Pie Lady of Royal Street
June 15th, 2005
June 15th, 2005
We are daily bombarded with sounds from cars throwing basslines that threaten to damage our innards—and various other signs of urban decay such as muzak. So I was bracing for torment the other day while walking down Royal Street in the Quarter when I heard the vocal strains in the near distance chirping and singing, “Piiiiiie-YUH! Get yo’ piiiiie-YUH!”
But there was no urban nuisance here, no thumping rap within earshot of St Louis Cathedral. It was the refrain of the Pie Lady, her sweet notes an air of thick, rich humanity amid the weary strollers and dozing birds of late afternoon.
The Pie Lady walked into the store where I pretended to browse old maps (really just taking respite within its air conditioned walls) and plopped down her wares on a pile of books. She was tired from singing of warm delectables. So, like all good New Orleanians, the proprietors of the art and poster store immediately dispensed their food savvy: “You need cold pies, darlin’. How about makin’ some crawfish bread? People stand in line for that, seven bucks a pop, at Jazzfest! You could charge ten.”
The Pie Lady patted her brow. She would think about it—as soon as the heat permitted her to. When I thought about it, I didn’t care whether she sold hot pies or cold. So long as she sang it, they would come.