With a life dedicated to being a voice behind the sports world, journalist Sarai Nazaire worked her way through the ranks to become one of the youngest and most sought after faces for sports television. Her will and honor to not only be accurate in...
"I know you think I'm crazy. Maybe that's because I am. About life, about this moment, about you." ― Crystal Woods
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"Fine as hell. She fine as hell. Hungry as hell, but fine as hell nonetheless." I nearly choked as I dropped the po' boy back onto the plate in front of me and stuck up my finger for both Odell and his iPhone camera to see. The crispy shrimp were flavored and fried to perfection, and Chef Pierre certainly didn't hold back from piling them into the buttered toasted French roll. With the shrimp is shredded and lightly cooked crunchy cabbage, sliced tomatoes, and a drizzled remoulade sauce that nearly made me melt onto the floor.
It's not even noon yet and I'm already eating a heavy ass lunch. Actually, I've been overindulging ever since we arrived here last night and have no intention on stopping until we're back in the northeast. My stomach has morphed into a bottomless pit that is willing and ready to withhold any dish offered and the man who brought me here seems to want to do nothing more than leave me with a swiftly gained ten pounds lingering around my waistline and thighs.
"Now if I go home looking pregnant, don't try to deny me because I'm absolutely going to blame it on you." For breakfast, we indulged on freshly made beignets drenched in powdered sugar. While I had coffee, he settled for hot chocolate and we sat outdoors in the midst of the cool Baton Rouge air on a plush deep beige sectional on the back patio of the four-bedroom, six-bathroom contemporary highland home we're residing in for the next two days.
With only our teeth brushed, we lazy lounged around in our nightclothes with nothing on our feet. Rather than the television being on, we used one another as sources of information and I was able to understand why Baton Rouge and New Orleans made and raised him. Though he spent some time living in both Georgia and Texas, Louisiana is home. He's a 504 boy to the core.
"How they say that shit? Something about cushion for the pushing." The silly little smirk dancing along his flawless lips was enough to make me launch my plastic fork in his direction. His mouth knows no boundaries sometimes.
"More cushion for the pushing? That?"
"Yeah, that baby. No complaints over here. I told you that you have to get the complete NOLA experience and food is a major part of that. I know you've been down here once before, but I know you ain't eat like this." I didn't. Celeste's selective eating limited everyone's opportunity to explore the different spices and textures of New Orleans' famous dishes and I mentally complained about it the entire time.
The morning I wandered off to find coffee and breakfast while in the midst of a brutal hangover was the first and only time that I was able to have a dish that I felt was worth the trip and the irony in that is, it's the same morning that I saw him.
"You're still recording? I look crazy when I eat. Turn it off." Like the professional athlete that he is, he was able to dodge my attempt to grab his phone out of his hands and he jogged to the opposite side of the cool grey marbled kitchen island. Its width kept him out of my reach.
