Uncle Wayne used to buy frozen meat from a man
who sold it off a truck. He'd eat steak, then hamburger,
then rice and beans. Like a GI on payday. One Thanksgiving
we had turkey, lamb, and duck, and I made a cassoulet out of
leftover meat, white beans, and smoked sausage. A dry white wine.
I cooked it in a casserole with a bisque-ware outside and a terra-cotta
glaze inside and a hollow, round handle. I took Wayne one and said,
"Here's how you cook beans, Wayne." He nearly swooned. I brought him
good library books to read, too. He said I was his favorite brother-in-law.
Donny used to spend a lot of time with him before he stopped drinking
and smoking pot. They would sit in Wayne's room and watch NASCAR races
on TV. After he got sober he couldn't go there.

I bought the pot at Maison Blanche when Brenda and I were newlyweds.
I had a big one and a small one. This was before anyone we knew
was into gourmet cooking. Except Larry and Hazel.
The faculty wives of the Anthropology Department.
The guacamole wars and spinach-and-artichoke dip.
Oysters Bienville and Oysters Rockefeller.
The Acme Oyster Bar and Felix's.
Mosca's, across the river.
The Central Grocery. Salt cod and muffaletta.