Workin' at Stella's house, eatin' at Mr. Joe's

NOTE: If you don't see a new post on this blog each night, click the Refresh or Reload icon at the top of your browser window; that may help ensure your computer gets the latest episode.

Chuck S. writes:

Today, Stella (as Estella pronounces her name) promised to take us out to lunch as we continued working on her house on 19th Street. "We've got to leave here at quarter 'til 11," she advised us more than once. "That's when his lunch is ready."

Who "he" was, or where he cooked, we had not a clue until a minute before we drove off in a caravan of three vehicles. "We're going to the BP station, on Pass (Road)," a street a few blocks north of her house, she said.

Stella is so loving, and so doting on us, that we didn't question her choice of lunch spots. Indeed, when we saw the big sign outside the convenience store/filling station -- "Crab po' boys are back" -- we were energized, remembering the delicious shrimp po' boys we ate on our last work day in New Orleans one year earlier.

Stella ushered us inside the BP, where two women were setting out today's lunch: Roast beef or meat loaf or red beans and rice for an entree, plus greens, green beans, corn and mashed potatoes, with rolls or cornbread. She had us there right on time, just when the food was at its peak. And from the kitchen, "he" emerged: Mr. Joe, a smiling and distinguished looking gentleman of about 60 who came out to meet Stella's new friends. He repeated our names as we shook hands: "Mr. Dick ... Miss Mary ... Mr. Phillip ... Mr. John ... Miss Donna," and so forth.

"Pick out anything you want, darlin's," Stella said maternally, though she clearly wanted us to dig into a plateful of Mr. Joe's entree and steaming hot veggies. "We do this for all the teams that come help me," she said.

"We?" Are Mr. Joe and Miss Stella a couple?

As we sat down at one of the several booths to tuck into our delicious lunch, Mr. Joe strolled over. He had been a cook at one of the Gulf Coast casinos and the money was good, he said. But he grew weary of the stress of being told to do one thing by a chef and another thing by a sous chef.

He quit several years ago, and began "working at places like this, where I'm my own boss, where I set my hours" -- 4:15 a.m. to 3 p.m. presently -- "and cook what I want."

We remarked how warm and loving Stella had been to us, and he nodded. "She's a church lady," he said. "I go to church with her every other week. The other weeks, I spend with my family. My wife passed" awhile back, he said, but he loves to go his his oldest daughter's house, where he cooks for his sons and daughters, his whole family. "Family," he said firmly, "is important."

We were starting to like Mr. Joe as well as we like Stella.

But perhaps not quite as much as they like one another.