Every Saturday, we’ll be posting a new illustration by David Lester. The Mecca Normal guitarist is visually documenting people, places and events from his band’s 29-year run, with text by vocalist Jean Smith.
I’m a white lady driving around Miami’s Little Haiti looking for lunch, unsure of how my bright blue sweater, striped shorts and what amounts to Keds with ankle socks translates. Tourist? Thrift-store-chic soccer mom?
Seeing smoke coming off the big BBQ unit on the corner of 10th and 54th, I turn down the deserted side street and park my red rental. No meters. Crossing the totally dead street, I smell the deliciousness of the smoke and pause on the sidewalk to look at items painted in red on a lunch board. Knowing that I’m doing the right thing, I push open the door and step into the darkness. A small, older black lady in the kitchen—horn-rimmed glasses and cardigan clasped at the neckline—looks at me and slides the kitchen door closed.
I’m looking at the menu on the wall when I hear a voice in the darkness telling someone, “Come right out in the open, come right out.”
My eyes adjust and I see an older black guy sitting near the back wall—hat, glasses and cane. I walk closer to what I now see is the ordering window and there’s another older guy, but maybe not as old, standing off to the side, looking at me with some combination of emotions that informs me I’m basically in the wrong place. I ask about BBQ (a subject I know very little about) and he says there’s nothing ready yet.
“How much longer?” I ask. I’m looking for lunch. It’s 1 p.m. on Thursday. The sign outside says L-U-N-C-H. Big red letters.
“One hour,” he says. “Except maybe the wings. The wings special that we always run.”
I say, “I don’t want wings.”
He says, “Except maybe the pork souse.”
“Only Heat,” from Sitting On Snaps (Matador, 1995; Smarten UP!, 2009) (download):
