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I’m ready to add a few flowers to my landscape, but I’m waiting until after Easter. I’m waiting because it’s what my Maw Maw Jello taught me. She was the person who instilled in me a love of all things outdoors. In one of my earliest memories, she is kneeling next to me, showing me the difference between a weed and a flower. She taught me to throw used coffee grounds and eggshells on azaleas, to plant when the sun first begins its’ descent, and to always wait until after Easter before adding new flowers to the garden. So I will.

HYMEL’S GONE FOREVER: I was saddened to learn of the pending demise of the Hymel’s Restaurant building in Convent. I enjoyed going to Hymel’s as much as I enjoyed hearing stories of the restaurant and its people. I didn’t know what to think of the lavatory mounted on the wall of the dining room the first time I saw it, but considering the amount of boiled seafood served there, having soap and water nearby was a great idea. Each time I went to Hymel’s I always ended up sitting near someone who had no idea how to open a crab and peel a crawfish. It was fun watching them dirty their nails while trying a delicacy. The fishbowlsize beer mugs were amazing. I wondered why they were so big until a waitress told me such large containers helped to decrease the number of trips to the table to replenish their drinks. That made sense to me. It’s almost impossible to eat salty seafood without ice cold beer. At Hymel’s, no one was allowed to be snobbish about their beer and even try to order classy green bottles of brew with gold writing. Hymel’s was not the place for that. My favorite experience at Hymel’s was with a Chevy Suburban full of Catholic nuns I picked up from the Airport Hilton as a favor to a priest-friend who offered tours to visiting clergy and religious. When I picked them up in Kenner, I gave them the option of going to sightsee on St. Charles Avenue, to ride down Lakeshore Drive, to see the French Quarter, or to visit with the locals at Hymel’s along the river road. The latter was their choice and off we went. We talked about Perique tobacco, sugarcane, and the sugar refinery. They enjoyed seeing the churches and they wondered what they would eat at a seafood restaurant since Louisiana seafood was not what they were accustomed to eating. We had a table in the front dining room not far from half-door where patrons paid their tab. The waitress came to the table, gave a cordial welcome, and was ready to take their orders. The holy women didn’t drink alcoholic beverages, but one of them noticed that when our waitress placed our order to cooking crew she stopped by the shelf, reached up, grabbed her beer and took a deep swig. With her beer back on the shelf, the waitress went on to serve other customers. By the time our food came to the table, the waitress had two more swigs and had no idea how well she was entertaining my guests. The food was great as it always was, and the Catholic nuns returned to their communities with a wonderful experience of rural South Louisiana to hold in their memory. I believe that some of those glass window cubes and pieces of that terrazzo floor will end up in the hands of those who have fond memories of Hymel’s. I sure hope they share their stories. What is your favorite memory of Hymel’s Restaurant?

“The Transfiguration”