Photo: smaedli

I've got things cooking today — figuratively and literally — so I haven't made time to write. I was tempted to just order a pizza, but instead I put on a box of Cajun rice. It's on the stove now, and the smell of it reminds me of a story I'll tell quickly:

The day I moved in to my little New Orleans cottage, I tried to order a pizza for dinner. We were starved — as you might imagine — after a day of hauling boxes, and I sure wasn't in the mood to unpack dishes.

I called a chain delivery place. They did not service my new address.

"Try the one over on Esplanade," the pizza guy suggested.

So I did.

"No, we don't deliver over there," the guy on Esplanade said. "Try the one on Canal."

At this point, I was bound and determined to find us a pizza. Not just any pizza, but the chain we'd decided on. I refused to believe that it was not possible to have one delivered.  I called the restaurant on Canal prepared to accomplish my mission.

"No, we don't go over that way," he said. Then he directed me back to the restaurant I'd just called.

I believe I kept my emotions in check as I explained that I'd already tried there, but mounting frustration coupled with hunger and fatigue is an ugly combination.

"I'm in the heart of the city — surely you're not telling me I can't get a pizza delivered to this address," I said.

He matched my veiled-anger tone, and said: "Lady, people come from all over the world to eat in the French Quarter, so I don't know what you're calling me for. Try Verti Marte over on Royal. They deliver."

One beat. Two beats. I let that soak in. Then I thanked him for making a suggestion, and turned out to be glad he did.  

I never did find a chain pizza joint that would deliver to that address. But I never tried again, because I didn't have to. Twenty-four hours a day any day of week, a guy on a bicycle would bring me a shrimp po-boy sandwich. A shrimp po-boy! Or oysters... or fried chicken... the list goes on. On the nights you're not cooking, it's hard for a pizza guy to compete with that.

Now, I realize it's not likely that you're reading this a stone's throw from Verti Marte. The point of my story is something else:

Try not to get frustrated when you face a problem, because there is usually some alternative solution. If you're inflexible and blind to other possibilities in dogged pursuit of "Plan A", you might well wind up disappointed. But the alternative option is not necessarily a compromise — like the shrimp po-boy that solved my pizza delivery "problem", sometimes it turns out to be even better.