Breaux Bridge        It was time for my mother to have a change of scenery, so we headed for Acadiana.  The fact that the air conditioning didn’t work in her car made the trip that much more authentic.  Reminded me of a million years ago when we would drive to see my grandparents in California and spend three days on the road in dawn and dusk trying to outrun the desert heat.  This was all 100% Louisiana swamp and sweat though!

    We ate at the original Mulate’s on old highway 94, which is a classic Cajun roadhouse.  There were some concessions to tourists.  They sold mugs and t-shirts in a lackadaisical fashion, but basically it was heaping plates of food and at 7 PM sharp the fiddle and the zydeco joined the bass and within seconds the dance floor was filled.  

    Hands were clapping and feet snapping to the beat from all of us at the red checkered picnic tables in this low slung joint under business cards thumb tacked to every square inch of ceiling.  Children ran wildly in tag teams from the dance floor to the tables and back.  Sometimes they would dance with their grandpas or just bounce to the music.  Couples from 50 to 80 circled the floor with the smooth shuffle that matches the beat.

    It was still light when we left with big smiles on our faces and read the sign out front commemorating Mulate’s role in keeping Cajun culture alive.  Amen, cher!