it a chance.