I didn't cross paths with any corpses when I stopped at Mother's for lunch on Sunday afternoon ... but I did encounter a long line outside the restaurant. I joined the crowd and waited to get in while a man named Elvis greeted the customers. He offered to make a Bloody Mary for anybody that wanted one, and the line continued to inch forward before I reached the counter a half-hour later.
Drab furnishings made for an unappealing ambiance as I digged into a roast beef po' boy, a cup of jambalaya, and a glass of iced tea. I asked Elvis how the staff was dealing with life after Katrina, and he told me they shared living quarters next to the restaurant because of the housing crisis. Even though there was a sign on the wall that said no tipping allowed, I handed him five dollars and gave him a hug as I departed.
